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mostlydeadallday · 11 months

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Lost Kin | Chapter XXXIII | With Clear Eyes

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: referenced abuse, referenced self-harm, gore, body horror AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXXIII | With Clear Eyes First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Chronological Notes: Surprise chapter time! I just finished writing chapters 42 and 43, so since my buffer is filled back up to 10 chapters, I decided to post early. Posting is likely to slow down again until at least the end of July, as summer events mean I'll likely have less time to write, but I'm getting to some big developments now and I hope you'll all enjoy them as much as I do.

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“Hornet?”

She jerked round, eyes focusing from what seemed like a great distance.

This was not the first time Quirrel had said her name.

Alarm pulsed in her head. True, he seemed trustworthy enough, but allowing herself to become distracted was one thing, and dozing off across the kitchen table from a near-stranger was another.

“What,” she said, rather more sharply than she intended. There was an edge of a snarl in it, a roughness that rattled her fangs, something she could not quite keep back.

Quirrel did not so much as bristle. Perhaps she was not as intimidating as she thought. Or, more likely, he was just hard to intimidate. “You were saying,” he reminded her, without a hint of reproach, “that you were told they did not feel pain.”

“I was.”

She sat silent for a moment, but nothing more came. Nothing but a slow-building, churning realization that rolled over her like a cold wave.

Hollow’s panic the day before returned to her, the sensation of watching them descend into terror, the look in their eyes growing wilder and wilder and the tension drawing them tight as a bowstring.

She had known her questions would distress them. They did not seem confident in their own ability to speak, especially when she wanted more of them than simple, immediate answers. She had wanted more, and they had tried to give it to her, bending to the breaking point merely because she asked.

But she suspected it was less the experience of being questioned—or not only that—and more the questions themselves.

You were told they did not feel pain.

How much pain you are in now?

If she had been told that they did not feel, they must have been told the same. Heard it from a dozen mouths, repeated as a fact beyond questioning, driven home by every casual cruelty and unthinking assumption.

And if, in spite of that, they did feel…

They had not expressed it. They had not exposed the lie. They’d had no voice, no language for their pain, until she had given it to them. And even now, they chose not to speak of it, chose to smother their own suffering rather than let go of the falsehood they’d been told. Told again and again, until every spark of pain must have seemed like weakness, every ache and twinge a sin, a stain on the vision of perfection their father had created.

No wonder they did not speak of it.

The Pure Vessel does not speak.

Another lie—though not precisely. The implication had been that not only did they not choose to break their silence, they were incapable of it. To speak at all—that must seem another trap sprung, another iron cage closing over their head. Their voice had been taken from them entirely; to be given another must, in their mind, run at odds with their purpose, their very identity.

What else had they been told? What else had they heard over and over, what other lies had been forced into their mind, into their soul, until they believed they were the one in the wrong?

Hornet blinked again, to clear her burning eyes, and the room came back into focus, the sharp, squared edges of the lumaflies’ light drawn in blue-white squares across the counter and the floor.

Quirrel had not looked away.

When she took a breath and could find nothing but anger burning bright behind her tongue, he held up a hand. “Perhaps we should have this conversation at a later date?”

“No,” she snapped, then turned her head to stare at the floor. “No,” she said again, softer. “I don’t—they shouldn’t hear this. It would only distress them.”

The cricket tipped his head, and when he spoke it was with genuine interest, a gentler thing than skepticism. “Why?”

Anger surged again, stinging like venom in her mouth, and the thoughtless words that she choked back seemed to sizzle. This was not an appropriate response to the question, but she was exhausted—she could admit that, if only to herself.

Once she had swallowed down her first response, and then her second, she finally trusted herself to speak.

“You saw that I taught them a sign for pain,” she said. “As well as for a range of amounts.”

“I did.”

“What you did not see was what resulted when I asked them to use those signs.”

Quirrel was silent, plainly curious, but she had to wrestle with the words before she could get them out.

“They can answer simple, factual questions quickly. Anything beyond that produces a long delay. I’ve tried to be patient with them, give them plenty of time to answer.” A steadying breath, and then she continued. “But when I asked about their pain, they… they panicked.”

Nothing, for a long moment. Quirrel seemed to be resisting prompting her, though one finger was tapping on the countertop at a slowly increasing speed. Hornet swallowed. The revelation she’d just had seemed clear in her mind, though when she tried to place words to it, it eluded her.

She tried anyway. “They have been… hesitant with me. Especially at first. The longer they are here, however, the more I see what they have kept hidden.” A pause, another deep sigh. “I do not believe they were meant to feel pain. Much as they were never intended to speak, or to think. They must have heard that as often as I, and perhaps begun to believe it.”

That was a decent explanation, though it didn’t express the choking roil of anger toward her father for his blindness toward her sibling, or herself, for perpetuating it. Irrelevant, and not something she wished to share. She finished with a shrug of her tense shoulders. “Their pain is, I believe, one of many things they dearly wish to hide.”

“I see.” His finger tapped faster.

“Do you?” she pressed. “Though I am not proud to admit it, this conclusion has taken me the better part of a week to reach. It is not one that I have come to lightly. And it has cost them much, in the meantime.”

He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head, his antennae briefly dipping downward. “It may only be easier for a newcomer to perceive. With clear eyes, as it were. But please”—and here he spread his hands in invitation—“continue. What, precisely, has it cost them?”

“I will get there. Be patient.” She clicked her fangs, making him wait a moment before she began again where she had left off.

She told Quirrel of her first fumbling attempts to heal her sibling, their panic at being forced to drain her soul, the ordeal of getting them into bed. The chandelier incident the next morning seemed important, in hindsight, so she related it in detail, only pausing to pick out a thought that occurred to her.

“I assumed, at the time, that they intended to find me and keep me in their sight, since they had displayed an urge to protect me the night before.” She chewed on the end of one fang, absently cleaning an overlooked smear of hemolymph from the tip. She’d already decided that was surely not the only reason they had attempted to find her, given how much they feared being left alone—but she had seen enough other instances of their protective instincts to convince her that their fears were not the only thing that drove them. Perhaps both were bound up together, their fears and desires intertwined, much like any other living thing. “I’ve since learned that they become agitated when left alone, and only calm when I return and stay nearby.”

Attempting to explain how she was able to judge Hollow’s moods seemed like an exercise in futility—the signs were so subtle, and she still worried that she misinterpreted them—so when Quirrel inquired, she shook her head. “It would be better if you saw for yourself. I would value an unbiased opinion.”

When he agreed, she continued on, describing the lengthy process of cleaning Hollow’s wounds and shell, and finding them asleep afterward.

Quirrel stopped her. “This has happened more than once, then?”

“They have fallen asleep while I bathed them twice, and once more just before you arrived, while I was simply holding them. It… seems to help.”

“And no wonder,” he mused. At her questioning look, he continued. “If they derive comfort from touch, the same as many mortal bugs, and have been deprived of it for an extended length of time, the symptoms that arise can be severe.”

“Symptoms?”

Quirrel shifted in his chair. “Well. Loneliness, certainly. Heightened anxiety. Difficulty sleeping. I’ve heard it said that touch can lessen pain, as well.”

That might explain why they had been desperate enough to ask for her to touch them, even after she had hurt them so.

She had much to make up for.

Somewhat distantly, she told him of the night she had taught them their first signs, relating her questions and their answers as best she could remember. She cringed when she recalled asking them what had happened at the temple; they had clearly been upset at that, perhaps reminded of events they did not wish to relive, and she had taken it for a threat, concerned only for her own safety, seeing all of their strength but none of their terror.

“I left the next morning to hunt, as my supplies were growing scarce. Before I did so, I told them to stay still until I returned.” She heaved a sigh, a simmer of frustration rising in her chest. “I was gone the better part of the day. By the time I arrived here, they were visibly distressed, and their physical condition had worsened. I’d noticed that morning that the infection had spread, but when I touched them, their shell was warmer than mine. And they acted as if they were fevered—shivering, panting at times, perhaps in an attempt to cool themselves.”

“Fascinating,” Quirrel murmured, and did not look up from his notes to meet the glare she arrowed his way. “My experience with other vessels is limited, as is yours, I suspect, but when I brushed by their shell, they were always cool, verging on cold, to the touch. It could even be felt a short distance away, like a block of ice in warm air.”

Hornet left his assumption where it lay, though she had far more experience with vessels than he could ever guess. And yes—they had always been cold, startlingly so, colder than a corpse, colder than the misted walls of the tunnels in the deeper reaches of the kingdom, and the void she spilled was colder still, so cold that it stung, that it sank into her shell like the touch of a flame-bright iron.

They had marked her, though there was nothing left of them. There were some scars she knew she might never shed, and she thought quietly that that was the least she deserved.

Given the choice, she would have left them alone, but she had been made intimately aware of the consequences should she do so, and so she had learned, against her will, how to hunt, and trap, and kill, and unmake them.

Never anything useful. Nothing that could help her with a vessel whose shade was chained to their body, who had endured far past when their mask should have shattered in two.

Nothing that could save their life, instead of end it.

Quirrel had been rambling, something about infection, and its effects on the body, and different species of hosts, and she listened dully until he ran down like clockwork and sat tapping his charcoal again, oblivious to her chilly silence at the other end of the table.

“But that is neither here nor there,” he concluded, which Hornet privately agreed with, especially since she had heard none of it. “If we assume their natural state is something similar to the other vessel I encountered, we can deduce that fever would be as damaging to them as any other bug—perhaps more so.”

“As I thought,” Hornet muttered. “They continued to deteriorate until the next morning. They were sluggish and seemed only half-aware.”

As she paused, considering how to approach what she must tell him next, the sensation of acid flooding over her hands came back to her, and the hideous pop of a blister breaking under her knife. Once again, the meal in her stomach threatened to make a second appearance.

She pressed a fist to her throat and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to recall anything more, any of the half-smothered twitches she had ignored as she cut her sibling open, or the void trickling down their back, cold as a glacial stream when she dipped her fingers in, or the smell—gods forgotten, the smell—

“I need a moment,” she managed, and leaned forward to rest her face on the table, blocking out the hard light, and the soft, distinct shapes of Quirrel’s shorthand, and the shellwood case sitting just out of reach, with its cold blades and velvet lining laid out so neatly, like an argument that would take her apart.

Hornet clenched her jaw and fisted her hands between her horns and was still, as still as she could be with every muscle straining to hold her together, not truly still at all but quivering with a useless, burning tension that she had trained out of herself long ago. It was all she could do, when every breath felt like hauling on an anchor chain, when her heart pulsed clumsily in her throat like something half-swallowed.

She would not throw up. Not least because losing the first fresh catch she had had in days would be an egregious waste of resources. Worse, it would be pathetic, and it would be pathetic where someone else could see, where he could see. She was already half-waiting for him to walk out the door, had expected it long before now, once her helplessness and desperation became apparent. There was no reason for him to stay, and yet he was still here. Anything she did might push him away, and she halfway wanted to bite and scratch until she struck whatever weakness was enough to send him running.

Few like him would be fool enough to reach out to a wounded killer.

Had she gone feral? Had all these years alone reduced her to nothing but her basest instincts? She was more than that, she was—

No. She was a lie, everything she knew of herself had been a lie, a pretty skin to hide the rotten core beneath. She was only what she had been made into, what served her mother, her father, and that was nothing now, both of them gone, both of them no use to her, nothing was any use anymore—

A hand on her shoulder.

She recoiled, curling away from him at the same time that her head came up and her fangs flashed out, extending into the harsh light to show him just how vicious she was, just how ready to be the beast the world had made of her.

“Easy.” Quirrel backed up against the counter behind him, the hand that had touched her now raised in supplication. “Easy, Hornet, it’s only—”

“Did I not ask for a moment,” she hissed, the words garbled by her extended mandibles, and immediately regretted it, with the way his antennae sagged down against his back, his arm drooping until his hand dangled once more at his side.

Yet rather than snap back in kind, or cower under her threat, he stood there, displaying no anger, no fear—nothing, damn it all, besides a hint of curiosity.

Did he never let go of that spark? That foolish warmth, that dim, trembling light that made him look at the world and expect more wonder than grief?

“You did,” he said at last. “You did ask. I am sorry.”

When a moment passed filled with nothing but her strained breath and the soft buzz of the lumaflies against the glass, he shook his head and huffed, the sound more than half a laugh. “You know, for a scholar’s apprentice, I never did learn very fast.”

It was unfair: unfair to him, when all he had done was what any decent person would do, and unfair to her, to place the blame for this failure on something other than her own foolish pride and her own rage that had no target now, nowhere to go but out.

And still, and still, she couldn’t make herself speak, couldn’t force out even a broken apology, with the beat of her heart still filling up her throat and the fear smothering her like a silk-shroud.

What she did at last was fold her mandibles away. Draw back the venom that made every breath rasp wetly through her fangs. Relax enough to straighten her shoulders. Shrug her cloak stiffly back into place.

When she trusted herself not to snap again, she said quietly, “I accept your apology,” as if she was not the one who should be asking the same.

Quirrel took no offense—or, at least, none that she could see. He did look at her a little sideways, as if she were the thing behind glass, beating herself ragged against the confines of the world. “I’m glad.”

Something odd twisted in her chest. What did he see, to make him look at her like that? If anything, he was the one worth studying. Why would he be the first to apologize? Why would he admit to wrong so easily, when she had made him pay so dearly for it?

It felt strange, and it was uncomfortable, and so she pushed it away for later, along with all the other things she’d never revisit.

That list was growing uncomfortably long.

She composed herself, lowering her shoulders and straightening her back and not acknowledging that Quirrel still stood at her side, waiting for something more than she could give him, some conclusion to an exchange she’d much rather ignore.

“I’m ready to continue.”

○

Quirrel took the hint. He returned to his chair and sank slowly into it, wiping a black smudge on his abandoned kerchief before taking up his charcoal.

He had to watch Hornet feign a poise he knew she did not feel, withdrawing behind a remove that she built up stone by heavy stone. The effort would likely not have been so obvious were she any less exhausted, any less worn down. He suspected she was used to being unassailable, a lone fortress looking down upon the world from the safety of her own detachment. That was certainly the impression she’d given the first time they met, although that impression had undoubtedly been aided by her ambushing him from a clifftop.

Still, she’d been cold then, as cold and as harsh as the constant gale that scoured his chitin, driving sharp-edged, glittering sand into every seam and weakness. She was barely a whisper of that now, and she was outright gentle with her sibling, lowering her voice and her guard both when she spoke to them.

Was she aware of it, he wondered? Was she even aware of the visible attempt she was making to resist it, her façade snapping back into place as soon as she turned to speak to him?

“I concluded that their fever would likely not resolve until I drained the infection from their body.” Her words almost faltered, but not quite. “I explained to them what I needed to do, and why. I ordered them to lie still, and—”

A brief pause, as she choked back something that sounded suspiciously wet, either a sob or whatever remained of that second tiktik. Neither option seemed like something she would want attention drawn to, so Quirrel kept his eyes firmly on the page.

Much as he wanted to reach out to her. Much as he wanted to apologize for asking her to relive this. This confession was, perhaps, lancing a wound of its own, and he was loath to interrupt it even to offer comfort—comfort that, he had to admit, she would not likely take.

A gust of breath, an aborted sigh, and Hornet found the strength to continue.

“I started with their back. The damage was less, there, and… and it was easier to deal with.” She sounded pained, and he noticed that she did not say why, although he thought he knew. “The acid had eroded much of the skin and muscle beneath the plate structure. It… was difficult to tell where to stop.” A harsh creak which, when he glanced up without lifting his head, he realized had come from the shell of her arms where her claws had clamped down.

She didn’t relax, only bowed farther forward, shoulders creeping up again, eyes distant, fixed somewhere beyond him.

“The blisters were layered, one atop another. They had pushed the shell open, deformed it. I had to… to cut away pieces of it to reach the infection, to see everything underneath.”

Hornet scrubbed one hand over her face with a rough scrape of leather pawpads over bone. Quirrel clenched his mandibles shut and kept writing, despite his own growing sense of unease.

Not unease, exactly. Or not only. No, there was something rising beneath that, a guilt and horror that were, if not equal to hers, then a mirror of it.

He knew. Oh, he knew what she felt, and it terrified him, and he had become very good at denying it. The things he’d seen, the things he’d been complicit in—he was not near as brave as she was, to air them so readily. He hid from his grief, and she met it head-on, snarling.

It was winning, but at least she had the courage to try.

“I know I went too deep. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t. They were bleeding, the shell I cut wasn’t dead, and I—”

Her voice crackled and split like kindling, and she breathed out hard, but kept going. “I-I didn’t know. I didn’t know that they could feel it. They never flinched, or—or I didn’t notice. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I know I wasn’t. I had to… to stop thinking, so that I could do it.”

Quirrel risked a nod, but she didn’t appear to notice, charging ahead with all the helpless momentum of an avalanche. “They panicked a little, when I made them take soul from me, when I asked them to heal. They… couldn’t do it the first time.” She laughed, a broken, rueful thing, something so small and shattered that he felt he could gather it in his hands, though it might cut him for his efforts. “I should have known. Gods, I should have seen it.” Her hands dropped to the table. “They breathed differently when I was cutting them, did I tell you that? They breathed as little as they could, moved only as much as they had to, trying to help me. To help me hurt them.”

He finished his last glyph with an abrupt stroke, looking up. There was a challenge in Hornet’s eyes, all softness gone, but the chill gone with along it. Something real, something raw, stripped bare, rose to meet him there. Though she jerked away a moment later, as abruptly as she had recoiled from his touch, and, he thought, for the same reason.

She was silent, waiting for something, so he said, softly, “You did not want to hurt them, Hornet.”

A heavy scoff was his only acknowledgement.

“I had to use a bucket,” she continued after another pause, and her voice had gone flat, but with even more bite in it than before. “To catch all the acid that drained from them. I couldn’t wring out the rags fast enough. Their shoulder was nothing but… scraps. Muscle and skin. The shell was gone, except for what came away in my hands. I didn’t need the knife for that.”

She seemed to be trying, deliberately, to upset him, and he felt the pressure of it, the weight of it on his shoulders, in his stomach.

He bowed his head and kept writing.

“I don’t know what did it,” she said at last, with a helpless shrug. “What sent them over the edge.”

Quirrel watched her, but she didn’t look back at him. He felt a warm prickle of frustration. Hiding, again; though this was as vulnerable as he had ever seen her, she could not stop herself from holding back.

“They had moved very little since I ordered them to be still. But I wasn’t really watching. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. Been more aware…”

Another shrug. “While I was draining one of the last cysts on their shoulder, they… jerked. Flinched, finally. I don’t know. The knife slipped. There wasn’t any shell left to stop it.”

Oh, damn it all. Quirrel might be sick himself, and he hadn’t even eaten since morning.

He deliberately loosened his grip on the charcoal, then his free hand from the edge of the countertop, and resumed his transcription, detaching his mind from the words on the page for the moment. He would see these wounds up close, if he was to help in any substantial way, but there were better times to think about that than at the end of very long, very fraught day.

That didn’t appear to stop Hornet. If he’d known her better, he would have guessed that she was intentionally lingering on the discomfort, turning it over and over like a cold stone between her hands.

“They were able to heal when I ordered them to, which stopped the bleeding. But they were distraught. I stepped away, thought to give them—and myself—a rest.”

Scratching on the paper filled the silence, and then nothing.

Her voice now was faltering, stilted, like clambering over rubble. “When I stepped toward them again, I—they—”

Quirrel held still, even his breath falling silent, not quiet believing she might actually break, might crack in two like one of the fractured shells on the counter to reveal the raw and bleeding core beneath.

She did not. However many years she had lived in this dying land had forged something stronger of her than that. He wondered if that was what was lending her strength now, as she gulped back whatever sounds wanted to break from her throat. Or her heritage, her mother’s might and her father’s reserve, her mortal fire and godly resilience. Or just plain stubborn pride, a refusal to show weakness in the presence of a stranger.

And he was just that, he reminded himself. A stranger, sitting there in her kitchen, waiting for her to spit out whatever it was that choked her voice back—though he’d expected as much since she first saw what was in that shellwood case.

A stranger. However much he already achingly wished to be more to her than that, to be something to someone, anyone, who’d give him reason to keep pulling himself through this world. A stranger, whatever kinship he sensed, blooming beneath the thorns that kept the world at bay. She would trust him, or she would not, and he would respect whatever distance she felt the need to create between them.

He would not add to her burdens, no matter what it cost him.

“They asked me to stop,” she said, finally. Muted, nearly smothered. “They used the sign I’d taught them, and asked me to stop.”

Quirrel did not interrupt, though something lurched upward in his throat.

“I-I wanted to be sure.” The air quivered as she inhaled. “I asked what they meant, and… they pointed at the knife in my hand.” Her hand clenched, the plates at her wrist flexing, nearly bowing with the tension. “I asked, as plainly as I could, if I had hurt them. And their answer was yes.”

Quirrel carefully pushed away every response that wanted to rise, every whispered oath, every purposeless word.

There were few things that he had found appropriate to say to confessions like this. Expressions of sympathy were often unwelcome, as were acknowledgements of error. The sense of wrong, the cold horror climbing through his chest, would aid nothing were he to expose them.

The only reliable response he knew of was to wait, to allow her to work through her own turmoil. His words were unimportant, his input unasked for.

If she had been anyone else, he would have reached out to steady her, but Hornet would not accept even that.

“I could not deny their awareness then.” She had straightened again, although her horns were still bowed. “Not after…”

She met his eyes, some of her courage regained amidst the shock he saw there. “They fell apart. They were crying, Quirrel.”

His fingers tightened on the charcoal again, then had to slacken as she kept talking, running ahead of what he had already written. “They were terrified, and half-wild with it. Like I might run them through.” She swallowed. “Or worse.”

With a start, she seemed to notice her own claws clenched into her palm and extended them. “Earlier today…” A false start, for she had to breathe deeply and begin again. “Twice now, perhaps more, they have intentionally hurt themselves. I’ve been binding their claws; so far, that has stopped them, but if motivated, they may find other ways.”

Quirrel could not stop the soft sound that escaped him, the catch in his throat finally releasing. Hornet did not react, only studied her own talons with an intensity they did not seem to deserve.

“They did not calm. Not until I knelt down and reached out to check their fever.” Her hands closed again, gently this time, as if feeling the curve of her sibling’s shell against them. “They pushed their face into my hand when I made to pull back, and I—”

She scoffed, harshly. “What else could I have done? I stayed. I stayed there with them. I rubbed their mask until they fell asleep. Until they stopped shaking. Stopped crying.”

Her chelicerae twisted, fangs skewing beneath her mask, an ugly expression. “And then I left them.” The words were blank and heavy as stones. “It was too much. I fled while they slept, with no regard for the consequences. I ran away.”

He could almost picture it, with the way she said It was too much. Could almost feel the guilt closing round her throat like a fist, forcing her voice flat, choking her into silence.

He was loath to say any part of it was deserved, but from what she had told him, she’d known her sibling would be terrified by being left alone. If she had not felt any guilt at abandoning them, he would’ve been forced to question whether he had formed an accurate opinion of her.

Even so, he had to resist the urge to pry. To ask, as he sat there watching her suffer, whether there was anything else she needed to tell him. Confessing this did not seem to have brought her any relief; she had looked away again, shoulders hunching and hands tightening as she tied herself into knots, and he could not shake the feeling that there were layers to this, grief and guilt and blame and hatred twisted up and bound atop one another, in ways she was only beginning to unravel.

She was silent for so long that he half-expected her to get up and leave.

Quirrel shifted uncomfortably. Prompting her had not been received well, but he doubted she would admit if she legitimately needed to stop. She wished to have this conversation now, he reminded himself, get everything out in the open, give him everything she could.

It was another long, long moment before his patience was rewarded.

“I left the city. I flew for a long time, not caring where I was going. I could not return and face them, face the pain I had caused.” A short, rattling hiss that shivered across his shell, though he didn’t allow himself to flinch. “I would not.”

She collected herself, visibly, blinking hard and smoothing her posture down into something more neutral. Literally, in the case of the short spines along her neck. Were those a spider trait? He recalled meeting a species covered in fine hairs that stood on end when threatened, but where most spiders had at least some form of coat, her shell was as smooth and glossy as her sibling’s.

“And then I met you.”

These next words distracted him from this tram of thought, causing his gaze to jerk up in surprise. She met it, steady now, holding ground.

Did she know what that meeting meant to him? That it had halted a long descent into the dark, pulling tight like shining silk around his wrist?

If she did, she said no more about it, instead relating her decision to visit the Black Egg and what she had found there. He felt a queasy twist in his gut when she confirmed that the little vessel had indeed taken their sibling’s place in the temple, and that the door had sealed shut behind them. She pulled out the strange charm when he asked, though examining it told him no more than she already knew.

“I had thought to use the soul it produces to allow Hollow to heal further,” she said, leaning back and tucking the cord back under her cloak. “The healing spell itself appeared to make no further difference. Holding soul, however, might have.”

“I must admit I’m not terribly familiar with soul magic,” Quirrel murmured. “Are there normally effects to holding soul without using it?”

“None that I’ve experienced.” The spider shrugged, adjusting the lay of the cord around her neck. “It may have been my imagination, but they seemed to breathe easier when they held it.”

“We can certainly test that.” He made a note of it on a separate sheet, at the end of a growing list of things he was eager to try.

Pausing a moment, he examined the feeling, twisting and turning it like a chip of gemstone in the light. Eagerness. It was not something he had felt since his memories returned, setting him adrift in his own isolation. A reason to hope, maybe. A reason to keep going.

Truthfully, he recognized the beginning stages of one of his obsessions: a problem that would keep him up at night in unthinking concentration while the hours wore away. He was well and truly committed now, without having made any conscious decision to be—not only to the unanswered questions, but to the task in front of him, the messy, thankless work Hornet had shouldered on her own. She had not even stated what she wished him to do, what kind of help she required, but he knew now that he would do it.

He had known from the moment he stood from the lakeshore and took up his nail to follow her. He would do anything, be anything, that she needed, if only for the relief of someone to need him.

He looked up. Hornet was staring into the middle distance, still picking at the cord with the tips of her claws, but she didn’t seem distressed, or at least not as much as she had been.

Deliberately, he tapped his charcoal to get her attention. Her gaze flicked over with a faint spark of annoyance, but annoyance was better than despair, better than whatever kept dragging her backward into the mire of her own guilt. He would know.

When she began again, describing what had happened after her return, she was calmer, though he hesitated to assume that this was positive; just as likely, she had reached the end of her ability to feel, or simply grown tired enough to slip into numbness, a sensation he knew well.

Still, he was reluctant to stop her when she had to be drawing near the end, when every new piece of information gave him a greater chance at assembling the whole picture.

Finally, she reached the moment he arrived and halted awkwardly, as if unsure whether to continue. He lifted a finger until he finished writing, then leaned back, lacing his ankles around the legs of his chair. Mentally, he sifted through the details of her account, setting the knowns from the unknowns, placing jagged pieces together, smoothing their edges into one another. The highs and lows of this tale would have played out admirably on any stage, save for the fact that it had no ending.

An ending. That was what he needed to determine—something they could both agree on, a goal to look to, a whole to be made of the pieces.

He sat forward, pushing the pages aside and laying the charcoal down. They were off the record, now—he wanted her to meet him here, alone, without any lingering doubts or listening ghosts.

“Answer me honestly,” he said, low, even. “What do you want from this? What do you want for them?”

She bristled again, but the anger faded quickly, as if she was merely too tired to keep hold of it. “I—”

That was all that would come out for a moment, as the words halted in her throat and she shut her mouth, inhaling deeply.

When she answered, it was a half-choked whisper, quiet and fierce, a muffled challenge to the world, like the soft warning note of a blade against its sheath.

“I want them to live.”

And, he guessed, when she searched for words and found none, everything that came with that—every joy and heartbreak, every love and sorrow and trifling annoyance, every dawning promise and fading regret. Everything that had been denied their kind, that they were never meant to experience. Vessels had been made for one purpose only, and that purpose existed somewhere between life and death, between the soul that gave them being and the void that rebirthed them in its image.

He jolted slightly, unaware that he had ever known enough to put such precise terms to it, but as soon as he grasped for more, it slipped through his fingers and he fell back to earth.

Where Hornet was watching him, as she always did. Waiting for an answer, or for reassurance—he didn’t dare guess.

Much as he hated to ask his next question, it was necessary.

“And if that is not possible?”

He had expected her to hiss at him, to voice her displeasure at his suggestion that she might fail. Perhaps he was expecting too little of her, or allowing her status to cloud his judgement. She only bowed her head, her shoulders wilting briefly before she found the strength to straighten them.

“Make them comfortable,” she said. “Ease their pain. Give them a… a peaceful death.”

Then she scoffed. “If that’s even possible, with them.”

“Easing their pain?” he prompted.

She eyed him sideways. “Dying.”

“Ah.”

Apparently, he had more questions to ask.

○

Taglist: @botslayer9000 @moss-tombstone @slimeel Send an ask or reply to this post to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

#lost kin fic #lost kin chapter #hollow knight #hollow knight fanfic #mywriting #hk the hollow knight #hk hornet #hk quirrel #hk

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atlantic-grave · 11 months

Note

One of your tags in one of your arts said 'we're gonna add Quirrel into the confusing mess IDEK', what does that mean? What do you plan to do with Quirrel involving Grimm and Hollow? Also can you explain in detail why these dumbasses would have a complex relationship? I kinda wanna know just how complex it be 👀👀👀👀👀

I started to like QuirrelHollow bc it's basically eldritch god x lil guy sjjsuwus, so yeh! I also thought that NKG could tease and poke at him alot.

Onto complexity wooo

Hollow was raised in such a toxic environment in the white palace (and abyss) to where they don't understand or like any strong emotions. They're qlso standoffish and actively avoid other bugs after the sealing. Grimm however, can deal with this. He's insanely patient and was capable of giving them the attention they crave but also fear so deeply.

There's a scene I desperately want to draw where Hollow still has cysts of infection in their body, and only allows Grimm to get them out (it takes forever to get them calm enough but it happens eventually!).

Onto Grimm now bc he's not any better, he's more used to being a force of nature rather than an an active God if that makes nay sense? His entire arc is basically "God feels mortal emotions for the first time" and it's fucking weird! He finds them interesting, but weird. He also starts off being a bit mean to Hollow which didn't help, but alas the God of silence is not merciful and shook him up a bit. And bam! Friendship!

Messy concepts, I have alot more but I'm at work writing this during lunch 💔

I'll probably make posts explaining more later when I'm able, hope this was readable hrrhrh

#my asks #grollow #hollow knight #hk #hk pure vessel #hk thk #the hollow knight #nightmare king grimm #grimm troupe #troupe master grimm #two emotionally constipated gods #what could go wrong

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passer-ine · 2 years

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I'm thinking about Godhome ending where everyone survives because I say so (RIP godseeker tho 😔) just Some Thoughts I've had on it

(probably counts as an au at this point)

THK surviving and able to be free cuz no more infection

The Dreamers are also able to wake up cuz they don't have to be killed for the seals to break because the seals didn't even need to be broken

MEANS QUIRREL IS STILL THERE TOO :)

Little Ghost is now also Lord of Shades (pretty sure that's what happens iirc), but in the awake world, just goes back to its vessel body (cuz of shade soul charm or something idk I'm making this up as I go), but its tiny little body can barely hold the void god which presents some problems

Ghost is still them but Something is Definitely Different. The air around them seems colder and more dense in a way you wouldn't expect from someone so tiny. Just makes them all the more unsettling.

Most bugs don't know why, just "hm they're creepier than usual"

Bugs who know enough about the void can figure out what's up (like Bardoon, and WL).

Bugs who can pick up on things like that, but don't know enough about the void to tell exactly whats up are like "hm, something is fundamentally different but I don't know what" (like Hornet)

Really toying with the idea of if PK is actually dead or just reincarnated again.

Little Ghost is still very young (specifically mentioned in the game somewhere, I do remember this) so yeah Mato adopts them.

THK gets to visit their mom. Don't know if this helps them, but it's one of those things they just really need to do for themself.

Knights reunion (sad). The remaining knights (and WL) find out what happened to the others, but at least they get to see each other. (Ze'mer is still there because I say so)

All infected creatures just die. Technically they're already dead, but the infection isn't keeping their corpses going anymore. It's more of poison now, and can't really spread anymore.

Except Broken Vessel I want them to be ok ;-; technically when u fight them they're still alive cuz at the end of the fight when the infection leaves they try to get up but just collapse ssshhh they're just slleeppingg they're ok I PROMISE :)

Going back to PK, reincarnated he would be a little more wrymy and a bit less buggy than than the 1st time he reincarnates.

He probably tries to fix up THK some, knows there's only so much he can do with all that they've been through, but 1- he's a bit attached 2- gives him something to do for a while

He's still an asshole tho and doesn't really care much about about ghost or bv, siblings gotta look out for each other (THK does care abt them, as does Hornet)

I saw thing somewhere about Oro adopting BV and I love that so I'm using that here too if this post ever reaches the person who started that: I love you.

It's also an excuse for Mato and Oro to talk to each other

Maybe if that goes well Sheo can introduce his husband to his brothers :)

I've thought about this a lot lmao. There's still more, but I may draw some of it out.

#hollow knight #hk

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cotillion-the-rope · 1 year

Text

Shade Lord Ghost Drabbles: Gods Battle

Summary: How about a 2 gods that are friends come to hollow nest and provoke/threaten hollow nest in some way and ghost steps in and fights them on the outskirts of hollow nest/howling cliffs while the new bugs, other friends and siblings of ghost watch as ghost literly obliterates the 2 gods. Though do you think you could include a scene where they all think ghost is gonna get sevearly hurt but ghost somehow counters it?

“Are you sure this trap will work?” Marci still wasn’t sure messing around with this god and its kingdom had been a good idea to begin with.

“Has it ever failed before?” Lindie replied, not looking up from her preparations.

“No. But this Shade Lord is powerful.” Being a god herself, meant she could sense the depth of that power far more clearly than she’d like. Lindie should be able to as well.

“Yes, but its new to its power. We can trick it and destroy it like we’ve done before.”

True. They’d destroyed plenty of gods that were more powerful than themselves, pulling their followers into their fold to grow their own power further. But the Radiance’s light had outshone Lindie’s and had pierced Marci’s obscuring shadows, rebuffing their long ago attempt to oust her. And the Shade Lord had killed the Radiance. New to its power or not, it was not a force to be taken lightly.

“Besides,” Lindie continued, “it’s soft. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have sent us that warning. Soft gods are the easiest to taken advantage of. Which is why there are so few. And when we’re done here there’ll be one less.”

Marci still wasn’t fully convinced but Lindie had never run her astray before. And if anyone could kill the Shade Lord, it was the two of them. … It was going to be difficult though, this trap had to be their strongest by far, else it’d be worthless and their lives would likely be forfeit. With that in mind, she returned to her own efforts in preparing it, hiding it in a camouflage strong enough to fool even the Shade Lord… hopefully.

***

It wasn’t often Lemm got to see gods battle. Not that this was much of a battle. The two butterfly goddesses were on the retreat, pulling further and further back towards where they’d set up their camp at the base of the Howling Cliffs. Which was great because atop the Howling Cliff was where Lemm and Quirrel had set up to watch this battle. At the same time though, it was the opposite of great because having battling gods so close to oneself didn’t seem like a good preservation tacit.

“Looks like they’re leading Ghost somewhere,” Quirrel said.

Lemm could hold his own in a nail fight if he had to but he was no expert at combat so he hadn’t picked up on that but now that Quirrel had pointed it at, that certainly seemed to be the case. “You think they have a trap laid?”

“Probably.”

“Should we warn the Shade Lord?” Others may be comfortable referring to them as ‘Ghost’ but Lemm wasn’t. It was far too unassuming a name for a being so powerful.

“Hmm… I’d say yes but I’m not sure how we…” He cut off with a gasp as Ghost sprang the trap.

What had a moment ago looked like just another bit of rocky terrain was now a pit of spikes made of blinding light. A net made of the same magical light bound the Shade Lord, pulling them down into it. Quite the trap indeed. The butterflies goddesses jumped forward, pressing the attack.

Quirrel stood, drawing his nail. He was going to jump down to help! Lemm scrambled to his feet, grabbing his arm to pull him back just in time.

“What do you think you could possibly accomplish jumping down there like a fool?”

“I don’t know. Surely there’s something.”

“At best you’d get in the way, at worst you’d get killed.” Even if Quirrel had lived far longer than the average mortal bug he was still small and fragile compared to the forces battling below them. One spell from any of the combatants, intentionally aimed at him or not, would be his end. Lemm was not about to stand here and let that happen.

Quirrel pulled against Lemm’s hold. He could probably break it if he really wanted to but he didn’t yet. “I can’t just stand here and watch! They’re our friend, we have to…” he trialed off, his gaze locked at the battle once more. Still holding his arm just in case, Lemm looked down too.

The Shade Lord had drawn their nail. It edge sliced through the net of magical light with ease. In only a matter of seconds, the net was gone and the Shade Lord was free. The butterfly goddesses didn’t get much time to react before the Shade Lord was on them again, ending them both in a single clean sweep of their nail.

“I guess that takes care of that,” Quirrel said as he sheathed his own nail.

Dead, the goddesses’ magic was already started to fade, the magical light making the pit of spikes dimming. With a roar, the Shade Lord raised a wave of void to crash over it, ending it that much sooner. They then left, teleporting away and leaving a pool of void where the pit had been and over where the goddesses’ bodies had fallen.

“Yeah.” It was not often that Lemm got to witness history in the making. His writings about this event later would no doubt go down in history as an important document.

#my writing #hollow knight #shade lord ghost drabbles #shade lord ghost #relic seeker lemm #quirrel #lemmquirrel

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threadsun · 1 year

Note

Oh !! I like that energy !! First time someone offered me a wheelchair I almost broke down !! Such fun times~

-fr i should be more positive about things, Im working on it tho, jda here-

I’ll let you keep the title just cuz you’re fun, so—

Assuming you don’t know what hollow knight is, is basically like a metroidvania game and it’s sooooo gooooood !! IM IN LOVE WITH THE GAME SINCE LIKE. Idk I think I discovered it in 2019 I think I can’t remember, BUT BUT, I had like this discussion with my sister telling her we should buy it and that I would pay for it and stuff and I finally convinced her, she liked the game, the one going crazy over it was me tho—

It’s got a ton of fun stuff and I mean a ton !!

You get lost really easily if you can’t find Cornifer to buy the map of the area but that’s the fun part !! Just exploring random places and memorizing stuff is just so nice !! ALSO THE BOSSES OOF, I love every single one of them !! Sure there are some that,,, aren’t that fun, but at the end of the day they’re still pretty enjoyable !! It’s got plenty of nice characters my fav being Quirrel whom I have a plushie of (also a plush of like the void version of the player, plus a silly drawing I made, I would buy more merch but I’m poor also I have more fandoms to attend to so— I have some merch here and there of other stuff so well that’s we’re my money goes to :]]) also also !! The name I use to sign my drawings comes form like the ship name I like from that game yes it’s gay bugs idk why they look cute ig

Okay to sum everything up or else this ask will be completed in three weeks, I love the game and the soundtrack is a banger I love it im waiting for Team Cherry’s next game so bad I’m very exited I just love hollow knight so much istg I’m not normal about that game I can count how many corpses are in the abyss I’ve played the game more than what I can count and I still haven’t gotten the 112% I’m very disappointed in myself but one day I’ll get it anyways if you have money I totally recommend getting it it’s a whole experience 10/10 would recommend okay that’s it thanks for letting me talk about the game I love it so much and I love you ok thanks again bye

Wheelchairs are so good tbh, like my stance (and the general disability studies/activism stance) is that if an accommodation makes your life better, you should use it. Doesn't matter if you could do [thing] without it, if it makes doing [thing] easier, you should use it!

Like I could just walk around with a dislocated/subluxated hip, but if I want to walk without pain then I need to use my wheelchair! The first time I ever used one was at a museum, and I realised it was the first time I'd ever enjoyed a museum cause I wasn't in horrible pain for once. After that, I started the process of getting my own wheelchair because it's so much nicer to live a life where I can focus on my surroundings without being distracted by pain!

Ooooh that sounds like lots of fun!! I know one of my friends plays it, but I've never actually seen it played. I may watch some playthroughs/streams of it or something to see if it'd be my sort of game, and if it is then I'll probably get it!! It sounds super cool from how you describe it, and I love the idea of gay bugs~

#sunshine #asks #jda

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foxtriestobiteandmaimandkilland · 1 year

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man i love drawing quirrel actually hes sooooo fun to draw likeeee im sooo bad at it but hes still soooo fun to draw OTHER THAN HIS FUCKING LEGS LIKE THOSE SHAPES MAKE NO SENSE TO ME THEY BEND IN SUCH MYSTERIOUS WAYS and his arms r hard but not confusing BUT HIS LEGS ARE LIKE. ANOTHER PLANET. well i suppose theyre all legs. cuz hes a bug. BUT STILL. butttttt his dad bod is sooooo fun to draw :3 AND i recently got some new pens bc my therapist gave me some as like a goodbye gift thing ?? idk but i got cool new pens and yesss. OO actually. i am going to. draw lots of quirrel. and get soooo good i will post one (1) doodle of him here. wowie. AND. one day. i will learn how the FUCK to draw cornifer. and then i will have the two best characters of all time IN my sketchbook. wow...

#night thoughts #hollow knight #taggint THIS one as hk #bc.#even if its not abt my own progression in hk #it is like #essential #bccccc #errrrr #quirrel is essential #so #yeah #fuck u

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havoc-bloom · 2 years

Note

Oooo hk match ups? I’ve never done one before! I have two characters Im hoping for but I’ll let you have full reign

I’m a queer nonbinary art student. Im plenty creative and full of stories I want to write and draw. I nerd out on stories/characters and fandom analysis often. Though I’m told I’m a bit shy and I can be a socially awkward introvert I do enjoy making friends. I’ve been told I’m good at giving advice and comfort. I paint, write, play board games with friends, video games, and watch animations in my free time.

I’m a bit of romantic?? Sometimes?? I love kind words and physical touch. And I write love letters and make art specifically for my SO so I’ve been told I’m a romantic. A romantic with the mouth of sailor and punk edge to them fjdnd

Congrats, you're the first to request a Hollow Knight match-up! Yayy! Have I got the guy for u :]

You're paired with...

Quirrel!

Pls introduce him to some fandoms, he's more than happy to listen and wants to know what ur talking about

Once you get him into some fandoms and whatnot, you'll find he LOVES indie horror. Especially FNaF, huuuuge FNaF fan

He loves art! He doesn't really make it, but he gets so excited when he sees people drawing. It's like magic to him; he wonders how people do it.

Board games? FIGHT HIM IN CHESS I DAre YOU. He used to play with Monomon a lot, but could never beat her. He often wonders just how she was that good.

WOULD DIE FOR A LOVE LETTER OMGGGG, y'all be like pen pals with how many letters you'd send to each other.

Will scold you on your language... at least, until he accidentally says "Fuck" in front of you :)))

Hope you like your explorer bug bf! :D

#quirrel #hollow knight #match ups #quirrel hollow knight #quirrel hk

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bugs-in-the-atmosphere · 2 years

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So remember when I did this post? Well some people seemed to like her, so I started brainstorming! Here's the process I went through ^^

First I needed a bug, I wanted her to be similar to actual bugs like most characters in Hollow Knight! I looked up "bugs with long legs" for simplicity and saw "spider cricket". Since they not only have long legs and smaller, round bodies, but also have long antennae, (which is something I liked about the first drawing) I ended up choosing the Spider Cricket for reference!

Something I also found is that they are completely harmless, yet many consider them "creepy". So I decided to work with that! Instead of trying to make her creepy, I made her nail fairly sharp. I tried to reference the spears used by Mantis since they are presumably very deadly. Despite her weapon she's very friendly and tries to avoid fighting when she can. Because of this she's "deadly" but "harmless".

With this stuff combined I finished up the art and here she is!

I added and altered a few things! I gave her a strap for the nail to go on for convenience, since I like to imagine that she's similar to Quirrel in that she adventures around areas for small bits of time then moves on to the next mystery! I made her legs and antennae look more like the ones on the cricket, since I want it to be clear what she's referenced from! I kept her necklace the same since I loved it how it was, but other than the small changes she stayed the same! I personally love how this design turned out but I'm curious about what you guys think about it! And incase anyone was wondering, her name is Carmel! I named her that since "carmel" n "camel" are spelled similar, Spider Crickets are also known as Camel Crickets so I thought it was fitting, so yeah! I'm glad people liked the little doodle I made of her and I really hope that the people who saw that see this and like it too. I'm gonna try to be more active on Artfight for a bit so sorry if I don't post as much as usual

#hollow knight #hk #hollow knight oc #hk oc #cricket #spider cricket #carmel #wrens ocs #wrens art

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 3 years

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I just want Severus being a protective dad to Harry. Like,

(or, some conversations i think should happen.)

Year One

Severus: It’s not me, Harry.

Harry: But Dad, you like magical shiny things -

Severus: Harry. Go bother Professor Quirrell.

One book later…

Severus, storming through the castle on a rampage: WHO THE FUCK HIRED THAT TURBAN BITCH WHO TRIED TO KILL MY SON?!

Year Two

Harry: They’re going after Muggleborns. Like Mom and Hermione.

Severus: *pen snaps in his hand under desk* Hm. I’ll take care of it, Harry.

In Mcgonogall’s office later with her and Dumbledore…

Severus: My son is coming home with me whether you like it or not. And I’m inviting every other student too.

Dumbledore: We have everything under control.

Mcgonogall: Severus, I hate to break this to you, but four thousand students are not just going to follow you home.

Severus: *laser eyes ignite* They will if I offer them free A’s and no homework. And I think you’re forgetting that my son is the Chosen One, Minerva.

Mcgonogall: Bitch if you think I won’t slap you -

Dumbledore: *snores loudly*

The rest of the book later…

Severus: You are never allowed to speak Parseltongue again.

Harry: Then how will we talk when you’re in your Animagus form?

Severus: *mocking Harry’s voice* Then how will we talk when you’re in your Animagus form? We won’t, you idiot! I only do that for incredibly dangerous missions or to get some goddamn alone time!

Harry:

Harry: *starts to tear up*

Severus: Oh no. Oh no no no. Harry, no, don’t cry, not the crying, I didn’t mean, fuck, love, no, I, Harry -

Year Three

Harry: Dad, um… Professor Lupin invited me for tea.

Severus, without looking up from drawing smiley faces all over graded tests: Yes, yes. Go see him. Don’t be late. And tell him a good strong “fuck you” from me.

Half a book later…

Severus: I can’t believe you laughed at that paper’s comment on my nose.

Harry: Dad -

Severus: I did not marry James Potter and Lily Evans so our son could make fun of me. I have not dragged myself through thirteen years of your incessant crying and misplaced sarcasm to have you laugh at my nose. I could have killed myself Harry. You could have grown up with Petunia.

Harry: Dad, I’m sorry -

Severus, huffing and dropping down in his chair and turning his back on Harry: My only son. A traitor!

Harry: *groans*

The other half of the book later…

Severus: SIRIUS. THIS IS WHY YOU LET ME COME UP WITH THE PLANS.

Sirius: Snape -

Severus: SHUT UP YOU FOUL-BREATHED HEATHEN. COULD YOU NOT HAVE HAD THE COMMON DECENCY TO AT LEAST CLUE REMUS IN ON YOUR LITTLE PLAN?

Remus, stepping in front of Sirius: Now, Severus -

Severus, angrily pointing at them: NO! NO. HE’S YOUR HUSBAND, THAT MAKES YOU COMPLICIT. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?

Hermione: Uh, guys? Full moon?

Remus and Sirius: Shit.

Severus, already rolling up his sleeves and tugging his idiot son and said idiot son’s idiot friends out of the Shack: Come meet James, she said. It’ll be fun, she said. They’re not that bad, she said…

Year Four

Severus: No.

Harry: I didn’t put my name in there, believe me, but Dumbledore says -

Severus: Fuck Dumbledore. I’m your father and I said no.

Harry: Dumbledore says there’s wards -

Severus: No.

Harry: But -

Severus: No.

Harry: Dad -

Severus: No.

Most of a book later in Severus’ office…

Harry, curled against Severus’ robes: Dad, he just… and Cedric… he’s back… it’s all my fault - *bursts into tears*

Severus: *kisses the top of Harry’s head* Nonsense. I’ll protect you, love. You’re gonna be just fine. And Voldy dearest can just fuck right off if he thinks he can get to the son of James Potter and Severus Snape and Lily fucking Evans -

Harry: *laughs wetly and wipes his eyes and nose on Severus’ robes*

Severus: *withholds disownment*

Rest of the book later in Dumbledore’s office…

Dumbledore: *sighs* Severus -

Severus: *whirls around and points angrily* NO. I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT ALBUS. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES MY SON HAS NARROWLY AVOIDED DEATH IN YOUR SCHOOL? I WANT MORE SECURITY PROTOCOLS AND I WANT THEM NOW.

Dumbledore: *face scrunches up like a lemon* You want me to… what, Harry-proof the school?

Severus: *crosses arms over chest* Yes.

Dumbledore: *sighs* Severus -

Year Five

Severus: She did what.

Harry: *swallows nervously* Um. Nothing, Dad, just a blood quill -

Severus: A FUCKING WHAT NOW?!

Five minutes later…

Hermione: Harry? Why is your father cussing out Professor Umbridge and hexing her luggage when she’s not looking in the courtyard?

Ron: Yeah, and why’d I see him pay Fred and George like five hundred galleons in the hallway back there?

Harry, watching his father literally throw Umbridge down the steps while still shouting curse words in languages Harry didn’t even know existed: *facepalms*

Most of a book later…

Harry, sobbing and limping towards Severus: Dad… Dad, she killed… Dad, Sirius… *sobs brittlely*

Severus: *kisses the top of Harry’s head and pushes him gently into Remus’ shaking arms* Nonsense, love. Now, where’s the stupid veil?

Remus: *points trembling finger*

Severus: *nods sharply*

Severus: *returns ten minutes later dragging a soaking wet and violently shaking but otherwise fine Sirius Potter Lupin behind him* Found him.

Remus: *immediately pulls Sirius into the filthiest kiss of his life*

Severus: *wrinkles his nose* You’re welcome.

Harry: *laughs wetly and buries his face in Severus’ robes* Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you -

Severus: *awkwardly pats head* Um. Sure.

Unseen epilogue we all wanted…

Severus: I now pronounce you Dumb and Dumber.

Harry: *nudges Severus* Dad.

Severus: *huffs* Husband and husband, whatever.

Sirius: *grins devilishly and dips Remus back in a kiss*

Harry: *claps enthusiastically*

Severus: *gags to hide his face as he wipes away a tear*

At the reception…

Harry: *puts a flowercrown of lilies on Severus’ head*

Severus: I’m disowning you. You’re no longer my son. Enjoy homelessness, bitch -

Harry: Mum and Dad would like it.

Severus, now bright red and squeaky: Ah. Well. Fuck you.

Harry: *leans his head on Severus’ shoulder* I love you, Dad.

Severus, grumbling: You suck, kid.

Year Six

Severus: Give me your wand.

Harry: Dad -

Severus: Give me your wand.

Harry: Dad, Draco deserved it -

Severus: *shoots up and leans over the desk* Harry James Potter Evans Snape. No one deserves what you just did. What you just did was moronic, stupid, and above all, cruel. I know you’ve heard the stories about your idiot father and you know better than that, Harry. You are better than that. And if you want to make your parents proud, and I know you do, this incident will never be repeated. Do you understand?

Harry, in tears: Yes, Dad.

Severus, through gritted teeth: Yes, what?

Harry: Yes, I understand and I won’t do it again.

Severus: *sits back in his chair* Good. Now give me your wand.

Harry: *hands over wand*

Harry: *sniffs*

Severus, sighing and standing up: Come here.

Harry: *shuffles into his arms*

Severus: *kisses his head* I love you, kid.

Harry, sniffling: Mmph.

Severus: *closes his eyes* And I’m proud of you. We all are.

Harry: *laughs wetly and shoves his face into Severus’ robes* We’re proud of you too, Dad.

A quarter of a book later…

Harry: Hey Dad, I found this awesome book and I don’t know who wrote it but -

Severus: Give that to me, Harry.

Harry: But Dad! This thing is literally the only reason I’m passing Potions at all -

Severus: I know. Because you told Minerva you want to be an Auror. Now that, Mr. Potter, is a fucking lie, and you shouldn’t be taking Potions anymore. So. What do you really want to do?

Harry:

Harry: I wanna be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Severus: There you go. But bitch, if you get the position before me -

Harry: Dad -

Severus: And if you tell anyone who wrote this book I swear to Merlin I’ll make sure you meet your parents far earlier than expected -

Harry: The Half-Blood Prince? Why? Do you know him?

Severus:

Severus: I’m raising a dumbass.

Half a book later…

Harry: *bursts rudely into Severus’ office* Dad, Draco -

Severus: I know, Harry.

Harry: No, you don’t, this time I’m actually -

Severus: I know, Harry.

Harry: Dad, he’s -

Severus: *finally looks up from grading papers* Harry. I know. It’s okay.

Harry, sputtering: It’s not okay -

Severus: Harry, love. I don’t lie to you.

Harry:

Harry: I know. Okay.

Severus: *looks back down at his papers* Just don’t be dick.

Harry: I do not -

Severus: *raises his eyebrow*

Harry: Yes, Dad.

Three quarters of a book later…

Severus: So. Harry. I heard you’re dating Ginny Weasley.

Harry: No. Nope. I’m not.

Severus: I see. Well, either way -

Harry: Oh no.

Severus: Oh, yes. We need to have this conversation; you’re a growing sixteen year old boy. Of course, as your body grows there will be things -

Harry, bright red: No. No no no. Oh my god, Dad -

Severus, maintaining intense eye contact: When two or more people love each other very much, like your parents and I did -

Harry: *bolts right up* Dad, I will go to the Astronomy Tower and throw myself off right the fuck now if you don’t shut up, I swear to Merlin.

Severus: Good. Now, about protection -

Harry: I’ll do it.

Severus: So you’ve said. Madame Pomfrey has -

Harry: *throws his hands up in the air* I’m not even dating anyone!

Severus: *gives him a look* Of course people will be lining up eventually, you are the Chosen One after all.

Severus: *gives Harry a once-over and smirks*

Severus: Though I do wonder how you plan to defeat You-Know-Who when you can’t even sit through a discussion about the protection charms your mother cast when she sacrificed herself for you.

Harry:

Harry: OH MY GOD DAD THAT’S NOT FUNNY -

Severus: *giggling manically*

The rest of the book later…

Harry: Dad. No. Please, no.

Severus: I’m sorry, Harry.

Severus, externally: *looks at Dumbledore* Avada Kedavra.

Severus, internally: That’s what you get for hurting my son, you shitty old bitch.

Year Seven

Hermione: Harry, you need to talk about it.

Harry, setting up a tent “successfully”: Talk about what? I’m fine.

Hermione: *sighs* Your dad.

Harry: Okay. You wanna talk about your Obliviated parents?

Hermione:

Harry: Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Ron: *accidentally knocks the tent over*

Meanwhile, Severus…

Severus, staring blankly at the Carrows: What son.

Carrow #1: *sneers* Your son. Harry Potter.

Severus:

Severus: You think I raised that idiot?

Carrow #2: That’s… actually a fair point.

Severus: *huffs and crosses his arms over his chest*

Severus: *flips hair*

Severus, internally: Damn right it is, bitch.

Severus, externally: See? Obviously not my son.

Carrow #1, snickering: Plus no one would ever sleep with you.

Severus: *turns his head slowly so he can glare right into Carrow #1’s eyes*

Severus, in that dangerous, painfully slow drawl of his: Of course not. Carrot.

In Mcgonogall’s office at three a.m….

Severus: Where is he?

Mcgonogall: I don’t know, Severus.

Severus: But he’s alive, right?

Mcgonogall, sighing: If he wasn’t we’d have heard by now.

Severus, pacing: Right. Right. He’s fine. He’s fine. Har - he’s fine.

Half a book later…

Severus, poking his head into the Gryffindor common room at like two a.m.: Hello? Y’all coming?

Ginny, stepping forward while the rest of Gryffindor rallies behind her with small bags and pillows: Yeah.

Severus, creeping into the Hufflepuff dorms: Marshmallows? You guys ready?

Hufflepuffs, in perfect chorus as they gather with blankets and stuffies: Yes, Professor.

Severus, knocking on the Ravenclaws’ doors: Yo, smartasses, it’s time.

Luna, hugging a stuffed white rabbit with the rest of Ravenclaw behind her: Hi, Professor.

Severus: *heart melts a little bit* Hello, Luna.

Severus: *leads them all to the Room of Requirement under a mass invisibility spell*

Severus: *gets them all settled for a long-term sleepover*

Severus, straightening up: Okay. Anyone want goodnight hugs?

A few pages later…

Severus: You have a list for me?

Draco, handing over a piece of parchment: It’s alphabetized.

Severus: Hm. Thank you.

Severus: *reads list*

Severus: Get Zabini to put Zonko’s products in the bed of everyone on this list. Have Pansy get the rest of you prepped on the plan. If you’re all still on board, that is.

Draco: *shrugs* We may be Slytherins, sir, but we’re not cowards.

Severus: *eyes suddenly shiny* No. No, you’re not.

Most of a book later I think I haven’t read them in years…

Harry: You killed him.

Severus: *pleads with his eyes*

Harry: How dare you stand where he stood?

Severus, internally: FUCK why do I have to be the tortured one??? Kiss me, James said. Marry me, James said. Let’s have a kid, James said. This is all his fault. I swear Jamie when I die I am going to kill you. You fuckwad -

Severus, externally: *starts shooting harmless spells at Mcgonogall*

Quite a bit later…

Severus, internally: Fuck, I hate snakes. Why is that my Animagus? I already have this shitty tattoo and I’m in the snake House why do I need to die by a fucking snake too oh look my son’s here that’s humiliating

Harry, overwhelmed with tears: Dad -

Severus, internally: I’m fine go away jeez

Severus, externally: *gurgles*

Harry: *flurries his hands around Severus’ body uselessly*

Hermione, exasperated: Harry, move.

Harry, blubbering now: *whimpers* Mione -

Hermione, wand out and pointed at Severus’ wounds: Harry, move.

Two minutes later…

Severus, freshly healed and more than a little pissed off: Now let’s go tell that snake ass motherfucker to go fuck himself -

Harry, clinging to him desperately: Daddy you can’t -

Severus: Like fuck I can’t. That slimy ass shitwipe killed my spouses, tried to kill me, and has gone after you for your entire life as if you don’t have enough shit to deal with already so yeah I’m gonna go murder him.

Harry, burying his face in Severus’ robes: Dad, I have to go.

Severus: No, you don’t.

Harry: It’s the right thing to do.

Severus: Since when I have cared about the right thing?

Harry: Since always.

Severus:

Severus: You’re grounded for the rest of your life after you survive this.

Harry: *laughs wetly* Dad, I’m not gonna -

Severus: *kisses his forehead* I love you, Harry.

Harry: I love you, Dad.

*dead silence*

Hermione: Harry. We have to go.

Harry, whispering: Keep them safe, Dad.

Severus, also whispering: Of course, love.

Idontevenfuckingknow later…

Voldemort: Harry Potter is dead!

Everyone: *crying*

Severus, internally: The fuck no he’s not like you could kill my son.

Severus, externally: *stares at Voldemort*

Five minutes later…

Harry: Expelliarmus!

Severus: I KNEW IT

The end…

Harry: Hi, Dad.

Severus, tugging him into a hug: You’re grounded forever you fucking idiot.

Harry, grinning and hugging back: Yeah, I figured as much.

A little bit after the end…

Remus: You did a good job.

Sirius: You really did. I can’t say I’m not surprised.

Severus, internally: I can’t believe I saved your life you fucking dick.

Severus, externally: I know.

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allalrightagain · 3 years

Note

ONE GIANT FOLDER COMING YOUR WAY

Ooh a giant one you say?? Ok, here’s my DADA prof conspiracy theory:

(under a cut because I wrote you an essay. oops.)

SO! One of the biggest mysteries of the whole series is what on earth Dumbledore was thinking when he hired Gilderoy Lockhart of all people to teach 11-18 year olds defensive magic, especially the year after he confirms that Voldemort is definitely still around and kicking and trying desperately to come back to power/get to Harry. Obviously the last prof died etc etc and the “willing and able” population is extremely slim pickings after 30-40 years of needing a new person every year, so there might not be anyone who would actually say yes that Dumbledore was willing to take.

(This is true even when you consider the professors who do accept for the next few years— Moody and Slughorn come out of retirement to take it, Umbridge and the Carrows hardly make Dumbledore’s “Not a Chance in Hell” list, and Lupin, well... would he take the job? If Sirius had not broken out of Azkaban? Would Dumbledore have even offered it? More on this later!)

But there’s a war brewing, even if Dumbledore’s the only one who knows it, and he doesn’t do anything without thinking it through his General brain (though the same can’t always be said for his Politician or Professor brains).

So what on earth does Dumbledore gain by hiring Lockhart?

Well, he fills the spot, that’s for sure. Best case scenario, he skates by for a whole year, nobody dies, the kids maybe learn a little, and next year we do it all over again.

Except— Harry.

Dumbledore has already proven himself by this point to be relatively focused on Harry in particular and preparing him for the future, both skills/knowledge-wise and “virtue”-wise (ie having him live with muggles, not know about his fame etc). It seems strange to intentionally choose not to provide the best possible education (specifically in Defense Against the Dark Arts) to the kid you absolutely need to survive until he's old enough to die at the hands of the right person (or, since CoS takes place before Dumbledore encounters a horcrux, until Harry is old enough to kill Voldemort for good).

Once you start reading Dumbledore’s hiring choices specifically through the lens of teaching Harry in particular, they start to make a lot more sense.

(a quick note is needed here to mention that the books focus on Harry as the main character etc etc it’s a children’s book but the worldbuilding should still be able to stand on it’s own. Whatever. We’re taking a Watsonian explanation because it’s more fun.)

In order:

Quirrell is a test, and a trap— Dumbledore has set the stage: a bright young man just returned from the place Voldemort was cited having been in at least 2x; a magical object that grants immortality; and a virtually untested, unknown 11yo Harry. This is Dumbledore getting the lay of the land and verifying that Voldemort is in fact alive and that Harry can handle the path set for him. If Quirrell doesn’t end up possessed or otherwise working for Voldemort, then Dumbledore has found another ally against him

Lockhart on the other hand is a lesson, specifically in what not to do/be— Harry grows up as far away from fame as physically possible, and Dumbledore expresses concern that the fame within the wizarding world could get to his head on several occasions. So Dumbledore sees Harry at 11: modest, but with a habit of rule breaking, a Quidditch star, the potential for becoming comfortable with his role within this new society. And Dumbledore shows him the worst possible version of where he could end up if he lets it go to his head. Nothing screams “don’t rely on your fame” like Gilderoy Lockhart. (in as much of Dumbledore’s defense as I’m comfortable providing, this was literally the only year where he didn’t know in advance of the school year what exactly would make it a difficult/dangerous one, so he probably felt he could get away with someone who didn’t need to be able to defend the students. They were supposed to be safe.)

Lupin is bait, and education (!!)— There’s history there, and Dumbledore knows it. Remus draws in Sirius, so Dumbledore knows where he should be headed, and he should protect Harry if it came down to it (and if he doesn’t, then Remus ends up dead or in Azkaban and Dumbledore has shaken out another possible traitor). Remus is also there to teach Harry— about defending himself, which has become increasingly necessary— and to hold the same role he did in school: to keep Harry in check. A teacher who is specifically and singularly interested in Harry first and foremost is a teacher who might actually be able to keep a determined child of James (and Lily) from throwing himself in harms way, especially if information about Sirius gets out.

Moody (or well, Dumbledore’s hope for Moody) is protection and to train soldiers for a war— Again, Dumbledore knows what’s coming this year. Or at least like, 50%. He knows Karkaroff will be there, he knows Pettigrew ran off to Voldemort, and he knows these kids are nowhere prepared to fight in a war. If nothing else, hopefully Moody will scare someone straight.

Umbridge is obviously against Dumbledore’s will, but she does teach them all about politics (in the worst possible way)

Snape sets the stage— It’s part of Dumbledore’s final moves on the chessboard. It teaches Harry actual, useful magic (and is almost as good as Dumbledore teaching Harry what he needs to know directly). It’s NEWT level magic, specifically geared towards fighting a war that Harry, Dumbledore AND Snape (plus… literally everyone else) knows is happening. It sets Snape up to leave re: the curse, however he needs to in the moment where things start falling apart.

Bonus: Slughorn, gets the memory and scares Harry away from using his connections— Dumbledore knows he’s going to die. He knows this war won’t be finished by the time he does. He knows it’s going to rely on Harry finishing the horcrux hunt and doing it with enough of a martyr complex to walk to his death at the end. But he’s also set Harry up with a support system within the Order out of necessity and desperation less than a year ago. So what can Dumbledore do to ensure Harry doesn’t go to any/all of the adults in his life on the occasion of Dumbledore’s death, present them with the horcrux hunt and ask for help? He gives Harry Slughorn, who is the epitome of a Slytherin who knows how to use their resources, and he does so blatantly and without a shred of shame. Harry is supposed to look at him, assembling the Slug Club, bragging about tickets he’s gotten and correspondence he keeps, and think “I do not want to be like him.” Slughorn is supposed to isolate Harry from anyone who would tell him not to walk to his death, and, just like Lockhart makes Harry even more uncomfortable about his fame, it works because it perpetuates the abuse Harry has endured.

TL;DR: Dumbledore chooses DADA profs to teach Harry something specific, in the case of Lockhart (and Slughorn), it’s specifically a moral lesson on who not to be and what not to do

Send me a 📂 and I'll give you a useless/random headcanon

#you did say a giant one #never forget dumbledore is a tactician fighting a war everyone else has forgotten #some of this is paraphrased/plagiarized from another post I made about this but not a lot #this is useless because unless you're writing from dumbledore's pov this doesn't matter #or writing a story that explicitly fucks with him but that's so hard #trust me I've tried #ask games #lt talks #hp #hp meta #the remus bullet could have been like 8 times longer but I was trying to stay on topic

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