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dudefrommywesterns · 3 years

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Title: Promise

Ship: Mike x Bill Weasley

Words: 915

Description: Bill gets attacked by Fenrir Greyback and Mike falls apart.

Warnings: none i think

It hadn't ever occurred to them how dangerous it was to love in a time like this. Not until Bill's body crumpled to the ground bleeding and they were powerless to stop it. Sirius Black had died the previous year and they had witnessed it and still, some naive part of them thought the Order was invincible, that Bill was invincible.

Mike hadn't even seen him fall. The battle with the Death Eaters had been quick-paced, every moment a flash of a face or light. The details were blurred, even in the moment.

They had helped move his limp body from the corridors to the hospital wing when the fight had ceased. It wasn't certain whether he'd live or die. The world blurred again, not due to adrenaline-filled actions but tears.

They nearly imploded under the weight of their anxiety before they were allowed to see him again. Understandably but still unfavorably, they weren't alone.

Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Remus, and a dirty blonde girl Mike had never seen before joined them around Bill's bed. Ginny and Harry joined them soon after.

Looking at Bill was difficult. Mainly because Mike wasn't sure how to feel when they looked up at his permanently scarred face.

Angry. They were sure they felt angry. Fenrir Greyback should never have been able to lay one finger on Bill. He had done this, he shouldn't still be alive. If he and Mike ever met again, he wouldn't be.

Relieved. Bill was here. Mike could see the rise and fall of his chest. His hand was warm in theirs. He would live and they could talk about this all later in bittersweet reminiscence.

When they met, Bill had been handsome, more so than anyone Mike ever had imagined dating them. Now...now they were unsure. It didn't matter, not really. It wouldn't even matter if he was a werewolf now. If he still loved Mike when he awoke, none of it would matter.

Minerva McGonagall had entered the room at some point. The rest of the group was discussing Dumbledore's death. Mike wasn't listening. They took this moment to be selfish, to pretend the rest of the world was gone and it was just themselves and this hospital bed and Bill laying in it.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came at last. Molly was beside herself with grief. She lamented her son’s good looks and eventually began to dab his face with the greenish ointment Madam Pomfrey had provided. Mike let her.

Eventually, everyone trickled out except Mike and Bill's parents.

Mike had decided no matter what happened or anyone said, they were rooted to this spot. They would be there when he woke up, even if they had to conjure up a chair and sleep in it.

Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let them all stay, and Arthur had work anyway, so he and Molly soon departed too. Mike still refused to leave.

The exertion of the day’s activities and the weight of their complex emotions soon gave way into sleep.

When they woke up again, sunlight barely trickled through the window. They doubted they got much sleep at all.

As soon as they saw their boyfriend grinning at them, though rather weakly, their tiredness moved to the backburner.

“Looks like I'm not the good looking one anymore,” he joked, though he never thought he was.

Mike snorted. “Yeah right.”

He caught a look at himself in a window.

“I didn't think it was that bad,” he said with a grimace. “I look like hell.”

“I like it,” Mike decided at last. “You look...cool.”

They leaned in. “The scars suit you, I think. Might make you hotter actually.”

He flashed them an amused grin. “Very funny.”

“Who said I was joking?”

He blushed slightly, just as his mother came in.

Mike pulled away and gave a quick greeting.

“How long has he been up?” Molly asked them.

“A couple of minutes maybe.”

Though looked like she was trying not to, she frowned when she looked at Bill. It seemed as if, despite everything, she expected him to be completely unscarred again.

Mike took a step back and let her visit with her son. They stepped outside into the corridor and watched the Hogwarts students walk by.

“He wants to see you,” Molly said as she came to the doorway. “More than he wants to see me I think.”

“I doubt that,” Mike said. “I wish I had a family like yours.”

“Ah well, we always have room for more,” she replied warmly.

Mike walked back to Bill's bed and now that all jokes were aside, they found the worry they had previously shelved.

“I thought I'd lost you,” Mike said. “I never even thought about the possibility. Once you convinced me you loved me...you were fixed in my mind. Nothing was going to take you. I was wrong and I've never been more anxious in my life. You know that's a lot coming from me.”

A silent moment passed.

“I don't know what I would've done if you died. I don't want to live without you.”

“I know we can't stop fighting this war,” Mike continued. “But please, promise me you'll do everything you can to stay here with me.”

He took their hand. “Only if you'll try and stay with me too.”

No one had ever asked Mike to live for them but they found it wasn't hard to say yes, and to mean it with every part of their soul.

#⌜ ✒ ⌟#⌜ self ship ⌟#self shipping community #romantic: no one at the bank gives a damn how i dress

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askabound · 2 years

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LY’S RAMBLINGS : sirius + suspecting remus

while for the most part (i’d say 99.95% of the time) i stay true to canon and try to portray sirius as the deeply flawed individual that he is, you best believe that i am not buying into jaundice’s lazy and convenient writing that sirius suspected remus of being the spy (or vice versa). it simply does not adhere to everything that sirius stands for in relation to his best friends and the people he would have died for in a heartbeat.

i do believe that the war damaged him in irreparable ways. he became paranoid, more impulsive than usual, he wasn’t thinking straight, he was guided by intense emotions stemming from fear rather than logic. he was afraid of watching more of his friends, people that he went to school with, teachers, mentors die in this war that has been waging for a decade, afraid that something tragic would befall the people he loved most in this entire world, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to prevent it or save them. he became capable of things that he would never have imagined himself doing and he was a walking ticking bomb ready to be set off. you can say a lot of things about sirius’s psyche during the war but one thing that i am adamant about and will not budge on is the fact that he LOVED his friends with everything he had and he never suspected any of them to be traitors. he was never capable of betraying any of them and therefore he thought the same about them.

another thing worth mentioning is that this really is thoughtless, lazy writing on jolene’s part. remus spent time with other werewolves in greyback’s pack at dumbledore’s orders. now, you can argue that the nature of order member’s missions was known only by them individually and dumbledore and therefore sirius might not have known that remus was tasked to spy on greyback. but sirius knew his friend. he has been at his friend’s side for years. he knew how remus felt about himself, about werewolves in general and about his maker. if remus was not allowed to divulge the fact that he spent months with the pack at dumbledore’s request then sirius could at least guess that this was his job as a member of the order. you can also argue that sirius didn’t know that remus was going away for months to spy on the pack at all. for all he knew, in that case, was that remus was disappearing for months at a time with no explanation. that begs the question, why was this not communicated to sirius? why was sirius the only one suspecting remus? “it would have been the height of dishonour for james to mistrust his friends” but did these months long absences not feel odd to james at all? there is simply not enough information about this and the information that we do have makes no sense.

i think sirius and remus’s relationship was damaged and strained seemingly beyond repair during the war. they were not as close as they used to be but that was simply because their jobs and responsibilities pulled them in different directions. because of the mental state at the time, sirius had a short fuse. he used to be short and get snappy with remus. in a way, even if he didn’t know what remus was doing being away for so many months or if he did know where he was but not that it was a job or if he knew everything, i think resentment started festering in an unexpected way. their school friends and allies were dropping like flies, the dark lord was inching closer and closer to victory and their best friends had to go into exile to protect their lives and that of their child. sirius and peter, for all he knew, were doing everything they could to protect them and fulfil their duties to the order. where was remus in all of this?

#❛ ramblings › there are things worth dying for #i'll prettify and add more to this post later but for now have this.#there's more to say and i will Write it because there's so many angles that i've looked at this from #and it makes no sense from any of them lkjsdhfg #sirius would not just have assumed #that remus was a traitor #because??? what?#cause dumbles gave him a job lskdjfhg #i simply refuse to buy into jolene's lazy writing #soz lkjsdfhg

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirteen

With unsure nods, the pair vacated the kitchen and back into the living room. There was a mix of weeping family members and those out doing something. Searching the area, thinking of where Hermione could’ve gone.

Ron soon decides he’s done being in the mourning category. He needs to remain strong and vigilant, for no one else but Hermione.

“Someone needs to get Dumbledore here.” Ron’s shaky voice says, commanding all eyes to him.

“Albus?” Arthur asks curiously, his eyes a little glassed over as he rubs Molly’s back.

The youngest Weasley brother nods, “You-Know-Who he wanted,” he inhaled, trying to keep his voice leveled, “he wanted Hermione.”

Eyes widened in shock. Bill’s mouth hangs open as Lupin furiously paces the room, tapping at his temple.

“What would that bastard want with Hermione?” George grumbles lowly, but it’s loud enough for everyone to hear.

“We don’t know,” Harry finally spoke, “that’s why we need Dumbledore. Now.” His tone left no room for argument.

“I’ll do it.” Lupin tells the group, stalking off to the kitchen.

Everyone was rather astounded by the proclamation, they were expecting Remus to push Ron or Harry to divulge what happened.

“I got it.” Tonks announced, suddenly appearing from the back door.

Everyone whirled around to face her, “her wand, I have it. It’s Hermione, isn’t it?” The woman’s voice became softer.

Ron stepped forward and gently took it from Tonks hand.

‘Not so brave without our wand, are we muddy?’

He shivers as the cold wood caresses his hand.

“She hasn’t got a wand,” Ginny moaned behind the veil of hair she had been hiding behind, “she’ll die.”

“Oi Ginny!” Ron said angrily, no one had ever seen him this mad before, his sister flinched.

“Don’t you say things like that.” Molly told her daughter, hugging her to her chest.

They were all interrupted by a soft rapping on a nearby window.

“Dumbledore already?” Charlie said aloud.

Instinctively, Ron pocketed Hermione’s vine wood wand and drew his own. Arthur lurched to the window, ready to strike, when he stopped.

Breathing a sigh of relief he turned, “it’s your owl Harry.”

“Hedwig?” He asked suspiciously as he stalked toward the bird.

Tied to her leg was a rolled up piece of parchment. Giving her a nice pet first, he soon untied the contents and noticed it was addressed to Hermione.

“Who is it?” Bill asked.

He sucked in a breath, “it’s for Hermione, it’s from her parents.” His voice dropped at this.

Molly suddenly let out a small cry, completely forgetting that her own parents were to be told that their child, their only child, was gone.

“What’s it say?” Fred piped up from his spot on the arm chair.

Harry’s eyes fell on Ron’s, “I’m not sure if it’s my place to open it.”

Wordlessly, he passed the envelope over to Ron, whose mouth was agape at being trusted with such a thing.

Ignoring the gazes from his family, he peeled open the thing and let his eyes fix on the page. He skimmed every other line as certain sentences stuck out.

Merry Christmas!

We’ll send your gifts as soon as we’re home.

I hope you’re being kind to the Weasley’s.

We’re sorry to tell you this way, please don’t be too upset.

Grandma Jean passed last night, on Christmas Eve.

It was peaceful.

She thought of your grandpa.

She thought of you.

Don’t disappear on the Weasley’s.

Stay where you are.

We’re fine.

You have Ron and Harry.

We love you.

See you soon.

He let the parchment flutter to the ground. He hadn’t had it in him to read the entirety of it, but what he read was enough.

The phrases like ‘don’t disappear’, ‘stay where you are’, and ‘see you soon’ reverberated around in his head.

“Ronnie, what is it?” Bill probed gently from his spot next to Fleur.

He swallowed the bile in his throat, “her grandmother, she passed. She’s gone.” A few gasps filled the room, “their daughter, she’s, she’s gone too. How are we gonna tell them? How am I gonna tell them? It’s all my fault.”

Despite not knowing what entailed, no one, besides Ron himself, blamed him for what happened.

“Ron,” his mother swiftly budged in, ready to console her son.

However, he was having none of it, he didn’t deserve it, “her parents they don’t know about any of this.”

Late at night in fifth year, he found Hermione in the common room. She was working mercilessly over a piece of parchment as tears pooled on the pages. When he asked what was wrong, she finally let it out and admitted she’d been living a lie. Telling her parents Hogwarts was lovely and the only thing on her mind were exams. No dark lord, no death eaters.

For a brief moment, he wondered if Harry knew too.

“Not about You-Know-Who, not about Cedric, the department of mysteries, not even about prejudices against Muggleborns.” He admitted to everyone in the room.

And by the look on Harry’s face, this was news to him.

“Did you know?” Ginny dared to ask Harry.

At this, the chosen one shook his head. Suddenly feeling guilty, Harry had been wallowing so much in his own problems he failed to be there for Hermione, who was fiercely loyal to him.

“Why would she lie about that?” Fleur butted in, not judgmental, but just trying to understand.

“She was scared they’d take her out of Hogwarts.” He told everyone, Tonks nods in understanding, her dad being a Muggle.

“Because of me.” Harry said without missing a beat.

“No,” Ron protested.

“Yes, she wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me. She wouldn’t be gone, she wouldn’t be lying to her parents.” He stated, sure that was the case.

“You’d also be dead without her.” His best friend stated with conviction. Ron was already lost in self wallowing, the last thing he needed was for Harry to drown in it too. “We both would be.” He couldn’t help but add, despite the situation being so close to home.

“Ronnie,” Fred’s voice, sounding the most gentle he’s ever heard, broke through the air, “can you tell us what happened? Please.” He pleaded. After all, everyone here cared for Hermione too.

A few times Ron opened and closed his mouth, not really knowing what to say. After fumbling like a fish for two minutes, he settled for something, “I’m not-“ I’m not strong enough.

But, the words never came, a crack sounded outside, and for a sickening moment he imagined Bellatrix Lestrange to waltz through the door.

Instead, he was meant by his fathers shouts, “it’s Dumbledore!” He exclaimed, opening the back door.

In a moment's notice the Headmaster's looming six foot frame is towering in his doorway and at the sight, Ron knows somewhere within him he has to manage to be strong enough.

“Albus.” Molly said, relieved at the sight of him, “we’re sorry to do this to you on Christmas and all.” She stood wiping at her eyes.

The old man didn’t have the heart to tell everyone here that Christmas had long gone, it was nearing two in the morning.

“Of course Molly. I’ve had Remus go collect Alastor and Kingsley. Nymphadora, do you mind getting Minerva for me?” He asked kindly, annoyingly calm if you ask Ron.

Dumbledore, being one of the only people to get away with calling her that, Tonks just nodded to him as she stalked out to the backyard.

Ron gulps, it’s just now hitting him how serious this all is. The Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful Wizard living, someone with their own bloody chocolate frog card is in his living room. But there’s no time to marvel at it or even feel shocked, because he knows why he’s here.

He’s here because Hermione’s gone.

Next, the white haired man found a spot on the sofa and surprisingly plopped down. “Now, I need to know everything if I am to help.”

Ron’s still reeling from telling Harry and because of the owl from Hermione’s parents. And by the looks of it, Harry’s feeling the same as he stands stock still and paler than usual.

Thankfully, Bill notices the boys expression and takes over as much as he can, “it all started we were all in here, opening gifts, and then,”

“I was in the garden, we-,” he swallows the lump in his throat, “we were in the garden.” Ron almost whispers.

A little awkwardly, unsure what to say, Bill just nods and goes on, “we were opening gifts and we heard a crack, apparition.” Dumbledore nods at this.

“Two cracks.” Charlie interrupts, earning a slanted look from Bill.

Doing his best to not get frustrated by the multitude of people butting in, he ignores it. “So we went outside. We heard her first...” he trailed, not wanting to say it.

“It is crucial you tell me everything that happened, everything that was said.” Dumbledore reminded at his uncertainty.

“Bellatrix,” Harry’s shaky voice said, “she was saying how she killed Sirius.”

Everyone, Bill included, waits for Harry to continue the story on, but instead the dark haired boy offers the eldest Weasley a nod.

“Greyback was with her too.” Bill added, “She didn’t say much honestly, nothing out of the ordinary. Recognized the lot of us, Tonks, Lupin, Harry, called us blood traitors, remembered Hermione from the ministry.” At the mention of her name the room tensed, “then she casted incendio around the Burrow and skipped away, literally.”

Neither Ron or Harry made a move to fill in the gaps.

Bill sighed, “Harry, he ran after her, Hermione followed, so did Ronnie. By the time they were all gone, the fire, it blocked the path.”

At the admission, the chosen one's eyes bulged, “it’s all my fault. She ran after me.”

“Harry,” Ron tried weakly.

Sensing the lack of energy, Fred surprisingly jumped in, “if one of you went all three one of you would’ve. You know that just as well as I do.”

“Mr.Weasley is correct, now I know this may be difficult but I’m going to need one of you to please tell me what occurred. This is the only way I’m able to help your friend.” The old man eyed Ron and Harry who had found themselves standing side by side against the window.

“I can’t say much, I was running before I stunned Greyback. Hermione and Ron were with them longer.” Harry was able to speak, mustering any courage he had left.

Ron stared blankly at his headmaster.

“Ron.” His mother said gently, “please.” She sounded like she was crying.

Sucking in a shaky breath, he hoped to some higher power this would be the last time he ever told this story. He knew he would be reliving it for the rest of his nights, whenever he fell asleep.

“I didn’t hear Bellatrix say much, not the first time at least,” this made the room shudder, “all I could see was her wand pressed to Hermione’s throat, Greyback was eying her like a meal, so I tried to disarm her.” His voice dropped, “it didn’t do anything, I couldn’t use any spells, I couldn’t hurt Hermione.” Ron’s eyes grew glassy, “then Harry came.”

Seeing Ron needed a minute, the dark haired boy jumped in, “I stunned Greyback. He fell to the ground. It surprised Bellatrix, Hermione was able to get away. Next thing I knew, I was running.” His eyes flicked back to blue ones.

“So were Hermione and I. She started going-going,” he’s stuttering, “going on about how Lestrange told her that You-Know-Who, he’s been talking about her.”

Small gasps filled the room, even Dumbledore’s eyes grew wide, “about Miss Granger?”

Ron nodded stiffly, “she was certain they wouldn’t kill her, said they needed her for-for something. Bellatrix, she said she wasn’t here for Harry.”

It was Harry’s turn for answers. His eyes pleaded with Dumbledore for any piece of wisdom, practically begging to know what game they were playing at. However, for once, the old man didn’t seem to know any answers now, they laid with Ron.

The youngest Weasley brother sensed his responsibility and thought of Hermione, using her to be strong.

“We stopped by the old oak tree to catch our breaths, we knew we had to go after Harry, but before we could we heard the two of them. She thought we were Harry, when she said as much, Greyback asked why it had mattered, they were on strict orders not to kill him.”

“Why?” Harry’s voice broke, he needed to know. Bellatrix had ample opportunities to end it but she hadn’t.

Dumbledore shook his head, “I can’t say for certain Harry. It sounds as if Voldemort,” the Weasley family shivered at the name, “wants you for himself. Tom has always been one for theatrics, anything for an act of defiance. What I can’t understand is why they didn’t attempt to apparate you.” He voiced aloud.

Slowly, the Boy-Who-Lived nodded in acknowledgment, but certainly not in understanding.

“What happened next Ron?” The man asked softly.

He cleared his throat nervously, “Bellatrix, she said if she found me, that she’d-she’d kill me.” Nearby, Molly moaned in pain, falling into Ginny, “that I was just another blood traitor. But for Hermione, she said-” he shut his eyes tightly, “said she’d be a perfect gift for him.”

They all knew who ‘he’ was. Fleur was trembling as the story continued, Ginny had the urge to clamp her hands over her ears, Charlie was fully engaged, and the twins nervously eyed the floor.

“Said she was the brilliant one and all that, that she must know something and they’d get it out of her.” He released a breath, “Merlin, she’s so stupid, so stupid.” He began to cry.

“Ron, you need to tell them. For her.” Harry reminded in an equally as broken whisper, clapping a hand on his shoulder to give him strength.

“She knew they wanted to kill me and she knew they didn’t wanna kill her...” he trailed, wiping at his eyes.

“No.” Fred said aloud, before he could help it, dropping his head in his hands, putting together what happened.

“She casted the stunning spell on me and a disillusionment charm, there was a crack and she was gone.” Ron said it rushed, sloppily, unable to even get through it before collapsing against the wall.

Molly stood up, sat down and embraced her son.

“Did Bellatrix perform any spells or curses on Hermione?” Dumbledore asked the sobbing boy.

“Albus.” Missus Weasley scolded.

Ron shook his head numbly, “expelliarmus, that was it.”

The old man paced around the room before directing his attention to Harry and Ron, the latter now calming in his mother’s embrace.

“Did she know something?” He asked flustered. Harry’s never heard the professor sound so rushed, so panicked. It worried him to the core.

Frantically, Potter shook his head, “I don't know, maybe, no? I don't know.” He’s panicking now too.

The white haired man turns his attention to Ron, “she wouldn’t have to me anything, she wouldn’t.” It broke his heart even more, it’s just now hitting him that Hermione’s gone and he can’t remember the last thing he said to her. Just what he wanted to say.

“Has she been fixated on anything? Talking, asking, reading?” He lists off, Harry hasn’t heard him use this tone since his name was pulled from the goblet of fire.

The boys look at each other and think, but nothing comes up, they can’t even see straight.

“That book.” Ginny states in a crisp voice, “she’s been reading the same book for weeks. Writing notes on it.”

He rounded to the young girl, “what book?”

Ginny shook her head unknowingly, “I don’t know. She puts it away whenever anyone comes around.” Her voice is uneven, but it’s evident she wants to help anyway she can.

“The cover is black, there’s gold trim. There’s no title, very old looking.” Fleur speaks for the first time, recalling their time under the tree.

“Do you know where it is?” He seemed determined to find it, Harry sensed realization in his eyes.

Fleur shook her infadictly, Ginny shrugged, “her trunk?” She suggested.

“Please take me there.” He said to no one in particular.

Over his large frame, Ginny’s eyes found Harry’s, she nodded at him, signaling it was his duty.

“Follow me.” Harry stood from the floor and rushed to the steps.

Dumbledore’s robes flew behind him as the old man climbed the steps with fervor. When he reached Hermione’s trunk, he flung it open unceremoniously and ripped through its contents like a mad man.

Harry had half the heart to scold him and be more gentle with her things. And he was just about to say as much, until the headmaster stopped moving.

In his old, shaking hands, was that old thing that had been attached to Hermione for weeks.

Harry had asked her about it a few times, she just said it was for ‘light reading’ and brushed him off. He chose not to mention it, reading was ordinary for her.

Next, a brown journal was being pried open by Dumbledore. By the looks of it, the pages were spelled as he whispered a counter incantation to it as the witches neat scrawl filled the pages.

“Hey, it’s just her diary! That’s private.” He scolded.

And for the first time since they got up here, Dumbledore turned to him, eyes wide as saucers.

“This is no diary Harry.”

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #hp #hp fanfic #sixth year

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writings-of-dumpy · 3 years

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George Weasley and the Girl in Ravenclaw: Part 10

A/N: character death, death in general, language, violence, and gun usage

“No, no, Freddie...” George said.

“Cover me, I think I can get him back,” Raven said and she moved Fred’s face to where his head was leaned back with his chin up. George was almost too distracted to notice her plug his nose and place her mouth on his. He was dumbfounded and felt slightly jealous, but was pulled from his shock by a spider coming over the ledge that protected them from most of the battle.

“Reducto!” George hexed the being, and it disintegrated before his eyes.

“Fred... Fred!” Raven screamed. “Come on, don’t do this to me, come ON!” George warded off stray hexes and various attackers until he heard Fred gasp and cough behind him. He was overjoyed and leaned down to hug his brother.

“Avada ked—” George heard from behind him, but the curse was silenced when a loud bang erupted a few feet from him.

The source of the sound had to have been Raven, who was standing with her feet wide and holding a peculiar L-shaped object. Next to them, Fenrir Greyback fell down, presumably dead as he was bleeding from a hole in his forehead.

“I need one of those,” George said.

“Yeah, we all do..” Raven said and helped them to their feet.

Suddenly, the fighting stopped and Voldemort’s voice returned. Raven stumbled into George and he held onto her.

“You have fought valiantly..” he began.

“You cheated, asshole,” Fred muttered.

“But in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilt is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you: On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman, and child who tries to conceal you from me,” Voldemort said in a low and eerie voice.

Raven steadied herself against George as death eaters disappeared.

“You okay?” George asked. Raven looked up at him and nodded. He then noticed that she had several bruises on her face and a gash on her cheek.

“Come on, let’s get to the great hall,” Fred said. The damage that was done to Hogwarts was insurmountable. George had never seen so much damage to a building. They made their way through the rubble and did their best to help injured students to their feet. Along the way, George picked up Lavender Brown’s body, and Fred found Colin Creevey’s. They shared a pained expression and George noticed Raven’s pace slow next to a pile of stone wall that had collapsed

“Remus...” George heard Raven say as she moved smaller stones out of the way to reveal the lifeless body of the werewolf. “Someone needs to tell Tonks...”

George nodded and glanced over to the side of the corridor and his heart fell. “You may not need to…”

Raven looked up and over to where he was looking and went over to the body, cleared the dust and hair from the face and looked up in despair at the two of them. Raven was speechless and George saw the light in her eyes dim.

“We’ll come back for them,” Fred assured. They entered the great hall and saw lines of dead students, Aurors, and some staff. Fred and George laid Lavender and Colin down next to each other on the makeshift beds that were spread out. They were about to retrieve Tonks and Lupin when they were approached by Molly.

“Fred, George, dears…” she said with tears in her eyes.

“What happened..?” Raven breathed out. Molly could barely speak, and lead them over to a body that was clothed in Arthur’s attire. George looked down and saw his father’s body lying there motionless and he and Fred sunk to their knees and let out a small cry. George’s heart shattered and he and Fred held each other close. He looked over to see Raven had fallen with them, and George pulled her into his arms, needing the comfort of her embrace. She knew how he was feeling twice over, and the only solace he could find was in his frantic sobbing and holding on to the love of his life. She let him cry against her chest and she held him close, and for that he was grateful. He felt Fred join their hug and the three of them sobbed with their family for a few minutes at the death of their father.

When George pulled away and looked at Raven and Fred’s faces before him, he wiped his tears away and spoke up, “We need to get Lupin and Tonks…”

Raven’s eyes closed and she nodded. “Yeah, let’s go…”

“What’s this about Remus and Tonks?” Molly asked.

“Mum, they didn’t make it… They’re just outside the corridor…” Fred told her.

After a few hours, the wounded had been cared for, and George found Raven sitting alone on the steps. He sat next to her and wrapped and arm around her shoulders. They sat together in silence for a moment, then caught movement in the distance. Voldemort and his followers were coming back to the castle. The Great Hall emptied and the survivors flooded the ruined courtyard. George couldn’t focus on anything except for Raven’s hand in his, and Harry’s limp body in Hagrid’s arms. Voldemort was speaking, but George didn’t bother to pay him any mind. He was ready to fight again. Then Neville stood forward and Raven’s hand slipped into George’s.

Neville’s speech was inspiring, so much so that Harry’s body sprung to life and a battle began again. This time, George was sure that it would be the last one. Death eaters flew away in fear and for those who stayed, they faced the defenders of Hogwarts once again. George held onto Raven’s hand as they dodged and rebounded hexes away from each other, and Fred wasn’t too far behind them, walking backwards.

Both live and dead bodies flew around the corridors as Death Eaters used the dead students as projectiles against their attackers. George spotted Ginny dueling with Bellatrix across the way, but couldn’t find a reasonable way to get to her.

“Not my daughter, you bitch!” Molly swore at the Death Eater.

“Whoah!” Fred commented and held his mouth agape for a moment at his mother’s language. A few moments later, Bellatrix was nothing but dust on the table due to Molly’s curse.

“That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” Raven said and deflected a hex from Yaxley, who advanced towards her and backed her against the wall. George’s heart raced and he tried desperately to help her, but the problem soon resolved when Raven whipped out her gun and shot Yaxley in the chest.

“Get fucked,” she said in an annoyed tone.

“Good show, dear. Arthur would be proud,” Molly said while dodging curses. Suddenly, the few death eaters that were left stopped fighting as black smoke filled the staircase that preceded the great hall. George and Fred shared a worried look with Raven. In the courtyard stood Harry, alone, with two wands. The battle was over, and Voldemort was dead.

“I still maintain that we should have shot him,” Raven commented. George laughed and held her close.

#george weasley #george weasley x oc

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grvybacks-blog · 6 years

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𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 + 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

full name : FENRIR BJORNOLF GREYBACK. This was not your born name, of course. But you can barely remember the moniker which once defined you, for it seems lifetimes away. This name is self-given, reflective of all you are and all you intend to be. Each name is reflective of the wolf, and not of the name you were given at birth; that boy is dead now, and only the wolf remains. You remember reading of kings eaten by wolves the size of bears when you lived in the mountains, amongst all those young minds who knew no better; when you took your first life, you realized that not only kings were fit for consumption. And so you changed your name. You became.

birth date : 4 April, 1944. A night on which the moon was obscured by clouds. Your mother died before you could take your first breath; you were cut from her as she faded away, and then… there you were. You know not what the moon looked like on the night that you were born, nor did your father ever care to tell you before he died. Of course, the moon would only matter to you; it has called to you from the start. Were you, perhaps, born an animal?

gender and pronouns : Fenrir identifies as cisgender male, using he/him pronouns.

character traits :

+ (OVER)PROTECTIVE. One step to the left of loyalty, and just short of devotion, Fenrir’s proclivity for fierce protectiveness is, at first glance, uncharacteristic of his true nature. One would not expect him to feel so fiercely for anyone that he might wish to put his own life on the line for them, but he feels that his pack is his family, and he would easily go so far as to die for them. Sure, his nature is one of a bloodthirsty animal, a feral beast with survival as motive and goal; this has never been a question, and there is no doubting that Fenrir’s capacity for pleasantry and interpersonal communication is a nonexistent one, but his devotion to the pack he has created is unmatched. It is undeniably difficult to land a place on his good side - that would usually include succumbing to a bite that not all survive - but once you are there, once you are in the family, the world will need to go through him before touching you.

+ UNRELENTING. A predator never stops, so neither does Fenrir. Though it could brand him as a firebrand entity, living without conscience or empathy by those who are cowed by his intensity, his refusal to bow, to quit, to relent when it truly matters most is what defines him the most. His is an undeniably intense human being – though, of course, he would point out that he has never been quite human – and is not like to give way even under the most intense pressure. In any circumstance, he is utterly intense, overbearing, frightening; once his mind is locked upon an objective, it would take death alone to pry him from it. His entire life has been a wild ‘do or die’, and so his outlook remains a reflection of such. This is his defining trait, for it can manifest in numerous forms and drives him in whichever direction he feels his unrelenting force is needed. It is an intense trait to possess, and an intense mantra to live by; it has gotten him in more trouble than not, but he has survived yet. And he certainly intends to outlast all his newfound “allies.”

+ RESILIENT. He’s survived so much, and surely will have to survive so much more, that there’s no doubt of his resilience and strength. And it’s not just because of physical fortitude – hell, he’s got enough scars as visible, undeniable proof that he’s not indestructible. But he’s got a stalwart mind, an iron cage about his heart, and an undeniable grit that’s not sure to allow him to falter any time soon. He bows and bends knees to no one – this could force him to come across as headstrong, surely, but his survival instinct outguns any seemingly necessary formality; his pelt is made of iron, of steel, of stone, and does not let just anyone see the weak, fickle humanity behind it all. For that would be weakness – and Fenrir would rather die than be weak.

misc. witty, careless, vengeful, fearless, grudging, conflicted, secretive, nurturing

- CALLOUS. I’m going to be totally frank here - Fenrir is not a nice person in any capacity. He’s blunt, brusque and lacks tact. It could be argued that this lack of ‘people skills’ could come from his lack of a proper upbringing, but in truth it is merely attributed to the fact that he rarely cares to put in the effort. He sees no need for the pretense of pleasantry, for he does not feel beholden to anyone in his current circle, and this can undoubtedly rub people the wrong way. In a circle of primped and polished elites, he sticks out like a sore thumb with no intention of healing; as much as defense mechanism as it is first gear, his lack of politesse makes him quite difficult to maintain within the ranks of the Death Eaters - and in the public eye of their association, in general. He cares little for the feelings of others, thinks nothing of those who feign kindness, and does not intend to try any time soon.

- SELF-SERVING. I’ve elaborated on this a little more below, in the “affiliation” section, but this trait goes far beyond his allegiance within the war. This has always been a necessary trait, a necessary tool used in the grand act of survival. Had he not had his own interests at heart from the onset, Fenrir might not have survived - or perhaps he would have been violently put down, rather than wasting away, for had he not his own preservation in mind, he might have lost himself. He ultimately wants to see himself through the war with his pack at his side; anything that does not further his motives - be it within the grand scheme of the war or in the context of his interpersonal relations - is useless to him, and he will be as underhanded, as devious, as dastardly as he needs to be in order to get ahead. He cares very little for the wants and needs of others - unless, of course, they’re part of his pack.

- EXTREMIST. He is unrelenting, unforgiving, a violent tempest of teeth and anger in equal measure. He is an “all or nothing” sort, with little room for pleasantry or politics. Fenrir is a physical being with animalistic nature and tendencies; there is nothing subtle about him - I mean, he is an infamous murderer after all. It is my job as a writer to understand the complexity of his character, but at the end of a day he is a violent fanatic with no social skills, no remorse, and a nature more animal than man. He was raised feral and wholly stayed that way; predators in the wild don’t know the subtleties and intricacies of the political game - and neither does he. Were this a different universe, “guns blazing” might be an appropriate term. His reputation precedes him, and for good reason; he is a man - an animal - made of violence and selfishness, of hunger and need inhuman, and he has no intention of changing. It has, after all, helped him survive. And he’s not exactly ashamed of his reputation. In fact, the more bloodstained, the better.

affiliation : The Death Eaters. Or, rather, I should be transparent and establish here that Fenrir’s first and strongest loyalty is to his pack. Should it benefit him, he would steer them far from the Death Eaters, for that is what drives his affiliation - benefits. He has no intention of being on the losing side of this war, for his own wellbeing as much as for the longevity of his pack and of his bloodline. At present, it just to happens that the Death Eaters are the most intriguing, the most lucrative, the most attractive offer. The free rein that the Dark Lord offers him, an offer which extends to his created family, is what currently benefits him the most, as it allows him to feed the utmost of his animal desires, to satisfy the bloodlust which drives him and calls him to create. But also, he feels a great deal of responsibility for his pack; his reputation is that of a hot-blooded creator of monsters, one who drinks of the human flesh and leaves it to turn animal - but those who consent to remain by his side are family. He would do anything for his pack, for they are his greatest pride as much as they are his greatest weakness. Should a more conventional member of the Death Eater alliance threaten but a single member of his pack, he would have no qualms with ripping their tongue from within their throat. For now, though, he sees the appeal - and the security - of using his particular talents for the Dark Lord’s cause; no matter how silly he thinks the idol-worship of the group at large truly is, Fenrir is not a stupid man. Fight or flight, survival instinct, whatever you may call it; the pack survives. And no matter which way the war falls, Fenrir and the pack will be in the position required to remain standing.

plot lines :

[ THE LONE WOLF PERISHES ]: Something I would really like to explore is Fenrir’s relationship with people who have strayed from the pack - the most obvious example is Remus. As his only true loyalty is to his pack, he sees it as the ultimate - and damnable - betrayal, worthy of killing for. At present, he doesn’t want to kill Remus; he still maintains the faint delusion that he can bring him back into the fold, for he is quite proud of his creation. He knows that a wolf on its own is one that is likely to be hunted down and exterminated, for Fenrir is not blind or deaf to the way wizards regard his kind. As much as he wants to ‘save’ Remus from all that, for no matter their conflicting ideologies he is still Fenrir’s creation, he knows that he will not hesitate to snuff him out should he continue to stray too far from the pack. He does not take betrayal lightly - nor does he wish to share his toys. And though Remus has only been amongst the pack for a short time, he considers this a return to his roots, a return to where he is meant to be. He shan’t let him leave unscathed again.

[ BUT THE PACK SURVIVES ]: In that same vein, Fenrir is always wishing to expand his family, to grow his pack. Not only in numbers, but in strength - the pack is the most important thing in his life, the one thing that truly matters to him; he would do anything to keep it together, to keep it safe. He wishes to instill a sense of pride in all of his creations, to teach them the ways of his particular brand of feral nightmare, while preparing them to fight in the war that will earn them a higher station in a world of men. If he accomplishes anything, even if he himself were to perish at the end of the war - though, let’s be honest, he has no plan to fall any time soon - he wishes to leave his pack self-sufficient and prepared to raze the world he left behind. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his pack, and this is no secret; as someone who loves to throw wrenches in smooth systems, however, I would love to see that challenged. The pack survives - but not always. Who knows what would happen if one of his number were to fall?

[ A FERAL DARLING ]: Blending in is… largely impossible for someone as ostentatious an unapologetic as Fenrir, and that can create quite a number of problems for him when he is trying to blend in. And, frankly, when he is trying not to get arrested. He and his pack have one hell of a reputation, one which seems to follow him everywhere he goes. And in order to function, he has to take at least some sort of efforts to shirk that reputation. With people like Hestia on his heels, Fenrir needs to blend into society - not high society, of course, because I’m not delusional enough to think that he could be capable of pulling that off (or that he would want to), but a man who lives in the woods, chops his own wood, cooks over a fire most nights, and can often be found picking twigs, grass, and leaves out of his hair is going to take some work when it comes to functioning in common wizarding society. I would really like to explore all the painfully humorous possibilities that come with Fenrir trying to integrate - and everyone who would either call his bluff or help him try.

[ CONSUME OR CREATE ]: Fenrir has, for lack of a better term, a little black book of people he would like to play with; to be frank, they all toe the line between people he’d like to have in the pack, and people he’d like to have for lunch, which is something nonplussing to the pack, but horrifying to anyone looking in. I’d like for him to interact with all the people on the shortlist - Tarquin, Alice, Hestia, and others - and to pursue them in a way befitting his sincere lack of subtlety.

[ WILD CARD IN THE HAND ]: He has no interest in purity and domination, but in freedom, and in this, he is a dangerous and unruly member of the Death Eaters. Though he is, at present, an unmarked member of the Death Eaters, he still operates among them and owes his freedom, allegiance, and influence to them. He joined them, after all, to earn freedom for himself and for his pack, and he knows he must work for it. But his mindset and theirs, his upbringing and theirs, are polar opposites, making it rather difficult to operate amongst them. Whenever he can get away with it, he operates on his own, but when it is required of him he makes no real efforts to play nice. He does believe, after all, that he is the superior being. I would love to see Fenrir more deeply embroiled in the affairs of the Death Eaters; just imagine how someone as blunt as he dealing with some sort of scandal. He’s not as brutish and dumb as they think he is, and though he plays that perception to his advantage, he knows that the intricacies of Pureblood society are a dangerous thing. I would love to see him have to navigate that - it’ll be more difficult than the war itself, to be sure.

biography :

One must always wonder if monsters are born, or if they simply become. If they emerge from the cavernous void of creation with teeth bared and claws sharpened for the ripping, or perhaps if they come about like every other sad child with no mothering touch to teach them what it is to be human. No one really knows where monsters come from, and perhaps that is what makes them so terrifying. Or perhaps it is the inevitability that, no matter what we are inclined to believe about the nature of creation, all monsters were children once.

No one knows where he came from, for he will never tell them. There exists a certain mythos about the wolf, the Greyback wolf, whose reputation precedes him, that he simply appeared in the gutters of London one night, dressed in rags and wielding a thigh bone as a club, blood upon his cheeks as if he had bitten into something far too large to chew. He was a feral child who lived between shadows, inhabiting the old, dilapidated flat that had once belonged to a mother and father who had never truly loved each other, had never truly loved him. They had left him, after all; he’d never even known their names. Beggars, they had been, lowlifes who exposed their child to the worst sort of people - but, perhaps they themselves were the true monsters, packing away their things and leaving him to rot when he came home with empty pockets and a profusely bleeding bite-wound upon his shoulders. They had looked upon it with horror, for it spanned the length of his arm, half his chest, as if he’d been plucked up by the ankles and dipped gently into the jaws of the beast. He knew not what it meant - but his parents certainly did. Perhaps he would have hated them less if they had told him what he would become before leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back and the mold-touched bread on the table. Perhaps he would have been less frightened had he known, on the following full moon, why it was he lay upon the floor, captured at the base of the window by a single shaft of moonlight, tearing limb from limb and growing upward, outward.

Perhaps he would not hate them so, had they told him that he would feel more himself as the beast, and that they had left him for becoming who he had always meant to be. Perhaps so. Perhaps. Perhaps if he had torn into them with freshly grown fangs, and not the carriage driver in the park he’d have felt their debts paid.

He was a beastly wraith, inhabiting the streets of London, the gutters and sewers, stealing what he could and taking what he must. There were whispers that the old landlord had died, that the dingy one-room flat in which he’d been born was to be abandoned fully, along with the rest of the building. And so he was truly alone, a lonely and feral monster with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Even as a young boy scrounging for scraps and fumbling halfheartedly through the discovery of magic he knew that mortal flesh was not meant for him. He yearned for the change, for the animal that shared space with the scraps of a human soul deep within his chest. His was a lawless upbringing, a ruleless world which belonged to him and only him. He never questioned why he was made this way, nor who it was that made him; as far as Fenrir was concerned, it was the closest thing to a gift from a divine presence that someone so close to Hell as he would ever receive. A divine gift, but not one without its temptations, its pains, its suffering. But is that not the defining quality of all things divine?

But he possessed magic just as greatly as he possessed monstrosity; the magic was much more clumsy in his hands, secondary to the newfound animalism which drove him to hunt, to stray from the city and travel north, to become more nomad than wraith. Far from the city, Fenrir found himself in foreign territories that did not take as kindly, or as nonchalantly, to abandoned adolescents who took their meat raw and slept with one eye open. Those in smaller towns chased him into the wood with angry words and angrier spells, for they who held magic in the palms of their hands wanted not to allow a monster into the fold. It was much harder to steal from these smaller villages, to pillage from the humble houses, and so he learned to hunt - both as man and beast - to fish, to chop wood, to build. He was a man before adolescence, an ancient soul before all else.

At the age of thirteen, he found himself settled quite comfortably just outside Druskininkai; the Lithuanian people, he’d found, seemed more likely to leave him be than most, when encountered in the wood. Perhaps the folk in the city had heard the howls at night, the cries of pain and splendor with each full moon. Perhaps they knew that to leave their chickens in the cool night air and to lock their doors was a safer homage than to try and engage the monster directly. Or perhaps they knew that to offer him still-living stock to drag back to the shed he’d taken to inhabiting in the woods would be better than to allow him to continue to lecherously observe the girls who played in the wheat fields, watching them as if they were his next meal.

He was not ashamed that he had once tried to make a girl - blonde, with pigtails and freckles like full-moon stars - like him, once. But he was too young, and she too frightened. They’d found her arm first, for he’d done his best to bite her in the same pattern that scarred his shoulder; but she’d jerked from him, screaming, howling, and it had all come apart far too easily. He’d not bothered to wash his ragged trousers in the river until the next morning.

It was here, in this village where his reputation was not quite so terrible yet, that a traveling scholar with ties to the Durmstrang Institute dared approach him, dared speak to the feral boy who knew so little of humans, but so much of humanity. At first, Fenrir wished nothing to do with the man, or with the school of which he spoke. After all, Fenrir had known nothing but a self-sufficient life of nomadic survival, living off the land and off the people intelligent enough not to fight back. At first, he thought it frivolous, silly. But then the scholar had produced a wand from within his traveling cloak and had set him ablaze with curiosity.

But the scholar, this man with ties to the school, also made him bitter. You’ll never be like them, he’d said, But you can pretend to be.

He did not want to pretend, to hide, to lessen his monster for the sake of those who did not understand. The way the man spoke, Fenrir thought that perhaps they, wizards, thought him less for his condition. The man had called it an ‘affliction’; Fenrir knew enough of men, however, to disagree. He had never known anything but this life upon the outskirts, but he knew enough of the world to see the opportunity presented to him. The young boy, all rib-bones and dirty feet, knew survival to be paramount. Survival, freedom; acceptance meant nothing, but power was another story.

He lasted but a few years at Durmstrang, but what little education he received was invaluable. They’d cleaned him up, with pity on their faces and determination in their heavy hand, and had taught him - too little too late - all they could about ‘playing nice’ with the others, about becoming a part of a community which required social skills he had thus been lacking. Of course, what need had Fenrir had for the precarious intricacies of social politics? The children in his year had all come from lily-pure stock, and made no secret of looking down their noses at the raggedy boy who disappeared once a month, who was taught to eat with utensils, who ran in his sleep. They looked down upon him, but he cared little for their opinions - only for the practice they gave him. He learned to duel with words just as quickly as with wands, sliding comfortably into a human facade which would be passable at best to most who scrutinized him. He realized that he was quite good at slipping into the facade, at playing into their brutish perception of him, for his greatest power, it seemed, was being underestimated.

After a time, Fenrir felt as if he had exhausted the use of formal education, and left Durmstrang - though some might argue that he was encouraged to leave. At the age of fifteen, he struck out on his own once more, though this time with the skills, mindset, and determination to change the way in which he cut his monster’s path through the world. Where once he had been aimless, his time amongst the Pureblooded wizards - and their talk of purity, and the desire to reign supreme, and a movement in the name of all of it forming to the south - he now quite liked the idea of a superior regime. But, of course, he did not subscribe to the ideal that Pure magic was might, that it was superior, that his own blood was less than those without magic at all; no - he knew better. He almost felt sorry for them, the misinformed bigots who thought of him as an animal to be tamed, to be collared into too-tight robes and taught party tricks.

No - his kind was superior. And they deserved to be free. He deserved to be free.

And so he returned south with the intention of settling near his once-home, to grow his family (family, he called it; this was almost humanity), to mark themselves as a presence worthy of overtaking the lesser witches and wizards who underestimated the vitriol of the truest predator. Fenrir saw the undeniable benefit in doing so on the precipice of a war; it was a war fought by men in studies, haughty chess-makers who thought one spilled blood better than the other. He observed the brewing storm as he roamed about the countryside throughout England, Scotland, Wales; were he to have a stake in the rearranging of the world order, were he to put his hand into the fire that stretched even as far as Durmstrang, he would need not be alone. And besides, what better gift to bestow upon humanity than that of his secret weapon?

With enough of them, with enough numbers behind him, he could eat the men in their studies, and leave the bones with which his children could pick their teeth. It was a lovely thought; it was purpose.

It was not long before Fenrir had cut enough of a path through the community to be considered both a threat and something to be feared; he took children from their homes and brought them into his fold, where they could not be abandoned, where they could not be left to turn feral in the wilds. He thought it a service to them, knew it to be a gift that they could only repay by acting in his service. But he was determined to treat them in a way much different than his own upbringing; they would be an army as much as a community. A presence to be feared - but soon to be respected. He could not deny the thrill, the utterly bloody satisfaction he felt at growing his number, for violence had always been his bread and butter. And soon others saw it his way - and those who did not were quickly eliminated, for monsters of his breed, no matter their beliefs, belonged to him, with him.

Theirs is a lawless existence, this life of the Greyback pack. His body count has a body count of its own; the pack shares his taste for an almost pirate-like lack of regard for the laws of humanity - or of society, for that matter. Fenrir has made it quite clear that he is neither their father nor their master, but that they owe him the debt of their lives. They know all too well that it would have been all too easy to simply destroy them; many are beholden to failed turnings just as often as they are privy to successful ones. They live upon the fringes; rarely do any but Fenrir mingle with the common folk of the wizarding community. They seem to know not, or care not, Fenrir included, that they are uneducated, that they are anomalies, that they are a third horse in a race run by political players, for Fenrir has instilled it in them that they exist here, in this war, in these circles, to accompany the victors to the other side, where freedom awaits. He tells them only enough of his life, of his struggles, of what he has seen to instill in them a confidence that he can, in fact, see the freedom which lies just beyond the horizon of the war. In the service of he who calls himself the Dark Lord - at which Fenrir scoffs, and the pack laughs - they are allowed to indulge in their intrinsic tastes for blood, for violence, for chaos; they are allowed to be themselves where Fenrir was not, at their age. He ushers them into a new age where they will not have to hide, where they will not be forced to live in the hollows and cracks of a society that does not want them - for this is what the world has owed him from the very beginning.

This is not the becoming of a single monster - this is the heralding of their true and deserved age. A dynasty of monstrous creation, a lifetime of retribution. Monsters will be monsters, after all.

And there is no questioning the nature of monsters or men.

iii.

Pinterest - HERE!

#* ABOUT #* DEVELOPMENT

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maraudersmemoria-rp-blog · 7 years

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Remus Lupin Application

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name/Alias: Admin Sammy

Preferred pronouns: She/Her

Age: 21

Timezone: CST

Activity: 8/10 - As a full-time student and a part-time worker I am going to be around but cannot give myself a 10

Do you have RP experience? I have 10 years of roleplay experience but this is the first group I’m admin for.

Triggers: Blood & Needles

IN CHARACTER

Full Name: Remus John Lupin

Face Claim: Nat Wolff (lol Wolff)

Preferred Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Pansexual

Age/DOB: 17/ 10 March, 1960

House: Gryffindor

Affiliation: Order of the Phoenix -- Remus Lupin was a man of brilliance whose life seemed to revolve around danger. He had never intended to go looking for trouble until it found him and grasped onto his heart with no intention upon releasing him. On the contrary, Remus Lupin’s life would only grow more and more troublesome as years went by. When a war broke out and all of his friends insisted that they were going to join the Order it was only right that he tag along with them. It was both the right thing to do and only fitting that such a trouble-ridden boy dig his grave ever deeper.

Species: Wizard/Werewolf

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Patronus: A great big wolf -- Remus hates it because this means the creature is not only an infliction of the flesh but also of the soul.

Boggart: As a small child it was wolves, then the full moon, it’s currently seeing his friends’ corpses with their blood on his hands, and will eventually change back to the full moon given that his friends will either be dead or in prison for killing them but hey, at least Remus didn’t kill them.

Quote: “I can’t go back to yesterday, I was a different person then.” --Lewis Carroll

Aesthetic:

Hot Cocoa with Whipped Cream

Star Charts

Over-sized Sweaters

Cottage in the Woods

Worn-Out Books

Laugh Lines

Frosted Tree Branches

Pet(s): Barn Owl named Noctua

Occupation: Bookstore Keeper in Muggle London

Ships/Anti-Ships:

+Wolfstar

+Chemistry

-Remus/Snape

-Remus/Forced

3 Positive Traits/3 Negative Traits:

+Inquisitive

If you were to approach Hope Lupin and ask her about a characteristic of her son’s the first one she would list would be inquisitive. From the moment he opened his eyes for the first time, Remus was always studying the world around him and attempting to figure out how exactly things worked.

+Quiet

Remus quickly learned how to listen once he had been bitten. He was shuffled from treatment to treatment, cottage to cottage, told not to speak to the neighborhood children. Any time he broke that rule they were forced to leave again. He had started to learn how to speak up once he got to Hogwarts. However, old habits die hard.

+Collaborative

Remus Lupin does not know how to take care of himself when he does not have others checking upon him. That is not to say that he cannot survive but his standard of living goes down. However, when others are involved anything he puts his mind to improves immensely. Look at all that the Marauders had accomplished throughout the years, the achievement he is most proud of being the Marauders Map due to the skill it required to create.

-Impatient

Waiting is painful for Remus. When he has a goal in mind he wishes to rush in and get it done. People expect him to be the level-headed planner but the truth remains that he is as impulsive as his friends despite Dumbledore’s attempts to make him more responsible by naming him prefect. He supposes that is why James was made Head Boy.

-Temperamental

To pair up with the fact he is not the level-headed boy everyone expects him to be, Remus is rather temperamental. He tends to fly off the handle at even the most minor inconvenience, though that is usually of the self-deprecating variety.

-Dishonest

Remus’ life has been riddled with so many secrets that he has become somewhat of a pathological liar. The added negative for this trait? He’s a terrible liar.

Example: In Prisoner of Azkaban when asked if he knew Sirius Black he threw his suitcase across the room and shouted “SIRIUS BLACK? NEVER HEARD OF HIM!” Despite all of the hullabaloo surrounding Black’s escape from prison.

4 Headcanons:

Remus Lupin is not a morning person. He is used to late nights whether that was spent with his nose stuck in a book, out pranking in the corridors, or thrashing around the Shrieking Shack as a bloodthirsty beast. He does not seem to have a healthy sleep schedule so waking up before eleven in the morning is a struggle for our friend Remus. If you see him before he’s had his coffee it’s even worse.

Remus is considering actually getting a pet rabbit who he wishes to name Fluffenstein so that the rumors won’t be entirely incorrect. In the future he would joke with Harry about his classmates being under the impression of him having a badly-behaved rabbit as his “furry little problem” but every time he enters a pet shop he has to look at the bunnies and contemplate the decision for a good while. So far he has had enough self control to not pull off the act but we all know how impulsive he is.

His parents had been rather well-off until after he was bitten. After the attack they funneled most of their funds into experimental treatments for their son to no success. This led to a strained relationship between him and his father Lyall. Hope loves him unconditionally but Lyall resents his son, fueled by his own guilt for causing Greyback to target Remus in the first place.

Remus is rubbish at potions and baking but cooking is where he excels. He loves to experiment with recipes and flavors, which is especially convenient when on a budget and unable to afford a lot of foods.

Biography:

Remus John Lupin was born to Hope and Lyall Lupin on March 10th, 1960 as a healthy baby boy. He was the pride and joy of his family, the prodigy. That all changed once Lyall shot off his mouth about werewolves in front of Fenrir Greyback, the most sadistic of the species that the Wizarding World knew about. At age five, Remus was tucked into bed, read a bedtime story, and left to dream about the stars. What they had not known was that Greyback had hidden himself inside the child’s closet to attack once the full moon had risen.

After that he was dragged from experimental treatment to experimental treatment, being let down time and time again and having to move from one village to the next with no roots to be planted. He learned to keep himself distant from those around him, learned to observe more than he participated. None of the Lupins would have expected that he would ever be allowed to leave home for even a night. When Dumbledore arrived at their doorstep on Remus’ eleventh birthday, everything changed.

He was brought to Hogwarts with tremendous caution and instilled with a level of fear of his classmates that Lyall considered healthy. Hope told him the opposite: that he was supposed to make friends and live his life as much as he could. While Remus had intended upon following his father’s instructions it appeared fate admired Hope a little more.

Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Remus grew out of his shell more and more until reality set in as to what life would be like once he left the castle’s walls. He had to face the fact that, as a werewolf, he would have little-to-no future in the Wizarding World’s society. When it came time for his O.W.L.s and his N.E.W.T.s he admitted to Professor McGonagall that he would take everything available in the hopes of perhaps landing some form of job upon graduation.

Now that his time at school has come to an end, Remus has been thrust into an unforgiving world ravaged by war. How will he survive in this world that has already taken so much from him?

Para Sample:

(600 Word Minimum) -- Will be redacted upon acceptance

#memoria accepted #sample application #remus lupin #admin sammy

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requiescatinpacerp-archived · 6 years

Photo

“I don’t run away from a challenge because I am afraid. Instead, I run towards it because the only way to escape fear is to trample it beneath your foot.”

Remus Lupin

Affiliation: The Order

Age: Eighteen

Availability: CLOSED

Faceclaim: Daniel Sharman

+ Strong Willed + Listener + Punctional - Self Sacrificing - Withdrawn - Moody

Remus was the only born son to Lyall and Hope Lupin, the two cherished their precious son, loving him as fierce as any parent could love their child. Lyall worked for the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, during his time there Ferir Greyback was brought in for questioning following the death of two muggle children. Fenrir insisted that he was nothing more than a muggle which was bought by the rest of the department save for Lyall who told the board members that Fenrir may not have been on the werewolf registry list but that he was a werewolf. Regardless, they released Fenrir who was still going under the guise of being a muggle, who escaped before his mind could be wiped as the Department had intended. Out of anger for what Lyall had tried to do to him, Fenrir had broken into the Lupins’ home, biting Remus to spite Lyall to show him just what he could do if he set his mind to it. At just five learning to deal with the bite was difficult, but with the help of his parents he would learn to adapt. He had to. His childhood included frequent moving when the neighbors would begin to notice something was off with Remus. He wasn’t allowed to play with the other children around him because as a registered werewolf at such a young age once they knew his name they would look at him different, something his parents desperately wanted to avoid and thus his childhood was a lonely one, often Remus would bury himself into a book, imagining that he was in a different world where things weren’t as terrible as they were for him. Remus would never picture himself as the hero of the stories he read, instead he would wish to be something simple such as the person who helped the hero, the cook who would put a meal on the table every time or anyone who lead an ordinary life, something that he would never be able to have. He had often been told stories of Hogwarts by his father but knew that he wouldn’t be able to go, but that was until Dumbledore himself showed up at his door. He knew of Remus’ condition and had already found a solution, insisting to Lyall, Hope and Remus himself that there was no reason why he couldn’t attend school and receive an education like anyone else. The plan was formed, during the full moon Professor McGongall would take him to the newly planted Whomping Willow that lead to a tunnel that took him to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmede. It was because of his transformations that the shack got it’s reputation for being haunted, his howls mistaken for the sounds of ghouls. While at Hogwarts he made friends, something he had never had the opportunity to do, James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were the people he learned would have his back. But still as he transformed monthly he made up stories that his mother was ill, that he had to go home to care for her for days at a time. One night his friends followed him and when they learned his secret in their second year they were never ashamed of him for what he, they never would have abandoned him as he feared, but they were upset that he felt that he could confide in them. The three banned together, determined that they would do whatever they could to help their mate and became unregistered animagi and helped him by giving him animals to spend the full moon which brought him mind more and more forward so that eventually with instead of hurting himself during full moons the four could run and explore the grounds together. But there was one incident that bothered him, Sirius, who hated Severus more than the rest of the Marauders told him of the Whomping Willow and how there was was a passage to the Shrieking shack. Severus went to explore and at the end of the tunnel discovered Remus going through a transformation as Sirius had hoped, wanting Severus to be hurt. Thankfully James was able to get to the boy into time, saving him before something tagic happened. Remus has not been able to look at Sirius the same, furious that he would not only put Severus in that position but Remus, one of his best mates, in a place where he could hurt or kill someone innocent. Something that Remus would never be able to live with himself if it happened. As graduation loomed over him Remus was once again the scared boy, no one wanted to hire a registed werewolf and despite his charming personality and wonderful grades in school he struggled and was turn down time after time. Because of this he was forced to take jobs that were below his magical level of ability, but he could never stay long, while his employers knew of his secrets, his coworkers didn’t and rather then letting them find out he would leave after a few months, onto the next job. Because of his inability to hold a job down he was able to give much of himself to the Order, spending time trying to make the world safe again. He kept his secret from most in the Order, save for the rest of the Marauders and Ted Tonks. He volunteered to work on missions with Alastar Moody, wanting to keep his distance from people and work with someone who wanted to skip the chit chat and get the job done. That was what Remus needed, he didn’t want to work with someone who wanted to be his friend.

JAMES POTTER & PETER PETTIGREW : Best Friends - His best friends, the three, along with Sirius, have been inseparable for as long as they had been in school. They were the messed up foursome at best but they made it work for them. They had always bee there for one another, that meant even when he was transforming every full moon into a killer.

SIRIUS BLACK: Doesn’t Trust - Ever since the incident on the full moon where Remus could have killed Severus he cannot look at Sirius the same. He feels betrayed and hurt beyond believe that Sirius would ever put him in that position. He fears that there is no way to repair their damaged friendship.

ALASTOR MOODY: Partners - When he was asked to partner with Alastor he didn’t hesitate, he knew that Alastor knew what he was doing. He was strong and Remus knew if something happened Alastor would let him go if he had to. Remus didn’t want to be partnered with his friends because they wouldn’t just kill for him, they would die for him and Remus didn’t want that to happen.

TED TONKS: Friends - One of few people in the Order who know of his ‘condition’, Remus trusts Ted much like he trusts one of the Marauders or Dumbledore.

POSSIBLE ALTERNATE FCS: Toby Regbo, Thomas Brodie-Sangster

#marauders rp #marauders roleplay #hp rp #harry potter rp #Remus Lupin #daniel sharman #o #order #remuslupinbio #taken #takenm

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lostinthedark-rp · 7 years

Photo

“I don’t run away from a challenge because I am afraid. Instead, I run towards it because the only way to escape fear is to trample it beneath your foot.”

Remus Lupin

Affiliation: The Order

Age: Eighteen

Availability: CLOSED

Faceclaim: Toby Regbo

+ Strong Willed + Listener + Punctional - Self Sacrificing - Withdrawn - Moody

THE MARAUDERS: Best Friends - His best friends, the three have been inseparable for as long as they had been in school. They were the messed up foursome at best but they made it work for them. They had always bee there for one another, that meant even when he was transforming every full moon into a killer.

ALASTAR MOODY: Partners - When he was asked to partner with Alastar he didn’t hesitate, he knew that Alastar knew what he was doing. He was strong and Remus knew if something happened Alastar would let him go if he had to. Remus didn’t want to be partnered with his friends because they wouldn’t just kill for him, they would die for him and Remus didn’t want that to happen.

TED TONKS: Friends - One of few people in the Order who know of his ‘condition’, Remus trusts Ted much like he trusts one of the Marauders or Dumbledore.

ALTERNATE FC OPTIONS: Thomas Brodie-Sangster, Lucas Till

#marauders rp #marauders roleplay #hp rp #harry potter rp #Remus Lupin #o #order #remuslupinbio #toby regbo #taken #takenm

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