#the matron's student

[abybweisse]

Ch206 (p3), The "aptitudes" that you reared

While Snake starts to have a mental breakdown, Artie notices something and alerts Oliver and Theo to the danger.

The head matron and Susan have caught up to the kids again and continue to shoot, shattering another organ jar.

Even Doll seems annoyed at the intrusion from the staff. The head matron tells them their "game of tag" is over, that they have no map or weapons, and that they must obey their teachers/the authority.

She talks mostly to Theo, as assumed leader of the pack, and he feigns agreeing with her. Then he calls to Mabel while signaling to use his hands as a lift up.

Mabel springs into action and gives the head matron a hard kick to the head, leaving Susan as the last staff member there (for now, anyway...).

Susan shows she cares way more about a hefty paycheck than she ever could about those kids. But Mabel's attack also serves as distraction, and Oliver gets behind Susan with a large knife that the staff didn't know he had.

Oliver. Bless him. 😅

Then Theo asks what Susan (and the injured head matron, I guess) think of these "aptitudes" they've cultivated in the top students.

Feeling truly defeated, Susan drops her gun, and Theo sighs with relief.

The rest soonish....

[thesleepykettle]

She's an acolyte of Wee Jas and she's here to kiss cute ladies and userp Lolth, and she's already done all the smoochin'.

[carouselunique]

Cinch had three charges in her care once, Celestia entrusted her with the day-to-day care of Prince Blueblood, the new Princess Cadence and her student Sunset Shimmer - running a kingdom is difficult enough alone without three young ponies to look after - so when Celestia is absent (often) that means Cinch was in charge of these three ponies. And while the matron of the castle was always rigid about rules and wanted her three charges to uphold her reputation and to build their own budding reputations high, she cared about them very much. You'd have to, spending your time with the same three young ponies for so long, guiding and teaching them to be their best...

By the time Ditzy came into the picture, Cinch was down to two charges. She refused to fail them the way she failed...

Well, with one down, there were two left and she cared so much she wouldn't let anyone ruin them, especially not themselves. Surely they would come to realize Cinch was only helping.

[metalomagnetic]

Snippet Canis Major

Voldemort remembers the other Sirius. Also, a little glimpse at Orion/Walburga, because I never tire of this toxic couple.

(-)

Usually, it was Arcturus or Pollux that showed up when their children got in trouble. Cygnus, especially, was often in trouble, so Pollux’ face was the most familiar to the students.

In Voldemort’s sixth year at Hogwarts, Atticus Bulstrode, the Head Boy, invited Walburga to Hogsmeade, the last in a lengthy string of boys asking her out. Only this time, she accepted.

When he heard, Orion challenged him to a formal duel. Atticus laughed, rolled his eyes at his fourteen years old opponent.

“Quick!” He was shaken awake by Abraxas, in the middle of the night.“Orion is killing Bulstrode in the trophy room! You have to stop him!”

He reached them just in time, he disarmed Orion, and rushed Bulstrode to the Hospital Wing, where they found Dumbledore asking the Matron for a sleeping potion.

Atticus was lucky- Dumbledore was more often than not away from Hogwarts, chasing Grindelwald, rumour went, but he was there that night, apparently suffering with insomnia.

The professor kept Atticus alive until the Healers from St Mungo arrived and took the boy with them.

“It wasn’t me,” he said, hurriedly, stained in Bulstrode’s blood, lingering in the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore peered at him from under his half-moon glasses. Dumbledore always liked to blame everything on him. “I only brought him here after-”

“I know,” Dumbledore assured him.

The next morning Atticus’ father came thundering, his yells easily heard from where Voldemort was spying, near the Headmaster office.

He wondered if maybe this will be the time when a Black actually suffers consequences. After all, Bulstrode’s name was ancient, they were a rich, influential family, and surely, at least on account of that, Dippet would do something more than detention and points taken, which was the usual punishment for Blacks.

Only, this time it wasn't Arcturus that came to fix his son's issues.

It was the infamous Sirius Black. A tall man, with wide shoulders, long black hair hanging around his face, deep circle under his too intense eyes, mouth twisted in a snarl. Orion walked behind him, his gaze fixed on his older relative. Voldemort watched them, hidden by a pillar. Orion never seemed small; he carried himself with such arrogance and pride, his head held so high he seemed a foot taller than he was. Yet right then, Orion looked small, trailing after his grandfather, quietly, as Voldemort observed them disappear up the stairwell leading to the Headmaster's chambers.

They left Dippet’s office not even a quarter of an hour after they entered it.

As soon as they emerged from it, the gargoyles closing the door behind them, old Black slapped Orion, the noise echoing down the hallway.

“Next time you pull something like this, do it on a weekday, you fool! If I’m woken up again at this ungodly hour on your account on a Sunday, you will be very sorry for it.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” Orion answers, in that unfazed tone of his.

The old man narrows his eyes. “What was it about, anyway? How did he provoke your ire?”

A second worth of silence. “He tried stealing from me.”

Orion gets hit again, harder this time. The heavy family ring rips the skin at the corner of his left eye, and that pure blood of theirs makes an appearance.

“Then why does he still have hands?” the old man hisses, enraged. “If someone attempts to take what is yours, you cut off their hands, boy!”

He slaps Orion again, just as harshly.

“Yes, Grandfather.” Orion doesn't take his eyes off his grandfather, doesn't wipe away the blood running down his cheek, his hands held behind his back.

Sirius Blacks huffs in displeasure, before turning on his heels and marching down the hallway. “Weakling,” he mutters.

Nothing happened to Orion. Not even the usual detention. No points taken.

Sirius Black insisted it was a formal duel, that the challenge had been accepted, and it was all done honourably, Slughorn told Voldemort, when he called him into his office to give him the Head Boy badge, temporarily, until Atticus recovered and would be able to return to Hogwarts and his duties.

“When Armando reminded him duels are illegal at Hogwarts, formal or not, Mr Black said rules are just words on parchment; that he’s a wizard, and he follows laws of magic, not of men.” Slughorn sighs, rubs at his temples, and then he takes a caramel out of his newest bribe-sweets bag that Abraxas gave him. “He told Mr Bulstrode that if he wants justice, then he should challenge him to a duel, and solve it like wizards ought to. Of course, Mr Bulstrode has more than one brain cell, so he refused and let it go.” He sighs again, points a sugar coated finger at Tom. “This is why I always told you not to seek trouble with Blacks. We’re lucky he’s apparently taken to drinking lately, locked up in his Manor, that he lets Arcturus handle most of their affairs, who is much milder and reasonable. But, once in a while, he gets out and you do not wish to run afoul of him.”

No one in the common room talked of it; only Walburga complained she was looking forward to going to the newly opened teashop in Hogsmeade, and demanded to know what was Orion’s problem with Atticus.

“A Quidditch thing,” Orion told her, with a shrug. “Don’t worry, Waly. I’ll take you to Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“I don’t want to go with my baby cousin, don’t be ridiculous! Malfoy, you will take me!”

Abraxas backs away, slowly. “I can’t, Walburga. I’m busy, I have to study,” he says, hastily, when Orion glares at him from behind Walburga.

It was the only time mild-tempered, well behaved Orion did something so outrageous that his unhinged grandfather had to come and solve it, so it was the only time Voldemort saw the man.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Sixteen

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: smut, oral sex (f receiving), Tom just being very naughty enjoy ✨

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

For perhaps the first time ever in his life, Tom could say he preferred the day to night. At Wool’s, nighttime was when everything went quiet — when all the other children, who during the day were brutish noisy little pests, and the matrons, who were worse, were all asleep — and Tom could read and think and go to places in his mind. At Hogwarts, nighttime was when none of the other students came to him all wanting something — either help with homework or advice from the Head Boy — and he could explore the castle at his pace, learn its secrets, and slip into the Restricted Section undetected. If he was lucky and Peeves wasn’t around, at least.

But now it was during the day that the under-shop was quiet, while Ambrogio was asleep, and the only sound that resonated through those walls was the snapping of the cap on Tom’s enchanted fountain pen while he was fidgeting.

His path to victory was clear: wait for Ambrogio to disenchant the books from the protective spells that kept them bound there, steal the Delomelanicon, and kill him. He would have to move fast before anyone else discovered it was missing, or prepare for the Baron to send people after him.

A small problem presented itself: Tom had never killed a vampire before. He knew how to, of course. It was first-year D.A.D.A. level. He knew Avada Kedavra wouldn’t work because they were already dead. The best solutions seemed to be a bath of sunlight or decapitation… Both of which came with their own challenges.

The phone rang, drowning his thoughts.

“Yes?” answered Tom with a sigh.

“Tom? Are you alone?”

“Yes,” he said, suddenly intrigued. “Why?”

“Are you busy?”

“… Not really.”

“Could you come up, then, please?”

Tom smirked. He knew what this was about.

“I’m lonely,” she complained. Her tone was sweet, beguiling, one he had responded to quite well on past occasions. ‘Lonely’ wasn’t really what she was.

“I should get back to work,” said Tom in his most teasing tone. “And you should too.”

“Alriiight,” she pouted.

The clicking as she hung the phone up lingered in his ears.

II

“Very well,” he sighed as he climbed out of the trapdoor. “What is it?”

“Tom!” she beamed, clapping her hands gladly. “You’re here!” She was perched up on a ladder with her elbow curled around a step.

“I see you took my advice anyway and made yourself busy,” he smirked, walking slowly toward her. “No, don’t get down. I like you up there.”

She paused between steps and looked at him over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye. It was an enticing view, and he stopped right underneath it.

“You’re quite perfect as you are,” he whispered, gentling a hand around her ankle and starting to squeeze. “So, why did you call me? You were lonely, you said?”

“Why didn’t you come when I asked?” she asked back haughtily.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but I had to beg.”

“Maybe I like that,” said Tom, leaning forward to drag a little lick across the inside of her ankle.

She hummed pleasantly and closed her eyes. “You can ask for it, then, if you like it so much,” she murmured.

He looked up at her with a thin, dangerous smile, and moved his hands up slowly from her ankles to her calves, then to her knees, thumbs tickling the backs of them and causing her to shiver. His fingers caught her skirt between them and inclined it upwards.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a wavering voice.

“Hang on,” he said.

Her hands gripped the rungs so tightly the wood groaned.

Tom brought one hand lower in the same slow caress to hold her ankle, stationed roughly at the level of his chest, while the other ventured higher, up the silky path of her thigh until, with the tips of his fingers, he felt the edge of her stocking and the thin strap of her garter. Beyond that point was only soft, warm flesh.

“Tom,” she murmured in a heated warning, but even with her unsteady footing she couldn’t help but arch her back. “Don’t make me enjoy this…”

“Why not?” he whispered, his lips ghosting the smooth bone of her ankle. “Nothing bad will happen to you as long as you sit still for me.”

“Would you catch me if I fell?” she asked, looking down at him with sultry eyes.

But Tom met her gaze with a cold, impassive stare and answered plainly. “No.”

She laughed at him. “Villain.”

But she didn’t laugh for long because his caress was reaching higher up her naked skin, thumb brushing the silky expanse of her moving up and up and up until...

“You’re quite a little damp here,” he purred. “Already?”

“Don’t you dare make fun of me…”

“Tell me,” he continued, “is it just my presence, or my touch? Or perhaps you like the way I talk to you…”

“You are so smug.”

Tom grinned. He couldn’t deny it.

His palm held her thigh, supporting her, while his thumb massaged the edge of her plush folds, pressing on one playfully to ease her panties aside. The lace was already soaked and he could feel her heat seep into his cold hands. He hooked his thumb into the lace and pulled. Fainly from above, he heard her gasp.

Tom moved his head to rest against her knee and gazed upwards. A moan bubbled in his throat at the sight.

“Yes, I can see now just how lonely you were,” he grinned.

“Villain,” she hissed again at him in secret pleasure.

“Your villain.”

She whined frustratedly and glanced at him below with slitted eyes, her face half-hidden by her hair. Strands of it stuck to her face, clinging to the sweat and little tears that beaded in the corners of her eyes. When Tom tore himself away to look at her it seemed for a moment that a veil of dried blood or a lace of spider silk was cast across her face. He was utterly enchanted. He kissed the back of her knee and rubbed his cheek against it to bring his senses back. Then, in a slow, smooth and scraping motion all across her leg and moving upward, his thin hand, pale but for the ink stains on his fingers, slid all the way up to cup her core. He could feel her thighs tense around it and tremble as his fingers brushed her slit. He smiled contentedly at her shaky sigh as he moved his thumb to that pulsing little hole. He waited there, feeling how her subtle muscles worked while with the backs of his fingers, he gently pet her folds.

When he let go of her ankle, she immediately whined and held on tighter to the ladder but she was no closer to falling. In spite of what he’d said, Tom wouldn’t allow it.

“Shhh… I only want to lift your skirt a little. May I?”

“A-alright, but be careful…”

“Have I ever hurt you?”

“Not yet.”

“The cheek you have,” he tutted. “I shall have to slap it out of you, I see.”

“Tom! Not here!”

He couldn’t help but laugh. He loved seeing her frightened.

With more light falling on her skin as he raised her skirt he could see again those little details that had made his mouth water, but there was a charm in seeing her half-shadowed. It made him want to move even closer and complement what he could not see with touch, and taste, and scent, and take her in with all his senses. He placed his lips on her thigh to feel the muscles twitch beneath as she struggled to keep herself upright and still. He kept his eyes fixed on her core, the little of it he could see between his fingers, and watched how it pulsed and swelled and blushed a sultry shade and trembled as it closed around his thumb.

His feet shifted on the ground as his cock began to harden with nothing to soothe it. He could feel it growing warm against his thigh, the sensitive head just barely slipping out from underneath the skin in search of something quite out of its reach. It was the kind of pain he didn’t often get to feel and it made him slightly dizzy, but it only gave him cause to hang on more tightly to her.

Her body tried to coax him in, kissing and half-swallowing the little that he offered. Tom grinned and let her take it, his teeth sharp against the skin of her thighs while his thumb just rested there, then sunk into her greedy hole. She moved above him as her back arched once again, twisting in the grip of her pleasure at the slightest hint of touch inside. He felt her seeping down his thumb slick and sweet and warm.

“Do you feel good?” he asked with his lips still pressed in one long kiss against her upper thigh.

She mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch, probably not a word at all.

“What was that?” he asked again.

“Y-you’re cruel,” she breathed. “Give me more…”

Tom chuckled and kissed her thigh again, then with gentle and persistent pressure drove his thumb inside, curling it against her softest flesh while his fingers started playing with her clit. He trapped it between his index and middle finger and began to rub it back and forth.

“Ah! Aaaah! Tom!”

“Is that what you wanted?” he grinned, watching with enraptured eyes how she tightened around him.

Her nub was blushing fiercely, its tip erect and swollen where it was forced out of its protective hood by the slight press of his fingers. He nipped her thigh and thrust in harder, all the way up to the knuckle, and curled his thumb inside her on the outward thrust. The wooden ladder groaned again. His hand twisted slightly, playing with her flesh while above she screamed for him.

“Tom! D-don’t…”

“Hmm? What was that, my sweet?”

Her moans came out all muffled as if she was biting into something out of agony and pleasure. Between her legs, Tom was quite happy. His lips fluttered in light kisses at her thigh while he stuffed her with that little bit of him and abused her tender clit.

He felt her begin to unravel, her cries growing desperate and pouty and her hips twisting as much as they could. Her shoes shifted on the ladder steps beside him but she couldn’t really move. Tom grinned proudly, his heart growing twice over in his chest at hearing her so needy, so desperate for him. He shoved his thumb the whole way through and kept her plugged up like that while he brushed his knuckles on her clit, flicking over it without stopping as if punishing the tiny thing. She moaned and stilled as if her body was in shock, but her core clenched tight to suckle on his finger. She left a mess over his hand once she was done.

Tom chuckled and leaned a bit higher, bracing himself with one foot on the bottom rung to reach all that he wanted.

“Aaah! Too much! Tom, ‘s too m-much…”

He opened his mouth and let his warm breath tease her, then, moving his hand aside, added his tongue to his service of her. He lapped at the edge of her folds and slowly moved onto the centre. One thick swipe cleaned her pudgy nub and from there he dragged the mess lower, to the hot entrance that still encircled his thumb.

“Tom,” she sighed dreamily, her voice with no strength anymore. “Tom, I already… I…”

“Mmmm I know,” he whispered against her. “You can do it again, can’t you? For me?”

She whined petulantly but stayed where she was and let him have her.

Slowly, he dragged his thumb out, his lips there feeling the way her skin pulled as it clung, and once she was empty he was quick to put his tongue to work once again. She tasted so sweet, and salty from sweat, all of it just because of him… Tom lapped at her slit from clit to softening hole and dragged his tongue across her heavily until the tip could just slip inside. She whimpered above him and her body jerked, not quite a tremble, but he held on to her tightly enough. Wet noises bloomed all around them muffled by the cover of her skirt and her thighs around his face.

“Tom,” she whimpered, “Tom, wh-what if someone comes…”

“I hope someone will,” he grinned, the warm breath of his chuckle tickling her even more.

“I’mmm… I’m serious!”

He puckered his lips up and kissed her, sucking her sweetness into his mouth, then started to lap at her again. She was warm on his tongue, her centre still twitching in a greedy and hungry yearning for more. Underneath, his trousers were killing him, pressing tight against his cock that leaked and dribbled uselessly. He couldn’t even afford to rub himself lest he let her fall. Well, that was something to take care of later… He let his tongue slip into her hole again to tease it, sate it, then it slid out to tend to her clit.

“Tom!” she moaned a warning, her hips grinding mindlessly against his mouth. “Tom, I can’t…”

He held her hip with one hand, and her leg with the other, fixed his lips on her and started licking messily, noisily, rubbing her whole centre as fresh wetness flowed straight onto his tongue. He kissed her throbbing hole as if it were her lovely mouth. As if he could drink her life from it.

“Tooom!” she cried, and he felt her core flexing again in a sudden orgasm, filling his mouth with fresh honey made just for him.

He barely had time to react when he felt her body start to shake from her legs up to her tummy in a pleasure that spread like a wave. Her moans had faded to low, heaving breaths, and Tom could almost feel her strength leave her. His arms reached out to grip her waist and control her unexpected descent as she tumbled, sapless, into his arms. He found his footing quickly and held her up. Her foot tangled only on the last step.

“Ooof… There are you,” he chuckled, holding her around the waist. “Alright now?”

He let her lean back against his chest while she found her footing but as he looked down at her sweaty, flushed face, he realised with a proud grin that her eyes were closed in pleasure.

“Darling?”

“I’m here,” she said, her voice weak and shaky. “I’m… mmmm…”

“Yes, you certainly are,” he purred, nuzzling the back of her neck.

She giggled, still catching her breath, and her head lolled heavily back on his shoulder. She looked like the most sated cat lifted from a sea of milk. Infected by the sight, Tom found himself smiling too. His gaze slid to her lips and he leaned forward, kissing the edge of her mouth.

“You were drooling,” he whispered teasingly.

She frowned and seemed ready to protest, but licked the corners of her lips just in case. “If I were, it’s your fault.”

He was getting ready to say something witty again, his grip growing tighter around her, but then, like a death knell, the bell rang.

“Buongiorno?” someone called out. It was Sister Silvia, one of her most beloved regulars.

“Buh— Buongiorno!” she said in a panic, rushing out of Tom’s arms and frantically straightening her skirt. “I’m… here! Coming right now!”

“Oh, I thought you already did,” he whispered in her ear.

She slapped his hands from around her hips and tugged at her skirt a little more.

“Evil boy,” she mumbled as she pulled herself out of his arms, but she was smiling.

[redheadwannabesblog]

Weasleys revenge: missing scene HBP

A few days after Ron getting poisoned Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna sat in the hospital wing with him. Ginny had dropped off a stack of old editions of Quidditch Monthly that she’d thought Ron would like. Luna placed a large pink crystal next to his bed that she swore would speed his recovery. 

Hermione grimaced but at the look Ginny shot her said it was a very nice thought. Hermione tried to convince Ron to catch up on some schoolwork but he just groaned “what’s the point of nearly dying if I can’t even get out of a few essays.”

The doors to the hospital wing swung open and Romilda Vane came charging in flanked by two girls Harry vaguely recognized from the train. It took him a moment to realize it was in fact Romilda because her pale skin and dark hair had turned a deep green color. She looked like the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz that he had seen glimpses of before the Dursley’s had quickly changed the channel on the TV. 

Romilda looked straight at Ginny and spat “you did this to me didn’t you!!!”

Ginny looked up at her in mock surprise and said simply “ I don’t know what you are talking about. What is it you think I’ve done?”

“This, you witch! My hair! my skin! I look like I’m covered in moss. Get it off me!!”

Despite being shouted at Ginny looked up calmly. “Are you accusing me of turning you green?”

“Of course I am! Who else would’ve been mental enough to do this?!”

Hermione jumped up clearly in Prefect mode when Ginny stood and walked towards Romilda. 

“Well Romilda, poisoning another student is a serious accusation. Something like that would be enough to earn someone a month of detention if they weren’t suspended. So I hope you have some evidence other than me being mental. 

But we should get to the bottom of this. Tell me did whoever poison you leave something behind, like I don’t know were they stupid enough to sign their name?” 

At this she held out a small bit of parchment toward Romilda that Harry recognized as the note from the box of spiked chocolate cauldrons. He wondered briefly how she had found it before turning his attention back to the scene unfolding. Hermione looked concerned. Ron was looking on in great interest as nothing this exciting had happened in days. 

Romilda stared down at the note. 

“Oh come on! that was harmless.”

Ginny calm was gone at this. Anger flushed her face and the note in her hand was crumbled in her clenched fist. 

“HARMLESS! 

You tried to poison my friend, you actually poisoned my brother and  he could have died! “

“That wasn’t my fault and I got that potion from your other brothers BY THE WAY!”

“Oh believe me Fred and George already got an earful and they have learned their lesson and recalled the last of those awful love potions. Nothing about this was harmless and Ron wouldn’t be in that bed if it wasn’t for you! So maybe whoever turned you green wanted you to know what being forced into something outside of your control feels like!!!”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Everyone jumped to see madam Pomfrey standing behind them looking livid. 

“Miss Vane, I’m am sure the coloring is temporary. Go grab a bed over there and I will be right with you. I’m sure your friends can leave you alone for a little while.”

Romilda marched to a bed as far from Ginny as possible. And hid herself behind a curtain. 

Madam Pomfrey looked at Ginny. Who had gone back to her seat between a stunned looking Ron and a gleeful Luna. 

“Now do you have ideas on what might remove that coloring, Miss Weasley.”

“I never said it was me who did it.” Ginny said trying and failing to look innocent. 

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I only meant hypothetically”

Ginny looked up at her and said slowly “hypothetically it would probably wash away with a bit of rosewater”.

The matron turned and walked towards her medicine cabinet. 

“Wow Ginny” said Ron smugly “I had no idea you cared so much.”

“Oh shut up and read your magazine. And don’t look at me like that Granger you once trapped a woman in a jar and transported her across England, so don’t judge me. “

Harry burst out laughing. Ginny’s glower disappear and she started laughing too. The monster in his chest was beaming. 

[onmydelulushitasalways]

the marauders with a nurse reader

Characters: James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black

Synopsis: The Marauders have a tendency to get into trouble, and consequently getting hurt. They’re well acquainted with the matron of the hospital wing. What they weren’t acquainted with was you - the matron’s new assistant

James Potter

James had been knocked off his broom by a foul-sport Slytherin during his latest quidditch match. His broken bones were quickly mended, but the severe concussion he faced left him in the hospital wing for a week.

Not that he was complaining with the cute [your Hogwarts house] student working there.

James tried to be sly, like Sirius had taught him. He tried to flirt and wink and make you blush. But the way his heart monitor picked up in pace whenever you were around gave him away.

“You’re burning up, James,” you frowned, sat on his hospital bed, feeling his forehead.

“I feel fine,” the Potter tried to come off smoothly, but his voice was breathy and lovestruck.

“You’re all red, Potter. I think I better call Madam -“

“No!” he cried out all too desperately. “I mean, no. No, you don’t need to do that. I’m alright. Just stay here with me. That’s all I need.”

“Smooth, Potter. And clever too. But your glasses are fogging up,” you smiled as you went to go get him some water.

Once you were safely out of sight, James raced to clean his glasses. He wasn’t nearly as clever as he thought he was.

Remus Lupin

During the last full moon, Remus had gotten a bit scratched up. He considered hiding his injuries, but the risk of an infection caused Remus to head to the matron. Consequently, spending three days in the hospital wing.

His friends kept him company, but when they couldn’t, he had you. A sweet and curious [your Hogwarts house] who would sit on the edge of his bed and talk to him.

“So how did you get these scratches?” you inquired as you rubbed disinfectant on the decently fresh wounds.

“It’s a secret, I’m afraid,” he sighed.

“Trying to avoid a detention? I won’t tell on you, I swear!”

“No, I believe you. I just… I can’t say. I’d rather discuss something else. How about you?”

“Me? Well I work in the hospital wing for extra credit. But I also just like seeing the patients,” you shrugged.

“Do you like seeing me?” The moment the words left his mouth, Remus wanted to take it back. He sounded like Sirius, flirting with you. He hoped he didn’t come off too forward. He hoped he didn’t make you uncomfortable.

“Yes. Yes, I like seeing you.”

Remus warmed up. He suddenly became very aware of the way your hands massaged the disinfectant into his scratches so gently.

“I like seeing you too,” he mumbled.

Sirius Black

“I’m dying over here, darling!” A dramatic Sirius whined from his hospital bed. “I require attention! Assistance! Affection!”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t’ve gotten into a duel with a Ravenclaw. She hexed you into next term!”

“I’m skilled in other ways, love. Believe me.”

“Oh, I do, Black. But I’m not your love, or your darling, or your sweetheart, or your baby, honey, princess. If you want attention, go find some groupie. Otherwise, I’ll go find that Ravenclaw.”

“Ouch. What’d I do wrong?” Sirius feigned hurt.

“You’re annoying,” you stated bluntly.

“Egad!” Sirius clutched his heart in mock agony. “If I’m so annoying, why don’t you just heal me already? Then I’ll be out of your hair!”

“It isn’t that simple, Black,” you sighed, as you started ruffling through a nearby drawer.

“Or is it maybe that you just enjoy my company? Maybe even like me?”

“Don’t be delusional. I only hang out with you because it is my job to look after patients.”

“If that’s what you say, love. But things would go by a lot quicker if you just gave me all your attention and got me out of here.”

“You’re messing with me. I either ignore you, and you stay here. Or I get you out of here by giving you all my attention. You win in both cases!”

“Yes, well, that is because even though you might not like me, I like you.”

“I’m sure you say that to plenty of girls. You probably said that to the Ravenclaw who put you here!”

“True. But with you, I mean it.”

[seanofbeankeep]

Drow House Glyphs have the ‘mother matron doodled it on her notepad while as a student at Arach-Tinilith and now it’s our house mark’ vibe

Esp Do’Urden and DeVir

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

On a rainy afternoon, Voldemort walks in on Harry fresh from the bath, water still beading at the ends of his hair. He must’ve been out flying and, like a fool, hadn’t come back before the storm that had been threatening made good – his sodden clothes trail like breadcrumbs across their bedroom floor.

Voldemort would give Harry yet another lecture about leaving his things all over the place, but. Harry. In just a towel. He has his priorities in order.

Harry takes his baths at ungodly hot temperatures, and while Voldemort avoids the water, he thoroughly enjoys pressing up against his flushed, warm husband afterwards. Harry grins at him, accustomed to his predilection for wrapping around the younger man’s back and basking in the heat practically radiating off him.

The near-boiling water also emphasises where Harry’s many scars mar his body, the shiny whites and textured purplish-browns standing out against his skin more than usual. 

Voldemort adores Harry’s scars. He’s unashamed of how many he caused, directly or indirectly – they’re a part of their history, after all. He’s been marking Harry as his from the start, though the intention was very different when the famous lightning bolt he’s tracing with his finger was first formed.

Harry, well used to Voldemort’s fascination with his scars, sighs with long-suffering amusement and lets him continue his exploration. 

(It had taken a long time for Harry to feel comfortable with Voldemort’s attention on his body; even longer to let Voldemort look at his bare skin with the lights on. There were still days when the younger man would shift self-consciously under his appreciative gaze.

It remained a work in progress – one to which Voldemort would happily apply himself whenever given the chance.)

He knows Harry’s body better than his own by this point, but it never ceases to captivate him. This body withstood his many efforts to destroy it (avada kedavra, basilisk fang, ritual knife, locket horcrux), his worthless relatives (latticeworks of fine white lines decorating his hands and forearms and shins, shiny patches from untended skinned knees, rough splotches from burns), and the tender mercies of Dumbledore’s machinations. 

Voldemort runs his fingers gently over each mark he finds, pressing his lips against Harry’s shoulders, throat and jaw as he pleases to distract his boy.

When he gets to the back of Harry’s right hand, the other man tenses briefly as he always does. How odd, that of all the scars on his body, this is the one that lingers in his mind – that causes him shame and anger when reminded of it.

Voldemort draws the hand up to his mouth and nips at the scar before continuing on, not giving it any special significance and hoping Harry will learn to do the same.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Later, once Harry’s shaken Voldemort off long enough to get dressed, they’re curled up together on the library couch under a blanket and a gently snoring Nagini, watching the rain fall in sheets against the windowpane.

“Did you have scars before?” Harry asks so softly it’s barely audible over the crackle of the fireplace.

Voldemort thinks back to the cuts and scrapes he’d get at Wool’s that would heal practically overnight, with nary a trace remaining thanks to his magic. He remembers bloody fingers from trimming quill ends and learning the difference between slicing, dicing, mincing and chopping potions ingredients and the effects of each method – he’d acquired a bottle of dittany to take care of those. (If the matron didn’t want students to wander off with her supplies, she should’ve guarded them better.)

He thinks of the sixth-year Slytherins who’d tried to carve ‘mudblood’ into his back when he was twelve. They’d just finished the U when he’d mastered the shock and pain enough to lash out with his wandless magic and make them regret being born.

“I did.”

That wound never healed properly. The scar tissue would tug if he twisted a certain way.

He certainly doesn’t miss it.

(And perhaps he understands Harry’s hatred for the scar on his right hand – there’s something different about having letters incised into you. A revulsion; a degradation.)

Harry turns his head to press his temple against Voldemort’s cheek, offering silent comfort.

Voldemort feels the faintest flicker of rage at the memory, but he draws Harry closer and lets the anger drift away. It’s not important anymore.

[childotkw]

For the Listening Ears AU, how does Snape react to Harry's abilities? Does Snape still hate Harry even though he's in Slytherin?

Snape’s never hated Harry, but he’s always been suitably freaked out by him in this AU. Harry being a Slytherin puts an immediate stop to a lot of the canon bullshit behaviour we see Snape aim at him - if anything, Snape just pretends Harry doesn’t exist unless there’s a way to leverage his skills for an obscene amount of points for Slytherin.

Harry, for his part, doesn’t like or trust Snape the same way he doesn’t like or trust any authority figure beyond the orphanage matron.

Harry’s abilities do bother Snape, but he’s not affected by them because his mental defences are so top-notch. A siren’s voice can’t affect Snape.

But he’s rightly concerned over what Harry could potentially do with it, at first. Despite Harry being reserved and selectively mute, Snape still makes the mistake of assuming he’s been spoiled rotten. In the first year, he doesn’t know Harry was with the Dursleys, he doesn’t know about Dudley’s accident, or that Harry ran away and is now at an orphanage.

He thinks he spent his childhood being the prince of the wizarding world, and him having an ability that could literally force anyone to do anything unless they’ve specifically trained their minds to resist it? Yeah. He thinks Harry would abuse the fuck out of that.

He is, originally, supportive of Dumbledore’s idea to…suppress Harry’s ability while he’s outside Hogwarts. At least in the school he can be monitored and observed. Out in the wild though there’s nothing they can do to keep Harry from hypnotising every little person he comes across.

Snape refuses to see that Harry doesn’t talk. He refuses to think of why everyone he speak to - Draco, the first years, the older Slytherins, the teachers - all say they’ve never heard Harry say a word that wasn’t a hoarse, uncomfortable whisper.

His indifference leads to several misunderstandings - up to and including when Draco approaches him about the collar. Draco’s still young, caught between wanting to help his friend and not betraying his privacy until Snape agrees to help.

Only Snape hears ‘Harry’ and ‘suppressed’ and ‘acting strange’ and thinks ‘Potter’s complaining like a brat about having his special toy taken away from him’, and so shuts Draco down.

They never go to him again.

It’s only towards third year that Snape finally catches a clue as to what Dumbledore actually meant by suppress, and that his students have been trying to find away around a fucking collar that damages a young boy’s throat and vocal cords and magical core if he tries to use any aspect of his creature side.

He’s…disturbed.

Even more so when he finally, finally approaches Harry for a talk only to find an incredibly blank-faced, jaded young boy that stares at him with Lily’s eyes and a complete lack of trust in anyone but a handful of other children.

Because Harry’s long past asking for help when every adult has smacked his reaching hand away again and again.

Because Harry’s sick of giving second, third, fourth chances to people who always show up (finally, finally he’s so sick of finally) too fucking late to do anything.

[bethanydelleman]

Giggling at your and anon wishing instead for OPTIONS for Fanny. I was thinking it's odd that Ms. Austen decided that her crush on Edmund was reciprocated at the end when she could've been given justice of some sort with how she's been looked and talked over.

It feels like she's out of choices but then I suppose she is out of choices in the end. This is a woman who is shy in an era where you gotta put yourself out there to be seen by the society and she's not even on a level in a society for her to be out and noticed by the gentlemen even if she does, rank-wise

Which is why my friend and I (who has no talent whatsoever in writing) been talking about this writing idea; a boarding school AU where all the Austen ladies is in it,

Mind you we were just going by vibe and not accurate research, so we put Elinor Dashwood, and Maria Bertram, Mary Crawford and Lucy Steele, Caroline Bingley are in the same year, being the oldest

Eleanor Tilney, Jane Bennet, Emma, and Jane Fairfax are in the same year below the others already mentioned

Elizabeth and Marianne are in the year below them

Mary Bennet and Harriet

Catherine Morland and Lydia Bennet

(the ages are 13-18)

Anne Elliot is one of the matrons

This is kind of controversial, for me and I'm not really a fan of this concept myself tbh, but it'll be kind of a fanfictiony story like the Bridgerton with the society being a little more lenient (lol?); because it's a mixed boarding school

The plot is basically all the stuff in the Austen og universe but they're not all the same, the ages can be tweaked a bit lol, with some plot tangled with the other stories but they're leading to the same endings like, so.....

Catherine doesn't marry while studying, but she keeps talking about the Tilneys because she has a penpal whom she met in Bath before school started, she didn't realize that said penpal has a sister who studies in the same school

Catherine's really that student that just spent most of her time in the library, not studying per se, reading novels, she often has to be told to focus in class for daydreaming

and then one summer vacation spends the entire break at Northanger Abbey,

Later, after new semester starts, Lydia tells her sister in an offhand remark that Catherine seemed really down and her visit to Northanger seemed to be the reason.

Her studies decline even more when she was upset about the whole Gen Tilney situation and one evening she goes to their dorm matron to ask for advice; that's Anne, and there Catherine finds a crying Lucy Steele who had just been visited by Fanny Dashwood and basically well, verbally harassed by a visiting older sister of Edward Ferrars

My friend was adamant we either pair up Fanny Price with an oc (original character) or with~~ Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, in this AU of ours is an exchange student, same with Mr. Willoughby

Willoughby is an exchange student for a year who got attached to Marianne, and then gradually stops replying to her letters after he left their school. Colonel Brandon is one of the school beneficiaries

One of the classes go for a trip to Lyme with Captain Wentworth as one of the guides and that's where Louisa smacks her head and later fellow poetry club member Benwick falls for her (or not! I'm also not comfortable with this pairing tbh.Louisa had a one-sided crush on Capt Wentworth)

I'm sorry this is sooooo long. My friend and O kept going at it from the side of the female characters only tbh and we didn't quite know where to put Darcy and Bingley. Are they students? Or older students visiting from Oxford? Horse riding enthusiasts and club members, sharing a hobby with Elizabeth? We don't know 😂

Hope you like it! It's not going anywhere because we are both not writers, but it's a good giggling source! :D

You should write this! The only thing that makes a "writer" is writing. Go for it. It sounds fun!

[galedekarios]

Oh wait now I’m curious what the backstory reasons behind Alton’s physical design are! He’s very handsome and I crave the oc lore.

thank you so much for asking about altonaufein. i really truly do appreciate it a lot! 🖤he's the favourite of my bg3 ocs.

his development and growth as a character is mostly tied to his hair and how he presents himself, so this is what i focused on for my choices throughout the game:

altonaufein was born as the third child but first son to matron ithrana of house hlarahel, a younger brother to his eldest sister nadriina and the second-born iraeae.

house hlarahel of ust natha has produced a long line of powerful clerics in service to lolth so altonaufein, with his natural talent and inlination for both the divine and the art of combat, was trained as a cleric to aid drow scouting and raiding parties:

this is how his hair would have looked then--perhaps even longer as the cc allows us--white hair worn long and open, symbolising lolth's demon webs, her reach and control on her drow, despite altonaufein's dreams of a bright moon hanging in a dark sky he has never seen.

i will put the rest under a cut because a) it's very, very long so sorry in advance and b) because it deals with some very heavy themes so if you aren't comfortable reading, you absolutely do not have to!

(cw assault/rape, cw mind manipulation, cw enslavement, cw drow society in general tbh)

drow society is a matriarchal society, where male drow are considered lesser, and it functions under a particular set of rules:

"The cruelty and injustice of Drow society are utterly familiar because they are constants, from the womb onward. Drow mothers punish and manipulate from the start, and Drow women rule each household. Typically, nobles are divided up into houses which jockey for position in the city, and each noble house is headed by a cleric of great skill. A wise matron mother will have several cleric daughters to ensure that her line and influence continues, but she will watch them carefully. Inheritance is passed through daughters, with children ranked in importance by gender, and then by age. A matron will guard against her eldest daughters and pit all of her children against each other to ensure her own survival." "Drow children are not coddled. They are raised together and sent to schools with high standards of conduct. Drow children are trained to compete with one another and to show no mercy. Some children do not survive the intense childhood games." "The Drow are infamous for their torture practices, as well they should be. Among the elves of the beginning times, they were the first to experiment with the sensation of pain. They have honed torture into science and psychological treatment. Drow parents will punish their children with pain and humiliation in very tactical ways. Drow students are publicly punished in front of their fellow students and class clowns are rare (although pranks for which no one was apprehended are remembered by Drow students as legends of a sort). Drow adults are not all masters of torture, but they have seen enough pain to know how to make others hurt. Not all Drow use physical pain as their modus operandi. A good many are adept at humiliation and terrible mind games. Some slaves are so broken mentally that all they can do is concentrate on the task at hand. Some Drow actually do not like to put forth the effort that torture requires and would rather kill someone than waste their energy. The worst punishments are said to come from those closest to Lolth - the yochlol and the clerics. They are whispered to be divinely inspired."

these are the circumstances that shaped altonaufein as much as it did nadriina and iraeae, who, in the tradition of house hlarahel, are both striving to become powerful priestesses of lolth in their own right, seeking to inherit control of the house from matron mother.

drow house politics are insane and it's all encouraged by lolth. lolth wants to determine who of her followers are worthy enough to be supported by her, so all drow have to pass a test of faith, a trial of lolth.

after altonaufein foolishly (he truly did love--in a way that drow are capable of--his sister iraeae and confided in her visions that spoke not of lolth or a great spider swallowing the world, but of a moon, shining bright silver.

iraeae felt conflicted. she, too, loved her brother in her own way. of course that weakness was what made her realise what she had to do: weed it out. so she told not only nadriina, but her her mother. it was then decided that altonaufein was not simply to die.

they would not further shame their own house like that. instead he would be put through his trial of lolth, to weed out that weakness and corruption within their own ranks. should he die, he'd be a sacrifice to lolth, should he live, he would prove lolth's favour to their house and advance them further in ust natha's society.

altonaufein with that was sentenced to undergo the test of strength. power and resourcefulness, whether or not the subject is strong and clever enough to defeat a powerful foe. the test is only fulfilled by a battle to the death between the test subject and another, stronger person, sometimes a creature.

the fight is usually difficult, and the test subject often has to expend all their resources to survive and vanquish their foe, who must be slain: the more brutal, the longer drawn out the fight, the more you've suffered and the more your foe has suffered, the more it will satisfy lolth.

altonaufein earned his first brutal kill like that. he had just reached maturity.

nadriina had hoped he would die. winning the trial had garnered favour and attention. a strong male could be just as dangerous as a scheming female. she devised a plan with iraeae to ensure that they would not be threatened and, with that, iraeae passed her own trial of lolth: chwidevbrii, or the test of betrayal.

it's a punishment that strikes particularly deep. trust is a distasteful concept to drow, though they understand that sometimes it does happen and is even necessary. to rid themselves of this, to succeed at this test, the drow must betray someone who has garnered her trust or in whom she has placed her trust.

mentors, teachers, leaders, friends, family members. as long as there has been a solid connection of dependence made in the past. the relationship between master and slave or servant does not count; the goddess knows that no betrayal can happen in such a relationship. it is simply a slave. the drow must utterly destroy the other drow in a way that allows her to advance in some manner. the method is not important: blackmail, slander, torture... magic. in the end, the victim must die or be thoroughly disgraced and dominated. usually, the victim is murdered by the drow herself, commits suicide, or is killed as a result of the drow's action.

so what better way to show to her goddess that she is a true drow, that she is worthy, what better way than to serve the house than humiliating and dominating someone who was once a little brother.

drow females are able to take over the mind of a male drow just like that, with a spell, akin to a thrall. all thoughts are gone, all will is gone. your mind is not your own anymore.

iraeae did just that: after he was beaten, whipped, mental and physical defences exhausted, the spell on altonaufein took hold and, as perhaps a final "kindness" in her utter triumph, altonaufein was discarded in ust natha's dark underbelly.

ust natha has a tavern. to entertain both those lusting for blood, for sport, and for more carnal pursuits. altonaufein still remembers szordrin and sondal, the keepers of the tavern. their taunting faces. mind gone, he and others were kept in a cage. he served there for a while. to fight. to please. to be of use. to those who asked. to those who had power or gold. for battle. for pleasure.

he was there, under that spell, until it broke: iraeae dead by her sister's hand. betrayed just like altonaufein had been by her. altonaufein doesn't remember how long it lasted, remembers only parts of it: the many hands, more than hands, the pain. he remembers fighting. other drow. other prisoners. the surface. running. the moon. fever. then nothing for a long time again.

and finally, karl:

karl is an ilmater cleric, a part of a small settlement built around a modest church of ilmater that, unknowingly, is very close to an entrance to the underdark.

during one of his patrols with another of the settlement, karl found altonaufein: delirious with fever, malnourished, ravaged by old wounds that never truly healed, hair tangled.

any other man might have killed the defenseless drow, thinking it to be a ruse, or perhaps to put him out of his misery, but karl is an ilmateri through and through, for better and for worse, and so he shouldered this suffering and brought altonaufein to the temple. he was tasked with caring for him. and watching him.

so karl came to care for the drow: he cleaned and dressed his wounds, sat by him. tried to talk to him, engage him in moments of clarity and despite the obvious language barrier. karl, an ex-soldier and deserter, was forced to fight for his homeland cormyr against sembia. he saw a lot of cruelty during that war. a lot of violence, both in battle and outside of it. in the villages and cities that were torched and conquered and pillaged. he saw a lot then and sees a lot of it now in altonaufein, who survived a different kind of war.

as for altonaufein himself, he tries to settle into that new life, tries to come to terms with what he remembers of his old one... it was incredibly violating. he remembers only snippets. moments. sudden movements and motions, that send his heart racing.

the clearest memory is a hand gripping his hair so tightly, pulling and guiding. it's not anymore, but he still feels it.

he hasn't brushed it or touched it since his rescue, it's a tangled, matted–and it’s also something that hasn’t escaped karl’s notice.

altonaufein goes to cut it with the only blade he could find (stolen and kept on his person from one of the meals karl had shared with him).

(ilmater clerics and priests are good and nice, but they are also no fools who would give a drow access to sharp weaponry. kindness goes only so far, even here, no matter how much karl vouches for altonaufein.)

so altonaufein begins to cut it with a dulled blade and it goes about as badly as you'd imagine: it's hard to do, it hurts, and the strands that he manages to cut are choppy (which is the least of his worries). he still manages to hurt himself simply by the virtue of hard he is trying and how badly his hands are shaking with it.

karl would find him, take one look at him and leave, coming back with honeyed tea to soothe frazzled nerves and a sharper blade, one of his own. he drinks the tea first from the little teapot, pouring himself one cup and another for altonaufein, to show him it's not poisoned or meddled with. he had noticed how skittish altonaufein was with things he hadn't seen being prepared.

they sit there for a while before altonaufein, too, calms enough to drink his cup, and it is only then that karl begins to speak, voice soft but clear.

he takes up the sharp blade, lets it rest on his hands just so, where altonaufein could reach out and take it at any time, and tells him of what could happen: he could leave the blade with altonaufein and he can try again, but karl would prefer it if he could help, clean the cuts and nicks and heal them, and help altonaufein cut his hair.

altonaufein looks at him for a long time, searching his eyes, still holding onto that dull blade as a last defense, but there is no deception in karl, none at all. only that strange kindness that he has come to associate with the human.

it was one of many, many small gestures, things, that karl did for altonaufein that made him trust karl. trust him enough to at first take food and drink from him, later to help fix injuries like this one--and finally, to let him cut his hair.

he turns his back on karl--even though the human might not realise fully how meaningful that truly is--so he can do as he had said he would. and karl does. he keeps his word.

time passes and altonaufein settles into his new life, bit by bit. he helps with that he can at the temple and the settlement: repairing fences, caring for the animals, the harvest, building and repairing things.

he still wears his hair short, but here and there, he allows it to grow just that bit longer than it had been for a long while now:

and it's this way when the settlement is attacked and he is captured on the nautiloid.

on his journey to find a cure, and to find karl, he meets another human, just as kind as the ilmateri. one who knows the goddess behind the light and moon he had dreamed of, prayed to, albeit not knowing just how to, and gives her a name that altonaufein had not known until then: eilistraee, lady silverhair--and a close friend to the man's own goddess, mystra.

this bond between them, beginning with a moment of connection, grows ever closer and brighter.

through them, karl and gale, with them and alongside them, altonaufein begins to heal and helps them heal in return, begins to find his purpose and helps them find theirs:

he is a cleric of eilistraee. he can be more than a tool for bloodshed and violence.

he's not kulg llarzoran ithrana qualla hlarahel (his designation as a male of his house). he's not auflaque (dog) as he was called during his captivity. he is simply altonaufein and that's what he is to gale, to karl and the friends he has made.

settling in waterdeep with them, altonaufein joins the promenade and its leader trelasarra zuind. to help others as he had been helped.

🖤

[malereader-inserts]

To the Moon

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Remus Lupin & Son!Reader Summary: To one werewolf to another Word Count: 1,130 Request: Can I request a dad Remus fic where the son reader is a werewolf and starting to distance from Remus, but he later finds out (idk if this English is good sobs but I love Remus sm) A/n: Harry Potter has been on tv and I've basically rewatched the franchise so much that it has rekindled my love for dad!Remus

"You look nervous."

Hermione glared at Ron, who put his hands up in defence before mumbling something to Harry, who promptly smacked him in the head with some parchment paper. This, in turn, made you smile a bit, watching Ron run his head, looking at you sheepishly before sighing and trying again.

"What I mean is, that," Ron struggled to find words, his eyebrows knitted together as you wait patiently for him, "Lupin is very understanding..."

Harry sighed at his best friend's hopelessness, "Remus won't be mad at you (Y/n), and I think you know that as well, yeah, he might be a bit upset but with himself and not with you. It's not your fault at the end of the day."

"How were we supposed to know that Greyback was waiting in the forbidden forest waiting for the full moon?"

"Not helping, Ronald," Hermione hissed at him.

"It's okay," You reassured, sinking further into the train seat, leaning your head against the window, and watching the outside move past.

After the summer, you had a great relationship with your dad, you were absolutely devastated that he had to resign from his role as a professor as you knew it had brought him such happiness, but that summer was full of fun and happiness with your dad - he even let you join the Weasleys to watch the Quidditch match. But, when you returned to Hogwarts, everything went downhill.

Within the first month, Fenrir Greyback wanted revenge. He was still hungry for revenge on the Lupins when he found out there was one more, running around normally. The fourth year was hell for you. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Pomfrey were all there to be by your side. You look into the eyes of your head of the house and the matron, and you could see flashbacks within them - knowing they see Remus in you.

You barely sent letters back to your dad, never once talking about this new condition of yours, you had support from your friends, but they were busy. Harry was focused on the Triwizard, and you spent most days distracting yourself with helping him or your studies. Ron was mostly in a mood with Harry, so you hardly saw him during the year before he turned around to help Harry. Hermione was the most helpful, but there was only so much one could do.

You didn't go home for Christmas, making up an excuse, with Remus accepted.

Remus did usually wonder what was occurring on your side, he was always thrilled to see your letter come into the post, but was often disheartened when they were infrequent. Your letters were often short and Remus could sense that there wasn't much joy within your letters. Frequently, he lies awake, wanting to ask what has happened, but he couldn't overstep.

But, as you were returning home for the summer, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread brewing within you. You didn't want to see or even talk to him, but you couldn't avoid him forever. As the train comes to a halt, you could see Arthur and Molly, and next to them was your dad. You swallowed your nerves down as you grabbed your stuff and exited the train.

You could see in the distance that there were some students who stopped by your dad, to say hello and have quick conversations, telling him that he was missed dearly by various different students. You softly smile at yourself, that your dad had made an impact on students' lives despite being known as a werewolf.

As you approach, you couldn't help yourself and hug your dad, who chuckled and hugged you tightly. He was still looming over you, you hadn't grown much during the year, so as he went to kiss your head, he saw some scarring underneath your shirt and jumper. His heart started to race as he sees familiar bite marks, you pulled away from him, and he puts a fake smile towards you.

You turn your attention to the Weasley parents, who gave you a hug as well. Remus turns to look at Hermione, with a look in his eyes. Hermione, who couldn't lie for her life, slowly nodded before quickly turning around to give her attention to anywhere but Remus'.

Remus' heart sank, and everything was slowly making sense. The lack of letters, the lack of enthusiasm in the words, talking about everything and anything but yourself - it started to make sense. You look back at your dad, who throws his arm over you and pull you tight to his side.

There was awkward tension when you arrived home, you knew what the plans were, that it wasn't to stay home for long before moving to the Order's base. But, you could cut the tension with a knife between you and Remus.

You barely leave your room, Remus would try to lure you out by watching reruns of your favourite shows, or even going out to the cinema to watch the latest movie. He wanted to do stuff with you to keep you preoccupied, anything or everything in the muggle world.

But nothing.

So, one morning, he knocks on your door and lets himself in, seeing you awake, just staring at nothing. He sighed as he creeps up to your bed and softly sits on it. Placing a gentle hand upon your hair. Your eyes move to him and his heart breaks - all he could see was fear. You're just a scared boy, you don't know much about this new situation.

"You know?" You asked so quietly, almost as if you were ashamed, Remus couldn't help but see himself in you, "I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," Remus reassured you, not wanting you to work yourself up, he continues to brush your hair with his hand, "There's nothing to be sorry for, it wasn't your fault, was it? It's not like you went wandering into the- you didn't did you?"

There was a light tease to his voice at the end, he knows you weren't wandering in the forest after curfew, it was just a little joke to make you smile. Which worked in Remus' favour.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really..." You murmured, "Not right now, can we do anything else?"

Remus chuckled and nodded, "Reruns of your show?"

"Yeah."

Remus nodded, he stood up, ready to walk out of the room and find your show on the television. But, he couldn't help but stop at your doorway.

"You know, there's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm always going to be here for you, no matter what happened or what you do in life. Your dad will always be there."

Remus lingers for a second as your lips turn upwards into a smile.

"Thanks, dad."

[akajustmerry]

"The course I teach on black women writers is a consistent favorite among students. The last semester that I taught this course we had the usual passionate discussion of Nella Larsen's novel Passing. When I suggested to the class (which had been more eager to discuss the desire of black folks to be white) that Clare, the black woman who has passed for white all her adult life and married a wealthy white businessman with whom she has a child, is the only character in the novel who truly desires "blackness" and that it is this desire that leads to her murder, no one responded. Clare boldly declares that she would rather live for the rest of her life as a poor black woman in Harlem than as a rich white matron downtown. I asked the class to consider the possibility that to love blackness is dangerous in a white supremacist culture-so threatening. so serious a breach in the fabric of the social order, that death is the punishment."

bell hooks in Black Looks: Race and Representation. Chapter 1: Loving Blackness as Political Resistance

[miniwrites1]

In the Dark - Dark!Sebastian Sallow (Part 3)

Links to Part 1, Part 2 (If you want to read it, please read the warnings, the story should still make sense if you don't)

Word Count - 2.7k

Warnings - Description of violence, description of injury, blood.

Your eyelids fluttered open slowly, blinking to adjust to the light pouring into the room. As your vision focussed, you tried to register where you were. Stacks of old books and parchment covered the walls, animated paintings staring at you, casting you looks of sympathy. Your brow furrowed, unable to understand why.

You felt a fiery pain in your back and wrists. What had happened to you? You looked down at yourself, your clothes still intact, almost flawless.

“It mustn’t have been a duel.” You thought to yourself, knowing that you’d look more dishevelled than you did now. You tried to remember what happened, but you were unable to pick out any memory that stood out to you. You sighed softly, glancing up at the painting in front of you. An elegant woman, wearing a white dress who had tears falling down her cheeks.

“Do you know what happened to me?” You asked, feeling like you were losing your mind trying to speak to a painting. The woman in white nodded. You glanced down at the floor, spotting a few specks of red staining. Blood.

“What happened to me?” You yelled at the woman in the painting, she shook her head meekly, using her hand to try and signal something. You tried to focus on the hand movements, finally realising that the woman was unable to speak. You sighed, grimacing as the pain in your back became more intense, it seemed like a trip to the infirmary was in order.

As you left the room of requirement and began the long walk to the hospital wing, a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. The circumstances to you waking up in the room of requirement was concerning enough, coupled with the pain that you felt you couldn’t help but feel that something terrible had happened.

You’d only been to the hospital wing once before, to visit Natty after her brush with Harlow but it struck you as a very intimidating place, not one that you’d ever planned on visiting yourself. You gently pushed the door open, the movement of your arm causing pain to ripple through your back and wrists again. You winced as you stepped through the door, the hospital matron, Madam Blainey looked over at the sound of the door opening and spotted you as you entered. A concerned look graced her features.

“Are you alright dear?” She called out to you, at the bedside of another student. You grimaced again as you lowered your arm.

“I’m not sure Madam Blainey.” You responded softly. She tilted her head slightly, trying to assess you for any obvious injuries before walking towards you, meeting you in the middle of the room.

“You look to be in pain dear, what’s causing it?” She asked calmly, sympathy lacing her voice. You looked up at her, she seemed to tower over you as you stood before her.

“My back and wrists.” You replied in a small voice. Madam Blainey gave you a small, reassuring smile, guiding you over to an empty bed. She instructed you to remove your outer robes and your blouse as she pulled the screen around to ensure your privacy. You turned your back to her as you pulled your blouse over your head.

“Oh my.” Madam Blainey let out a gasp at the sight in front of her, cuts and grazes covered your back, coupled with finger shaped bruises littering your wrists. “Have you been in a fight dear?” She asked, unsure of where your injuries could have originated from.

“I don’t remember.” You replied simply, the sinking feeling in your stomach growing larger by the second.

“Please bear with me a moment.” She spoke softly, leaving your bedside quickly. You could hear her footsteps retreating further away. You heard the swoosh of floo powder, assuming that Madam Blainey needed to retrieve something from another part of the castle. Moments later, you heard another swoosh, however this time there were multiple sets of footsteps.

“Professor Weasley, Professor Sharp, I’m incredibly concerned.” You heard Madam Blainey whisper from behind the screen. You remained sat on the side of the hospital bed, legs dangling from the side.

“Please prepare yourselves for what you’re about to see.” Madam Blainey whispered again, ushering the Professors behind the screen. You heard an audible gasp from Professor Weasley. Your heart was racing, hands folded in your lap, squeezing your thumbs in your fists.

“(Y/N), please put this on.” Madam Blainey placed a gown onto the bed next to you. You obliged, trying to place the gown over your head without causing yourself too much pain. Even with your best efforts, you grimaced again, a small shudder running down your spine from the pain of the fabric touching your body.

“Can you turn around please and show the Professors your wrists?” Madam Blainey asked softly, you obliged, slowly placing your feet down and standing before turning to face the Professors with your wrists out. The finger shaped marks were obvious. Professor Weasley clasped a hand over her mouth, Professor Sharp stood behind her, a look of shock morphing his features.

“Who did this to you?” Professor Sharp asked softly, though you could tell that his shock had turned to anger. You went to speak, the words becoming caught in your throat.

“She doesn’t know Professor.” Madam Blainey answered for you, for that you were grateful as you felt tears brimming at your eyes. You wanted answers as much as everyone else.

“What is the last thing that you remember?” Professor Weasley asked, you tried to remember anything about what had brought you to the hospital wing but your memory was failing you.

“I don’t remember anything, the only thing I remember is waking up in the room of requirement.” You spoke softly. Why couldn’t you remember anything. Professor Sharp’s eyebrows furrowed, deep lines forming on his forehead.

“It’s either trauma induced memory loss or she’s been obliviated.” He spoke solemnly, his features softening at the thought of someone doing this to a student.

“What?” You asked incredulously. Trauma. Obliviated.

“That couldn’t be right.” You thought to yourself, it felt like your heart was ready to burst out of your chest.

“We must investigate this at once.” Professor Weasley declared, casting you another sympathetic look. You began to feel your knees give way, quickly gripping the hospital bed for support. Madam Blainey rushed to your side, helping you to climb onto the bed.

“It will be alright dear.” She spoke softly, trying to comfort you as a tear rolled down your cheek. What had happened to you?

One day later

Ominis sat alone in the Great Hall, he’d not seen you for a while. You hadn’t been at breakfast for two days which was unlike you, you’d never miss breakfast. He sighed to himself, pushing himself up from his seat and pulling out his wand to help guide him out of the Great Hall.

Slowly he walked back towards the Slytherin common room, pausing a few steps away from the last staircase he needed to take as he overheard a conversation between two fifth years.

“Have you heard about (Y/N)?” One whispered to the other. Ominis’ brows furrowed in confusion. “Heard what?” He thought to himself.

“She’s in the hospital wing, isn’t she?” The other replied in the same whispered tone. Ominis’ head snapped round in the direction of the gossiping students. They noticed him immediately, quickly dispersing in opposite directions. Ominis sighed, what had happened to you?

He turned on his heel and began walking towards the hospital wing, nerves began to set in, unsure as to what he would find. As he was approaching the door, his wand alerted him to a figure pacing ahead of him.

“Mr Gaunt.” It was Professor Sharp, a look of confusion and worry flickered across Ominis’ face.

“Professor, may I pass you?” Ominis asked, it was as if the Professor was blocking the door.

“I take it you’re here to see Miss (Y/L/N).” Professor Sharp spoke softly. Ominis nodded quickly.

“She’s been asking to see you.” Professor Sharp mentioned, pushing the door open for Ominis to enter the hospital wing. Another look of confusion graced Ominis’ features, but he nodded in thanks as he passed Professor Sharp and entered the wing. Using his wand to navigate, he quickly found your bed, he heard a relieved sigh escape your lips.

“It’s good to see you Ominis.” You spoke softly, a small smile gracing your lips at seeing a friendly face. Ominis smiled sadly at you, sitting down in the chair that was placed next to your bed.

“What happened (Y/N)?” He asked, placing his hands in his lap. You pursed your lips slightly, you still had no memory of the events leading up to your hospital visit. You tried to explain to Ominis that you were unsure about what had happened other than that you’d woken up in the room of requirement.

“Professor Sharp mentioned that it may be trauma induced memory loss or I’ve been obliviated. He’s not sure.” You mentioned sadly. Ominis’ brows furrowed, remembering what he’d heard Sebastian whisper in the dormitory.

“Please don’t remember.”

Ominis’ eyes widened. His mouth slightly agape. He stood up sharply.

“I need to go; I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He spoke quickly as he turned his back, almost running towards the door.

“Ominis, wait!” You called out after him, but he paid no mind to your plea’s for him to wait. He almost crashed through the door, narrowly avoiding Professor Sharp who was stood on the other side.

“Mr Gaunt?” The professor called after him, but before he could do anything Ominis was gone, running through the castle. He knew exactly where to go, having been in the same Transfiguration class as Sebastian for the past year, he knew the lesson would be starting within the next ten minutes, he needed to get to him.

Ominis ran until he reached the Transfiguration courtyard, pulling out his wand to help him see. He could make out multiple figures dotted around the courtyard, his frustration starting to build when he couldn’t pick out Sebastian.

“Where are you?” He thought to himself, continuing to scan the courtyard for any sign of his ex-best friend. Finally, he spotted a person walking alone hurriedly with their head down.

“Sebastian!” Ominis yelled across the courtyard, rage tainting his voice, immediately drawing the attention of everyone, as well as the singular figure crossing the courtyard. Ominis started to move, his pace picking up as he raced across the courtyard to block the nearest exit that Sebastian could take.

“Move Ominis.” Sebastian growled, pulling out his wand in a threatening manner. Ominis could feel the eyes of the students in the courtyard watching their inevitable fight unfold.

“No.” He stood firmly, pressing his wand into Sebastian’s chest, pushing him back with the force of the jab. “I know what you’ve done Sebastian.” Ominis spoke in a low, menacing tone. His anger rising fit every step he took and every jab of his wand into Sebastian’s chest,

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sebastian hissed, trying to shove his way past Ominis. Ominis planted his feet, jabbing his wand harder into Sebastian.

“You erased (Y/N)’s memories. I heard you in the dorm Sebastian. ‘Please don’t remember.’” Ominis sneered at him, loud enough for the other students to hear, the anger only grew more. He was ready to hurt Sebastian for what he’d done to you.

“I had to keep her safe.” Sebastian’s eyes flickered with rage. “From you.”

Sebastian stepped back, creating a gap between himself and Ominis, quickly casting depulso. Ominis blocked the spell easily, casting a litany of spells, one of which struck Sebastian, sending him flying backwards.

“Someone go and find a Professor!” Ominis yelled at the gathered students, he had a feeling that this fight was about to get nasty. Sebastian pushed himself off the ground, planting his feet and cast a barrage of spells back at Ominis. Ominis managed to dodge each one. Feeling slightly out of breath, Ominis shot more spells, continuing the back and forth of their duel. It seemed to last an age, multi coloured sparks flying out of the ends of their wands.

“Just stop this, Sebastian!” Ominis called out, trying to end the duel. As the duel dragged on, Ominis realised that it was a pointless task. Sebastian would never change; he’d come to accept that long ago. He just needed to hold him off long enough for a Professor to arrive.

“You think I want to do this?” Sebastian yelled back. “You think I wanted to hurt (Y/N)? I wanted to save her, but she made it too hard.” Ominis’ brow furrowed when he blocked Sebastian’s next set of spells. Sebastian could tell that he’d caught Ominis off guard with his last statement. He’d broken Ominis out of his focus in the duel.

“Crucio!” Sebastian yelled, striking Ominis with the curse. He let out an ear-piercing scream as he crumpled to the ground, hitting the floor hard. Gasps echoed out from the other students still present in the courtyard.

“You were right about me Ominis. No one can help me. I cursed (Y/N), Imperio if you must know and it was wonderful. Nothing was too much trouble until she broke through it. Then I had to obliviate her memories.” Sebastian explained in a condescending voice. Ominis writhed on the floor, pain coursing through his body from the curse. He felt like he could barely breathe.

“How could you?” Ominis wheezed out. Sebastian smiled menacingly, crouching down to Ominis’ level, holding his wand an arm’s length away from Ominis’ body. Ominis squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the impact of the spell that he knew was coming.

“Because I love her.” Sebastian breathed out, narrowing his eyes into slits. “Avada-.”

“Petrificus totalus!” Someone cried from the middle of the crowd, striking Sebastian with the spell. His body seized before he could cast the killing curse, crashing to the ground next to where Ominis laid.

Professor Weasley pushed her way through the crowd, followed closely by Professor Sharp and Headmaster Black. The remaining students watching the duel immediately dispersed, scattering from the courtyard. The Professors stared at the scene in front of them, realising how close Ominis had been to dying before they could reach him.

“Professor Black, take Mr Sallow to my office, take his wand and wait with him.” Headmaster Black commanded. “He does not leave.” Professor Sharp nodded, casting wingardium leviosa and levitating Sebastian away. Professor Weasley knelt down next to Ominis, his breathing levelled out as his pain faded.

“Are you alright Mr Gaunt?” Professor Weasley asked kindly, concern threading her tone. Ominis nodded as he pushed himself up onto his forearms, his body felt heavy after taking Sebastian’s curse but he also felt relieved.

Ominis pushed himself slowly off of the floor, trying to find his balance. He felt his wand be placed in his hand, immediately helping him assess his surroundings. A hand rested on his shoulder gently, it startled him slightly.

“Mr Gaunt, we should get you to the hospital wing.” Professor Weasley spoke softly, guiding Ominis away from the courtyard, escorting him to the hospital wing. His emotions were heavy, on one hand he felt relieved, you were safe and Sebastian wouldn’t be able to hurt you again. On the other hand, he mourned the loss of the boy that he once knew, the kind boy he’d been friends with until he’d had a taste of dark magic and allowed it to infect him like a virus.

The outcome for Sebastian was grim, he was sent to Azkaban for a minimum of twelve years for the use of the Imperius and Cruciatus curses. His face was plastered across the front page of the Daily Prophet for days after his sentencing. Ominis tried to shield you from the prying eyes of other students as best he could, as the details from Sebastian’s treatment of you had been leaked.

But finally, Sebastian was gone and he wouldn’t be coming back. That meant that you were finally safe and free to heal in your own time.

A/N - This is the final part! Thank you for reading. Feel free to message me with any feedback :)

[hydrangeapartridge]

Title: Mind Body and Soul

Pairing: Mage!Shinsou x reader

I wrote for Shinsou again! Link to AO3 here

Summary: Once upon a time there was you: a nobody, a refugee from a country devastated by Dabi’s undead army, serving as a maid in king Todoroki’s castle. There, fate decided you would cross path with the mysterious and dreaded court mage Hitoshi Shinsou. Little did you know that particular encounter would change your life forever.

Rating: M

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy - Romance - teacher student relationship if you squint but no age gap - AFAB reader - ritual with mildly dubious consent - Strangers to Lovers

Chapter 2: The Djinn (under the cut!) - (link to chapter 1)

After he pointed at you with that weird purple light, mage Shinsou ordered you to show up at his office after sunrise to begin your training, or else he would come find you himself.

During the walk back to your quarters, you kept replaying the events of the night in your head. Images of the monstrous creature that almost killed you kept flashing before your eyes as you tried to find sleep in your bunk. The light snoring of the other servants and fear of what could lurk in the dark kept you awake until the crack of dawn. Only then did you manage to fall asleep, just when the first occupants of the dorm were starting to rise.

You were not so gently shaken awake shortly after by the head of the staff, an old matron who you were sure had a stone for a heart.

After a quick breakfast, you reluctantly made your way towards the mage’s tower. You hoped during the whole staircase’ ascension that what happened the previous evening was just a dream, and that mage Shinsou would dismiss you, and tell you to go back to your cleaning.

However, things didn’t go as you wished, and when you knocked on the mage’s door, he hurriedly let you in. Shinsou had opened the door so quickly that it made you wonder if he had been waiting behind it for you to arrive.

“I am glad to see that you came of your own will. I do not like to meddle with the castle’s occupants. Especially so early in the morning” He told you.

The dark shadows under your eyes from the lack of sleep, couldn’t compete with Shinsou’s dark circled eyes. He looked like he had even less sleep than you did. Still, he actively fluttered around his office to make space for you to sit. He started carelessly pushing papers and parchments away from one of the tables, letting them fall in a messy heap on the floor.

“Hmm. Are you sure taking me as an apprentice is a good idea?” You had rehearsed a speech during your ascension of the tower, hoping to convince the castle’s mage that you weren’t suited to be a mage. “I’m sure I’ll be wasting your time. I’m probably very bad at magic. Plus, now that you did the ritual, the Djinn can’t harm me right? So maybe I should go back to being a servant, it would probably be easier for both you and me”

“Nonsense” Shinsou simply replied flatly as he placed a wooden chair in front of the table he just cleaned up. “All mages must be trained”

He turned to you, “Firstly, people with magical abilities are so rare that it would be waste of potential not to train one. Secondly, an untrained mage is an easy target for wandering spirits so if you value your soul, I suggest you accept your fate and the training I offer” He smirked. “You’re a bit old for an apprentice, but it is never too late to learn.”

You flushed when he commented on your age. You were admittedly becoming a little old for marriage, but you weren’t <i>that</i> old. He was probably not much older than you were too.

“But-” You tried to protest, alas, Shinsou cut you short.

“Sit” He calmly but firmly instructed. His purple stare on you was intense, almost scary, and you felt the urge to obediently sit down at the makeshift desk.

Once you were seated, Shinsou pointed to the crystal that targeted you with its light the previous day. “Yesterday you seemed to see this crystal for the first time”

You nodded, and Shinsou hummed.

“It detects mages” He explained “Every child under ten is supposed to take the test at least once. By Royal law” The mage’s piercing gaze fell on you and you tensed. “How come you weren’t submitted to that test?”

He placed a hand against the back of your chair, and the conversation started feeling like an interrogation.

The urge to avoid the question and snap back at him for doubting you was strong. You had no clue you were a mage before, and you weren’t sure you appreciated this sudden change in your life. You reined back your temper just before a biting retort escaped you. Your mother often advised you to think before you spoke, and so you did. The country was at war, and spies were common and hunted. In truth, you had nothing to hide, and so you decided that complying and answering the castle’s mage questions was probably in your best interest. You didn’t know the extent of his powers, but given his reputation, maybe he had a way of knowing if you lied. And he could also be an adept of torture.

“I’m not from this country. I’m a refugee from a neighbour country” You confessed, your voice low as you remembered the atrocities you witnessed when your homeland fell under the power of the undead army. “I crossed the border when I was a lot older than ten. Hence, I wasn’t submitted to the test you speak of”

Shinsou’s eyes bore into yours, and he tilted his head, his brows furrowing in concentration. Maybe he really was able to tell truth from lies.

“I see” He blinked, and you found yourself able to look away from his mesmerizing gaze. “Thank you for your honesty. I shall suggest to the king that they test refugees too then. We need to gather all the help available to fight Dabi and his undead army. Or else our country will end up like yours”

Your throat felt tight. The last thing you wanted was to relieve the invasion of your home by the undead. If you could fight to prevent it, then you were glad to be blessed with the power to do so. You simply hoped you could become useful before they would strike. Before it would be too late.

“You say that you need more mages, yet you are the only one in the whole castle?” You remarked, curious. Something didn’t add up between his speech and reality.

“Very observant of you” Shinsou mocked, but you couldn’t tell if he was being sardonic or bitter. “The King doesn’t like mages much. He prefers to trust in the power of powder and steel.”

You knew the king’s army to be very powerful, with a guard captain strong as a hundred men; as scary as he was beautiful, leading thousands of well-trained soldiers. The King’s difficult relationship with mages was no secret; long ago, an evil mage cursed his wife with a spell so powerful that no healer could ever dream to even alleviate it. The queen was supposedly still alive, but hidden in a secret place somewhere in the castle, where only her family, and healers, working day and night to find a cure, could find her.

“But he trusts you?” You replied, curious as to why the king would keep Shinsou and only him by his side. What abilities did he have that were so special? The thought never occurred to you before, when you were contempt with your mundane life of cleaning.

But now that a whole new world opened itself to you, you felt as if your newfound curiosity was unquenchable.

Shinsou turned his back to you, moving to a shelf where he started collecting a pile of large books. “Enough chattering now. We waisted enough time”

You wanted to argue that he started with the questions, but were interrupted when he dropped a large pile of at least five books on the table before you.

“Since you’re older, we must start with magical theory. Practising is too dangerous for now. Your powers could go berserk. You almost got killed once; I don’t want any other accident” He blankly commented, making you feel like a walking disaster.

“I would have been fine if not for your deadly magical stuff carelessly lying around!” You retorted, clicking your tongue in annoyance.

“Do you know how to read?”

The fact that Shinsou didn’t bother with a reply to your accusation annoyed you so very much.

“Of course I can read” You replied, crossing your arms over your chest. You didn’t mention that said reading wasn’t that good, too proud to admit it.

“Good” Shinsou said, unbothered. “Start reading then. There’s paper and ink if you wish to take notes” He pointed to the supplies on his messy desk. “I’ll request an audience with the king to officially introduce you as my apprentice”

Shinsou left then, leaving you alone to read in the gloomy atmosphere of his office.

He was dead set on taking you as his apprentice, and you were admittedly curious to learn more about magic. You wondered what you could achieve if you worked hard? Shape the hardest stone with your bare hands? Create a fire so strong it would light up the night, keeping people warm, and making them able to see as if in broad daylight?

There was no getting out of it it seemed. But you were starting to get used to the idea of becoming a mage.

- - -

When Shinsou came back, the sun was starting to set. You didn’t noticed how time flew by, too engrossed in your reading. You were happy to tell him that you finished the first book. It was a prowess that you were proud of, for you were sure you never read so many words in one sitting. You were hungry, and exhausted, the signs of a starting migraine making your eyes and skull hurt, but you were satisfied with how you stayed focused for so long.

That was until Shinsou crushed your spirits with one sentence.

“I hoped you would have read the whole five books in a day”

Your shoulders slumped and you gave Shinsou what was probably the most honestly disappointed look ever. But the mage stayed imperturbable, his bored gaze not meeting yours, instead looking at your notes.

“You have a very messy handwriting” He observed and you felt your disappointment turn into anger.

Did that man not understand that you had never been one to study. That you always worked with your hands and never much with your brain. You rather obediently accepted the change of life Shinsou imposed on you, and considering all this, you expected him to be a more lenient teacher. But it looked like it was too much to ask of him.

“Maybe if you explained things to me like proper teachers do I would learn faster” You spat out, arms defensively crossing over your chest.

Shinsou was unperturbed by your attack, but he turned his attention to you. “What did you gather from what you read? Where does magic come from?”

You noticed he made a habit of answering questions with another question. A clever technique to redirected his interlocutor’s attention and avoid answering when he didn’t want to. You let it slide this time, eager to show him that despite your slow reading, you did learn a thing or two.

“It comes from Spirits”

A small smirk graced Shinsou’s thin lips. “Not so bad”

His praise was short lived however. “Well, with how slowly you read it’s the least of things that you remember something that simple”

Before you could give him a piece of your mind and tell him where he could shove his comment, he started explaining more synthetically what you gathered from the book. Too curious to learn, you kept your mouth shut for now.

Shinsou reminded you that there were spirits for everything, everywhere. Simpler ones like water, air, fire or earth, and more complex ones like those of plants or animals. He confirmed what you understood from your reading: that the body, the soul and the mind were spirits too, linked together and inseparable.

“And how do we do magic?” He suddenly asked you.

You took a moment to think about it and summed up the information you learnt during the day.

“I’m not quite sure” You admitted. “But I think we order the spirits to do things?”

The apprehension gripping your stomach disappeared when Shinsou nodded, satisfied with your answer. The more you learnt about magic, the more you wanted to know. You surprised yourself fearing that Shinsou would stop teaching you if you proved to be too bad at learning magic. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were dumb. Plus, reading was less exhausting than cleaning.

“Something like that” The mage approved. “We give them energy only mages have: mana. Fuelled with that mana, the spirits can grant our requests. You can see it as a form of negotiation more than giving orders. Some spirits can be unpredictable, and might not interpret your request the way you intend them to”

That was probably why the chapters about ordering spirits felt so complicated and abstract to you. Magic wasn’t an easy science.

Shinsou probably noticed your perplexity and gave a few examples to illustrate his point.

“Different spirits have different behaviours and reactions. Almost like personalities. Water spirits for example are supple and calm, easy to model. Fire is wild and wants to eat everything. Wind is the most unpredictable, while Earth is grounded, stubborn and hard to move”

You slowly nodded your head, procession the information. You were captivated by Shinsou’s explanation. There was something in his voice that was urging you to listen to it. A smooth calmness that seemed to lure you in, dulling all senses and forcing you to focus on his words only. He was precise and clear in his explanations, and you had to wonder why he had no apprentice. He sounded like a good teacher. Demanding but good.

“A well trained mage can learn to see the spirits and can also take energy from those spirits”

The more he explained, the more complicated everything sounded. Spirits needed Mana to do magic but they could also give mana to the mage? You were starting to feel a bit lost.

“That Djinn for example, why could I see it? Isn’t it a spirit? Is it because it was very strong?” You asked, interrupting him when you started feeling too overwhelmed.

Shinsou accepted to be interrupted, and indulged your curiosity “Yes, Djinns are spirits, but spirits from the Otherworld, another plane of existence parallel to our world where everything is immaterial. There, everything is bathed in never-ending mana.”

That one answer only filled you with dozen more questions. Parallel worlds? That concept alone made you dizzy. You never though there could be worlds other than you own. The thought that this <i>‘Otherworld’</i> could be the home of even scarier monsters than that Djinn sent a shiver running down your spine. You almost wished you didn’t ask about it.

“The Djinn from yesterday was materialized in our plane. It was summoned with mana; with enough energy to give it a form in our world. To give it a body if you prefer, hence why anybody could see it.” Shinsou continued his explanation, unaware of the unease it brought you. “But only a mage could free it from the crystal ball where I sealed it. That’s how I noticed you were probably gifted”

Shinsou’s piercing amethyst eyes zoned in on you, and you felt colour rise to your cheeks remembering your mistake, and the ritual he had to make to protect you.

“Why would one want to bring such a dangerous creature to our world?” You asked, and Shinsou smirked.

“Curious aren’t you? It’s a good quality for a mage. And a dangerous one too” He commented, making your cheeks heat up. “If a mage bonds with a Djinn, the creature will grant all their wishes”

You looked at him flabbergasted. “That sounds like something every mage would want to do!”

Shinsou chuckled. “Indeed. But one thing you need to know with magic is that everything comes with a price, and the higher the favour, the higher the price.”

The mage leaned back against his desk, his arms crossing over his chest. “Djinns are powerful spirits, very mischievous, bordering evil. They cannot be trusted, and a bonded mage has to be extra careful of what he wishes for”

“Why is that?” You asked, leaning forward in your chair, eager to know more.

“The bonding is a form of enslavement and the bonded Djinn will seek freedom. Freedom is obtained if the mage severs the bond, or if it is forcefully severed”

“Forcefully?” You echoed, not understanding what he meant.

Shinsou looked you dead in the eyes. “By the mage dying”

You gulped, suspended to the words coming from your teacher’s lips as he started retelling the misfortunes of mages who bonded with Djinns. One of them who asked to be rich ended up crushed under a huge pile of gold. Another teleported so high in sky that his fall ended up fatal, after he wished to escape the burning tower where he was trapped.

“That’s horrible” You said, your face paling more and more with each story. Magic was more dangerous than you expected.

“Creatures of the Otherworld shouldn’t be trusted” Shinsou seriously warned you. “And as powerful as they are, no-one is above all the laws and mysteries of nature and the world. Despite granting wishes, Djinns are not all mighty. For example, they cannot revive someone who is dead. They would rise their bodies; merely an empty envelope with no trace left of who the person was before. They cannot link body mind and soul. No-one can”

Your hands were trembling now. Why would Shinsou keep such a dangerous creature around? You still didn’t get it. He never answered that question. “What you’re talking about. Rising the dead. That’s necromancy right? It’s forbidden. Worthy of death penalty” You grimly said.

A mysterious smile graced Shinsou’s lips, not reaching his suddenly cold eyes. “I see you learnt the rules of our country well too. Mages tend to feel superior to their non mage counterparts. They are easily tempted to bend the rules imposed to them.” Shinsou moved away from the desk and stepped in front of you. His presence towering over you felt intimidating. “Take this lesson as a warning. By becoming a mage you will become capable of creating what some would consider miracles with a snap of your fingers. But we are no gods. And we shouldn’t play gods.”

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Unless you want to meet a terrible end. Know that there are fates worse than death. Like for example losing one’s soul”

That explained why he was so inclined to protect you from that Djinn who coveted your soul. If he were to teach you skills that could get you killed if you were careless, Shinsou did well to warn you of the dangers first. As any teacher should.

“Do you understand?” He asked, very seriously, his eyes not leaving yours, like he was seeking the answer deep into your soul.

Having seen what spirits of the Otherworld were capable of, you took his warning very seriously. You nodded your head. “I understand”

Shinsou stepped back, satisfied. “Good girl” He praised, and you felt your ears turn red. How could he be so captivating and so unnerving at the same time? Maybe it was a mage thing.

“You did well today. You earned a little reward” Shinsou’s words made you feel agitated, suddenly very fidgety on your chair as he opened one of the drawers from his desk. He fetched something from it, a small object that fitted in the palm of his hand.

He carefully pinched the object between his thumb and pointer finger, presenting it to you. The object looked like a regular monocle except that the lenses were a dark shade instead of crystal clear, almost tinted black.

“Those lenses allow anyone to see spirits” He said before holding the monocle out for you to take, a secretive grin turning up the corner of his lips. “Care to see those spirits you read about with your own eyes?”

Despite your excitement at the prospect of finally getting to see those spirits for yourself, you were careful in retrieving the magical artefact from Shinsou’s long fingers.

“You will probably be surprised at the number of spirits surrounding us. I would advise you focus on something specific. For example, the glass of water on the desk”

Under his watchful gaze, you placed the monocle in front of your right eye and closed your left one. You were very surprised to see the world you were used to navigate shaped in shades of grey, serving as a background above which a myriad of sparkling shapes and forms danced in a blurry display. The spirits were everywhere, shining with variable intensity. Some were spherical, some shapeless blurs; some swaying like caught in a breeze, or running around in a frenzy while others were immobile. It was a mess. The mass of information assaulting your eye made you feel dizzy and you had to close it for a short moment to clear your head.

Re-opening your eye, more prepared this time, you focused on the glass of water, as instructed by Shinsou.

“Can you spot the spirit of water? Supple but steady?” Shinsou’s voice sounded very close, guiding you.

You spotted it indeed, merging with another more rigid form that you supposed was the spirit of the glass holding it.

“It is undulating. Spiralling even. Slowly. Calmly” You commented, quite sure you had found the one he was talking about.

“Exactly” Shinsou’s whispering words felt like they were falling directly from his lips into your ear. Intrigued by how close he felt, you reflexively turned your head, the monocle still filtering your vision.

You spotted the mage’s silhouette beside you, but let out a frightened yelp upon discovering a swarm of dark forms whirling around him like vultures around a dead prey.

You quickly put the monocle away, sweat running down your brows as you blinked a few times to get used to a more normal vision of the world again.

You hastily gave back the monocle to a very intrigued Shinsou. You probably looked like you had seen a ghost.

“Why were there things around you?” You asked, alarmed.

Shinsou stepped away from you. He had been standing really close indeed. He answered while putting the monocle away, not looking your way. “Mages attract spirits. Sometimes dangerous ones”

“So there are evil spirits floating around me too?” You started panicking a little, looking around you for an invisible threat, and rubbing your arms as if to scrub yourself clean.

“Probably” Shinsou answered blandly. An amused look crossed his features when he turned around to be faced with your curious behaviour. “But do not fret. You are protected by the bond we share”

His words should reassure you, but they only brought more questions. That bond you shared, what did it imply?

Just when you were about to ask, Shinsou shut you up with an impossibly precise timing “I think that’s enough for today. Smoke might come out of your ears if you keep that little brain of yours working so much” He said, then tapped his pointer finger between your brows twice.

You stepped away, about to protest. But he beat you to it again. “It’s getting late” He stated, his words very definitive. He looked to the only window of the room and you felt strangely compelled to look at it too. Outside, it was completely dark.

“It’s getting late” You weirdly parroted his words, although you didn’t really care that the night had fallen.

While your eyes were fixed on the window, Shinsou had moved to open the door of his office for you. The creaking of the wood caught your attention, and the mage motioned for you to take your leave.

“Get some rest. We will go to the market tomorrow for supplies for you. To compensate your reading and writing skills, amongst other things”

Under his gaze you obediently exited the room in a blur, absent-mindedly nodding your head. Only when the door closed did you realize there was something you wanted to ask him. Sadly, with how tired you were, you all but forgot what it was.