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pet-genius · 3 years

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The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 3

Follow up to this and this. Trigger warning: Cult abuse.

Draco is vulnerable to being recruited simply because he’s Draco - his father is a Death Eater, and he's eager to prove himself to the master he grew up believing in. I’m not usually sympathetic to Draco, but this line makes me feel for him:

“everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear.”

This makes it clear that he’s been indoctrinated from a young age into a fringe belief (his belief in the Dark Lord, not in blood supremacy - that’s mainstream), and into hiding it, even after the cult disbanded. This contributed to a sense of isolation from mainstream society, and for someone like Draco, exacerbated his existing condescension and entitlement. The same must be true for Crabbe and Goyle, who on top of being children, are stupid and lacking in critical thinking skills, which means an escape was nearly impossible for them, and indeed, Crabbe died, and who knows if Goyle was clever enough to stay out of Azkaban.

Throughout HBP, Draco goes from boastful to scared for his life.

From DLA:

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

Once on top, now the Malfoys are too scared to make eye contact with anyone and protest at their humiliation. Draco is looking to his parents for protection, but they know they can’t provide it, even though Narcissa is trying.

Regulus was in a similar situation to Draco - I think he felt pressured to prove himself after the bitter disappointment Sirius had been. He and Draco were marked before they were of age, whatever being of age means in the wizarding world - meaning Voldemort was not above using minors. He also used children: the Daily Prophet writes that the Ministry has captured a nine year old child who had been Imperiused into murdering his family.

Snape’s vulnerability is glaring. In a nutshell, his extreme poverty and the neglect and abuse played a part in his decision to join the Death Eaters, and there’s a reason why Lucius is seen patting him on the back as soon as he is sorted. Perhaps the policy was to groom all newcomers. Like Barty, he might have looked for a father figure. Harry notices the many similarities between Snape and Voldemort (and himself), and these are all things Voldemort must have used on young Snape as well.

Snape is an example of how disposable Voldemort’s followers were, to him - he sent him to Hogwarts to get the cursed DADA job, meaning he was willing to let a potentially horrible fate befall Snape within the year. Even after Snape ascended to #2 by killing Dumbledore (on Voldemort’s order, no less), Voldemort killed him to gain mastery of the wand Snape became master of by doing Voldemort’s bidding.

Snape also explains the Dark Mark

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side.”

A famous cult in my country did this: The leader made his followers tattoo pictures of him and his name on their body. It’s this association that originally made me think of the Death Eaters as a cult. Voldemort branded his followers like cattle, and he expected them to drop everything they’re doing to run to him whenever he wants.

Snape was constantly tested, too. He was assigned a servant he despised, for one, and tasked with killing Dumbledore. Even after he had accomplished that, Voldemort did not fully trust him:

“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

This is a threat, since they’re not actually late; I think it’s meant as a “hey, remember when I tortured you once for being late?” It is followed by:

“Saturday... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

Voldemort is using Legilimency - he still does not trust Snape, he still needs to interrogate him so carefully that the others are afraid to look.

Next, there is this:

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity.

That the Death Eaters all knew not to look up at the gruesome sight without permission, goes to show, again, how fun it must have been to be a Death Eater. In general, I think the best way to read “Dark Lord Ascending” is to pay attention to where people are looking, and how - it’s important in general, but especially in this chapter.

Lucius is an anomaly. It’s very hard to picture him kneeling, and there is no obvious reason why he should forfeit his dignity. Cults don’t typically target the elite, and in this, the Death Eaters are a bit strange, unless Lucius was also recruited at a young, impressionable age. This can be resolved if you consider that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin, and unlike cult leaders, he really is super-powerful, and the person with the most potential to achieve political goals the Malfoy family is interested in.

Privileged as he was, even Lucius had vulnerabilities, and Voldemort was a Legilimens, meaning it was very easy for him to tell what they were.

This is how he treats Lucius in DLA:

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

How… emasculating.

Lucius Malfoy looked up [so he was looking down until then]. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

Lucius looks like he’s been through a lot. Also, since this scene takes place in the middle of July, why is there a fire? I’m theorizing that it’s for Nagini, or perhaps Voldemort is cold-blooded now, but in any case, he doesn’t care about the others’ comfort level. Maybe he even wants them to sweat.

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I...”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, [...] At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort.

Voldemort is making Lucius give him the wand himself, to reinforce his submission - he could have used magic.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?”

Indeed, Voldemort has given Lucius his (questionable) liberty, but again, he is expecting gratitude for something Lucius would have had in the first place, were it not for him: Lucius was imprisoned because he was caught at the Department of Mysteries fighting for Voldemort.

“But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late.... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius...”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.

[...]

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Remember the fire? Do you notice Lucius sweating? His hand shaking? See how terrified he is, and how awful it must be to be forced to state how much he loves being treated like that?

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

This is what has become of the once mighty Malfoy family.

Legilimency is important - because it means Voldemort typically could spot the mere thought of defection, and manipulate it out of the offender or outright kill them. The DEs know he can read minds, and so averting your eyes could be seen as admitting to a lie, unless you avert your eyes regularly. Breaking eye contact is a gesture of submission, and if one’s body is forced into it enough, it becomes ingrained. Every mention of eye contact in Dark Lord Ascending reinforces that. Their body language in that chapter also shows how controlled they are. I believe Death Eaters are learning to occlude involuntarily, to deceive themselves into only having permissible thoughts and feelings, to ensure their own survival. This makes it impossible to escape.

Finally, there’s JKR’s statement that Snape was the only DE who could produce a Patronus. This can't be because he's not evil (Umbridge can produce a Patronus), and it can't be because he's the only DE who is more powerful than 13 year old Harry. I think it’s because they were not allowed to - I think a spell that requires you to think genuinely happy thoughts would have reminded Death Eaters that their happiness does not come from Voldemort. The rigid mind control screams "cult" to me, and I think it's a much more interesting take on them than "bunch of plot-stupid people who had somehow managed to terrorize the wizarding world despite being incompetent".

Hope you now feel the same and thanks for reading this thesis <3

#hp #meta #cults #lucius #snape #voldemort #regulus black #draco #narcissa malfoy

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metvmorqhoses · 3 years

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i have a headcannon that voldemort never really “punishes” bella when she does something wrong, but his punishments to other death eaters are way way worse & so she’s obligated to act as if vold has given her a worse punishment than he actually has. not that she does a lot of things wrong as his “most faithful” though. i’m talking about the occasional slip up like the department of mysteries thing. had that been someone else, he probably would’ve harmed them more, let alone wouldn’t save then from some witch statue holding them down.

this is very true, anon. so true, in fact, i actually consider this much more a canon fact than mere speculation.

sorry if this is very long, but for every thousand of anti-bellamort idiots there must be a very precise bellamort’s defense attorney lol

correct me if i am wrong, but to my knowledge not once in the books a physical punishment coming from voldemort is ever mentioned in relation to bellatrix - and even if, let's be real, after his "rebirth" she became involved in literally the majority of the most crucial errors, the worst happenings ever, that ultimately brought to no less than his very downfall.

and yet, still, she came out of it all not only unscathed, but treated very specially.

even to a lazy reader, this should at least come across as peculiar.

let’s take the primary example of what i am saying, the battle of the department of mysteries.

just freed from azkaban and after being showered in honors and recognition, the first pivotal mission bellatrix was entrusted with was a damning fiasco.

true, it was not entirely her fault, lucius was in fact “in charge” of it, but let’s be real, do you really think voldemort sent his literal general with that malfoy dandy, his pupil, his most trusted and powerful lieutenant, just for company? just as a henchman? as i have always interpreted it, bellatrix was there to keep an eye on lucius, whose silver tongue was famously more apt to political plotting than to field missions.

voldemort wasn’t trusting lucius with the prophecy that had literally already meant almost death to him once, it would have been madness to. you can say anything about voldemort, but certainly not that he was an idiot.

i actually don’t think he ever trusted lucius at all. lucius had renounced him after his fall and didn’t manage to paint the fact as pragmatically as snape did, the cowardly aftertaste of his betrayal blatant and thoroughly disgusting on voldemort’s tongue. lucius’ status, family name, relations and wealth were just very useful for the movement and likely the only things that kept him in the high ranks of the regime (or alive at all) even before the fiasco, along with his marriage to bellatrix’s sister.

i am positive voldemort was in fact trusting bella to see the prophecy retrieved.

he probably didn’t officially put her in charge because she was still recovering from azkaban and therefore not completely stable or/and already with child (even if i tend to exclude the latter option, since she would have been still entirely too weak for a pregnancy to even take).

still, she was the one with the highest military rank there, not to mention the highest degree of closeness to voldemort, so you can bet she was the one that bore also the highest degree of moral obligation in that delicate situation. and she failed.

knowing voldemort, you would have expected to see killing curses flying left and right. had bellatrix been literally anyone else, she could have easily returned home to a murdered family and a pending death penalty.

instead, you see a voldemort that walks into the ministry of magic. you see a voldemort that, even already knowing the prophecy lost forever, renounces his every advantage and reveals himself once again to the wizarding world, moreover having to fight at the same time his very nemesis (nemesis that the mission should have helped him understand better and therefore defeat), dumbledore (the greatest wizard alive besides him) and soon the entirety of the aurors of britain.

what was exactly the reason that compelled him to enter such a nest of vipers, when he had been unwilling to do so in secrecy and surely in a highest degree of safety before and to retrieve the prophecy himself? to kill harry potter?

the very reason of the mission tells us he wasn’t sure about what to do with his potter dilemma and had therefore decided to have a more cautious, academical approach regarding the matter. he wanted to know the whole prophecy before trying again. he was frustrated and puzzled about harry’s absurd invincibility and insolent luck. do you really think he had decided to go for the hardest battle of his life unprepared and with dumbledore present of all people (whom he didn’t even directly kill afterwards) and possibly hundreds more on the way?

had voldemort suddenly turned from cold strategist to hotheaded kamikaze?

the only plausible answer is that voldemort had purposefully entered the ministry, risking capture and possibly his very life (or at least his newly created body, since at this point the horcruxes are still intact and a secret) and not knowing what exactly was there waiting for him, as a rather valiant rescue attempt and quite an unexpected one too.

bellatrix herself just moments before had laughed at the absurdity of the possibility of voldemort ever entering the place in response to harry’s questioning:

“Get it himself?” shrieked Bellatrix on a cackle of mad laughter. “The Dark Lord, walk into the Ministry of Magic, when they are so sweetly ignoring his return? The Dark Lord, reveal himself to the Aurors, when at the moment they are wasting their time on my dear cousin?”

bellatrix herself believed it an impossible and ludicrous thought and yet, less than half an hour later and her life in jeopardy, there voldemort surely appeared.

you could speculate he wanted to save his most valuable, just freed death eaters and then couldn’t, but there’s no evidence of it in the chapter whatsoever. the only evidence points out to the fact he was focused only on saving bellatrix.

this is in fact what lucius tells his hunting party while harry and co are trying to escape the ambush:

Harry put his ear close to the door to listen and heard Lucius Malfoy roar: “Leave Nott, leave him, I say, the Dark Lord will not care for Nott’s injuries as much as losing that prophecy — Jugson, come back here, we need to organize! We’ll split into pairs and search, and don’t forget, be gentle with Potter until we’ve got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary — Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left, Crabbe, Rabastan, go right — Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead — Macnair and Avery, through here — Rookwood, over there — Mulciber, come with me!”

so, la crème de la crème of his high ranks is there and everyone is positive the only thing that voldemort would care about is the prophecy, even above captures and fatalities.

rabastan and rodolphus are also there and yet he doesn’t go for them.

he appeared when harry told bellatrix the prophecy was gone, specifically when bellatrix began to have a manic fit because of it, alone in the ministry’s atrium with harry.

“Potter, I am going to give you one chance!” shouted Bellatrix. “Give me the prophecy — roll it out toward me now — and I may spare your life!”

“Well, you’re going to have to kill me, because it’s gone!” Harry roared — and as he shouted it, pain seared across his forehead. His scar was on fire again, and he felt a surge of fury that was quite unconnected with his own rage.

“And he knows!” said Harry with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix’s own. “Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it’s gone! He’s not going to be happy with you, is he?”

“What? What do you mean?” she cried, and for the first time there was fear in her voice.

“The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort’ll say about that, then?”

His scar seared and burned. . . . The pain of it was making his eyes stream. . . .

“LIAR!” she shrieked, but he could hear the terror behind the anger now. “YOU’VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME — Accio Prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY !”

Harry laughed again because he knew it would incense her, the pain building in his head so badly he thought his skull might burst. He waved his empty hand from behind the one-eared goblin and withdrew it quickly as she sent another jet of green light flying at him. “Nothing there!” he shouted. “Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that —”

“No!” she screamed. “It isn’t true, you’re lying — MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED — DO NOT PUNISH ME —”

“Don’t waste your breath!” yelled Harry, his eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, now more terrible than ever.

“He can’t hear you from here!”

“Can’t I, Potter?” said a high, cold voice.

specifically, he appears behind bella when she starts to maniacally invoke him, almost as if they had a special mean of communication with each other even from considerable distance.

(here bella is afraid voldemort would punish her and i find the manner of it very interesting, we will come back to it later on)

voldemort was obviously furious the prophecy was lost, but again why risking his own life on top of it? was he perhaps concerned of bella’s mental state now that she knew she had failed and therefore her ability to flee/fight his very nemesis, dumbledore and the aurors?

normally, we would have expected voldemort to stay away and deal with the surviving death eaters later, leaving them to their deserved destiny (as he did with literally everyone else who was there).

instead we have:

“So you smashed my prophecy?” said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. “No, Bella, he is not lying. . . . I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind. . . . Months of preparation, months of effort . . . and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again. . . .”

“Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!” sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort’s feet as he paced slowly nearer.

“Master, you should know —”

“Be quiet, Bella,” said Voldemort dangerously. “I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?”

“But Master — he is here — he is below —”

Voldemort paid no attention.

“I have nothing more to say to you, Potter,” he said quietly. “You have irked me too often, for too long. AVADA KEDAVRA!”

even when she literally has just lost his one mean to achieve his every goal of a lifetime, she is “bella”. even when we would expect him to tear her to pieces then and there, he had come to stand between her and harry.

the only reprimand she receives is a scowling “be quiet bella, i shall deal with you in a moment”, as you would speak in public with someone who is very close to you and you are very mad at, who shouldn’t let that closeness slip in public, especially now that she’s making you risk a lot to save her sorry ass.

i find this scene very comic, on top of everything else. voldemort is clearly so done and yet there he is, come to save his sobbing mess nevertheless.

the scene proceeds with dumbledore’s arrival, the duel and bellatrix trapped under the statue. during the duel and just after having trapped bella, we see a really curious exchange:

“You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. “Above such brutality, are you?”

“We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,”

Dumbledore said calmly, continuing to walk toward Voldemort as though he had not a fear in the world, as though nothing had happened to interrupt his stroll up the hall. “Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit —”

“There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!” snarled Voldemort.

“You are quite wrong,” said Dumbledore, still closing in upon Voldemort and speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks.

(...)

"Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness —”

what is this fate “worse than death”, these “other ways to destroy a man” that dumbledore wants for voldemort? we know how it all ended - with voldemort’s literal death, his very disintegration (after bellatrix’s very own). what was this all about then? this one i’ll let you decide for yourself. it’s certainly peculiar, considered the context.

voldemort doesn’t respond to this, he in fact seems very provoked and sends a killing curse at him.

at the end of the duel he disappears and everyone thinks he fled, bellatrix included, who cries out his name sobbing from under the statue.

he in fact, at that, goes straight to possess harry.

And then Harry’s scar burst open. He knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance —

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature’s began. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape — And when the creature spoke, it used Harry’s mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move. . . .

“Kill me now, Dumbledore. . . .” Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. . . .

“If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy. . . .”

Let the pain stop, thought Harry.

Let him kill us. . . . End it, Dumbledore. . . . Death is nothing compared to this. . . .

And as Harry’s heart filled with emotion, the creature’s coils loosened, the pain was gone, Harry was lying facedown on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not wood. . . .

And there were voices echoing through the hall, more voices than there should have been (...)

“...where’s Voldemort, where — who are all these — what’s —”

The Atrium was full of people. The floor was reflecting emerald- green flames that had burst into life in all the fireplaces along one wall, and a stream of witches and wizards was emerging from them. As Dumbledore pulled him back to his feet, Harry saw the tiny gold statues of the house-elf and the goblin leading a stunned-looking Cornelius Fudge forward.

“He was there!” shouted a scarlet-robed man with a ponytail, who was pointing at a pile of golden rubble on the other side of the hall, where Bellatrix had lain trapped moments before. “I saw him, Mr. Fudge, I swear, it was You-Know-Who, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!”

“I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!”

this passage is ever so interesting to me, because dumbledore’s words appear to have somehow made voldemort “emotional”. they provoked him somehow. he didn’t laugh at them. he linked them to the worst pain imaginable and almost killed harry with it, posing a philosophical dilemma - if such pain is worse than death, if my life is worse than death, why don’t you put this boy out of his misery?

there’s no doubt in my mind “that pain” is voldemort’s pain. a pain intrinsically love-related. voldemort’s problems to accept/understand/feel love are the crux of the saga, his every villainy and pain. it’s so interesting that in this whole scene the train of events and thought have ultimately reached this topic (even in the movie love is mentioned here, harry literally fights the possession telling him he shall never have it).

voldemort was furious with bellatrix, feared for his plans and life and went to save her anyway. he is enraged beyond belief but puts himself between her and harry and dumbledore. while they duel, dumbledore traps bellatrix and lectures him about “other ways to destroy a man” and “worse things than death”. he absolutely hits a nerve. voldemort completely feels what he’s meaning, so much he wants to retaliate and mercilessly - he never wants to be forced to face such things, such emotions. i don’t think he’s trying to kill harry there, he’s trying to prove a point, to make them both understand how it feels to be him, how the whole concept of love feels to him. and the matter is addressed in a scene entirely built around bellatrix. in fact, finally he then grabs her, leaving everyone else to fend for themselves, and flees. he effectively saves her and her only.

to me this whole passage is directly linked to the famous scream at bellatrix’s death, and to the way the events leading to voldemort’s own death unfolded. that scream might very well be that “fate worse than death”. jkr loves parallels and to me this one is perhaps the most beautiful of the series.

this really proves, in my opinion, at what depth their relationship stands, absurdly perhaps much more abysmal on voldemort’s part than on bella’s.

anyways, i took the time to analyze this particular episode because it’s emblematic of their relationship and his way to deal with her disasters.

lucius would carry on his face the signs of this fiasco literally for the rest of the entire series. the malfoys would fall from grace because of it, probably alive only because of bella’s intercession. half of the death eaters who were present at the ministry would end up back in azkaban.

voldemort would end up defeated, furious and destined to die.

bellatrix would come out of it not only physically unscathed, but with voldemort’s child.

even when she again loses the trio at malfoy’s manor (along with the sword), everyone ends up physically tortured but her. she says she fears for her life if voldemort was to know she lost the sword, but it seems more a metaphor than an actual possibility. when the cup is stolen from her vault, he makes her leave the room before murdering everyone in it. she’s not present at dumbledore’s assasination, and that’s because she wasn’t disposable.

i don’t think physical punishments are involved in their relationship, or if they are they are very rare, and i don’t think voldemort’s reactions to her transgressions/wrongdoings are in tune with the way he reacts to everyone else’s.

bella can more than anyone with him and never really loses this status of utter closeness, no matter what she does.

this obviously doesn’t mean that voldemort is a saint with her or that he doesn’t occasionally punish her. this doesn’t mean she isn’t rightfully afraid of him.

yet, the main way i see him actually hurting bella is psychological torture and silent treatment.

and here we come back at what bella was sobbing at the ministry, her desperate “MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED — DO NOT PUNISH ME —”.

i don’t think a warrior, a general, a woman who remarkably survived 14 years at azkaban, would ever react this way to the mere fear of physical punishment, no matter how cruciatus curses hurt. i think she would have taken it as stoically as possible. thought she deserved it, even.

no, voldemort’s punishments must be unbearable to her, impossible to even fathom, because they involve falling from his graces, from the closeness she lives for. voldemort can serve bellatrix the cold, silent, disappointed treatment of a mentor and a lover, and have bellatrix literally rotting away because of it.

this is truly the worst thing he can do to her and the thing that had her sobbing and having a fit before harry at the mere idea of it.

this is also somehow confirmed when hermione, transformed in bellatrix, meets a death eater (i don’t remember who he was) before entering the gringott. he wasn’t surprised to see bella, well, alive and physically well, he was surprised to see her out of malfoy manor, where she was supposed to be confined.

so yes, definitely the way voldemort deals with bellatrix regarding punishments is special. everything regarding his way of treating bellatrix is, to be honest.

their relationship is written in such a subtle, beautifully twisted way. i adore it. the only problem is that because of it virtually no one ever connects the dots.

#i'm sorry for yet another essay #it just... happened lol #bellamort is based on hints and symbols so here i am in the dead of night psychoanalysing my client to the bone lol #bellamort #lord voldemort #bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange #asks/replies #hp #one and one thousand stories lis told #anon

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vibraniumwing · 4 years

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better with you.

a neville longbottom x reader wherein you’ve never really felt like yourself until you met this shy, dorky boy who was fond of herbology

WARNING: none, just pure fluff. a bit of a slow burn too uwu

A/N: used she/her pronouns for this one. this is the first story i’m writing for the hp fandom, please be nice o n o

---

You were currently situated in the library, finishing a book you’ve recently found an interest in. Your fingers playing with the edge of the page as your temple was situated by your palm, the ambiance of the library bringing you solace; hushed conversations, page turning and the sound of someone’s quills on the surface of the parchment. It was all so calming.

“Oh look, it’s snowing!” you heard someone call out, causing you to look to your side to see that it was indeed, snowing. Now resting your chin on your palm, your attention shifted to the small snowflakes accumulating by the window, watching it form a small pile.

The coldness of the weather reminded you of yourself. You were infamous for being the Ice Princess of Hufflepuff, the ethereal beauty blessed by the gods yet a heart of stone. You were cold, distant and by all means, someone who wasn’t very sociable. So you being sorted in Hufflepuff was a true mystery to everyone.

Some say you should’ve been sorted into Slytherin.

A deep sigh resonated from your chest as you stood up, throwing on the dark coat that was resting on the seat next to you and grabbing your book, hugging it close to your chest.

Eyes were glued on you as you walked by, the hushed whispers now seemingly louder as you grew conscious due to the unsolicited attention you’re currently receiving.

You never wanted to be like this; raised in a strict pure-blooded family, molding you to become who you are as of the current. As the exact words of your mother, “You are a L/N. Take pride in that, see no one and talk to no one. You are to show no emotion at all.” It was a rough childhood. You were never allowed to go outside—not even to where your parents are going— and you were never exposed to affection from your mother and father, the closest thing you’ll get to that term was a simple head pat. That alone was another rare thing.

You were well-aware that you were never like this. Not even in the closest; the fear of disappointing them however, stood greater than anything else that mattered to you. So you had to accept that lifestyle, there was no other way.

The rest of the day flew by as normal, soon enough it was already dark out. You found yourself roaming around the halls, the patter of your shoes resounding in the halls. This was your daily ritual after dinner, to calm yourself before retreating to your house’s common room.

Just about to return, you heard a few laughs coming from the other end of the corner, your mind immediately protesting that you pay no attention and best be on your way— your gut on the other hand, pushed you to look at the commotion. Your legs started moving to their direction.

As you approached, you discovered that is was Malfoy and his two lapdogs meddling with what seems to be a Gryffindor student.

“What was his name again?” You mumbled to yourself, hiding against the corner just a few steps away from them. Mind raking to remember where you have heard his name, recalling the sudden memory of him fainting during your second year. Your eyes widen at the recollection and approached them with a feeling that you were not used to.

“Leave him alone, Malfoy.” You spoke up, your heartbeat’s pace starting to pick up as he turns around to look at you. Cocking an eyebrow at your direction, a scoff soon followed. “L/N? The infamous ice princess? Standing up for this little weasel?” his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The usage of the nickname caused you to roll your eyes, shaking your head once as you approached the poor boy, shoving them lightly as you stood in front of him protectively. You look back at them, crossing your arm as you looked up at them, now realizing that they tower over you. “Leave Longbottom alone, Draco.” You warned him once more, your eyes locking with his.

“Or what? Your little boyfriend’s a coward as it is!” He taunted even more, his signature smirk dawning his lips, eyeing the male behind you up and down. “Pathetic little thing can’t man up.”

“Oh please Malfoy, You’ll never be half the man that he is. Meddling in and messing up with people to make yourself feel accomplished in the eyes of your father. And you two—” pausing and looking at Crabbe and Goyle, with a disgusted look on your face. “can’t be anymore stupid by following this little leader of yours, I reckon. You three are a bunch of low-lives anyways.” You spat out, venom dripping from your voice; turning around, you offered your hand to the boy and pulled him off the ground.

Looking at them again, you retorted one last time. “If I ever catch you or even just hear about you messing with Longbottom again, I won’t hold myself back.” and pulled the Gryffindor along with you, leaving the three stunned at your words.

The both of you walked in silence, catching the eye of a few students who seemed to notice that your hand was still linked with his.

You stopped by the hallway near the Great Hall and looked back at your companion. “Are you all good...” You questioned, now realizing that you didn’t even know his first name. “...I-it’s Neville. And y-yes, i’m all good.” he spoke in a hushed tone, eyes looking downwards.

Only then did you realize you were still holding on to his hand. You immediately let go and a light shade of pink dusted your cheeks, coughing lightly to cover up your flustered state. “That’s good to hear. I’ll see you around.” You courtly say, turning around to walk away, heading over to the Grand Staircase to head off to your Common Room.

Leaving a rather surprised Neville all by himself.

---

“Are you sure that’s L/N you’re talking about, Nev?” Seamus asked from his bed, looking at his friend with a rather surprised expression. “Like the Ice Princess of Hufflepuff L/N?” Dean jumped into the conversation, the topic interesting him as well.

Neville was sure of what he saw, Merlin if he wasn’t so shocked he would’ve ran after her the moment she let him go. “Of course I am! I saw it with my own eyes, she even held my hand!” He answered, looking at the two, exasperated. Never in his life was he so sure of anything else.

“I have to agree with the two on this one. It just doesn’t sound like her, Neville.” Ron soon spoke up, looking at him as he munched on his candies.

Feeling defeated, he flopped back down on his bed and sighed. “I-I’ll prove it to you guys. I swear it was Y/N.” He retorted, opting not to argue with his dorm-mates anymore.

‘I swear I’ll show them that Y/N is more than what she shows.’

---

All of the students were down Hogsmeade, students frolicking around the village to drink some Butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks or just be out and about from the castle.

You rarely go with them, not wanting to socialize as it drains you more than anything else. This day was an exception though, as you were there to refill on parchment and ink since you’ve been running low on supply.

Your day flowed as normal as any other— with the exception that you had felt more people stare at you; not that you weren’t used to it or anything, something just felt off with the way they stare. As if the gossip had something else in it rather than the usual thing of “why is she in Hufflepuff.”

Walking along the snowy pavement of the place was rather peaceful for you, eyes wandering about on your schoolmates who were blabbering about their day and sharing their excitement to be away from the school. You’ve always longed for an interaction like that with your peers, but you tend to shy away and rather maintain the reputation they’ve crowned upon you.

Almost at the shop, a hand was placed on your shoulder making you jump slightly, causing you to slip against the icy, slippery surface. You shut your eyes as you prepared for the impact until you felt a warm breath fan out against your skin, a subtle scent of mint tickling your nose.

You open your eyes to meet a pair of beautiful brown eyes, your breath hitching at the sight. Your eye contact remained with the person until a sudden cough made it’s way out of you, only realizing that you’ve been holding your breath.

The both of you straightened up, now taking a better look at the person who saved your bottom from the rather cold pathway; cheeks suddenly flushed once recognizing who it was. “Neville?”

He was quiet, his whole face as the same color of his house, eyes still locked with yours.

Bringing up a hand, you waved it against his face gently to pull him out of his trance, to which he did. “O-oh. H-hello again, Y/N.” the boy greeted, showing you a rather shy smile.

You nodded at him once, unsure of how to react now that he was back to speaking. “I s-saw you walk alone around here... I was wondering if-” His voice suddenly getting really soft by the end of his sentence causing you to raise an eyebrow at him. “You have to speak louder, Longbottom. I’m not blessed with super hearing.” You told him, feeling the corner of your lips twinge up at the sight of him.

Neville cursed under his breath at his shyness, mentally cursing at how pathetic it was that he couldn’t speak in front of you.

Something stirred inside you again though, the same protective feeling washing over at the sight of him contemplating. “You can tell me. If it’s Malfoy bothering you again, tell me where he is. I’ve got a few hexes ready for him and his ugly warts of sidekicks.” You started off, crossing your arms.

The latter immediately shook his head (as much as he would love to see Draco get a piece of his own medicine, he doesn’t want you in harms way.)

“I-I w-was wondering if y-you’d like some company while you’re here.” He finally spat out, causing you to look at him in surprise. No one ever asked to go with you, so this was a definite first for you. Neville’s lips curved to a slight frown at the prolonged silence, thinking that your silence was rejection.

“A-alright, I’ll t-take that as a no. I-I’ll see you around, Y/N...” he mumbled, tone dripping of dejection. That’s when you snapped out of your trance, holding onto his wrist. “H-hey, I’d actually love to be in your company.” You told him, squeezing it gently.

He turned to look at you with a surprised look, eyes wide with his jaw slacked a bit that you actually accepted his offer. To which you answered with a very soft laugh, lips curved into a smile at how adorable he was. “You better close your mouth, love. You’ll be eating the snow like that.” You remarked, bringing your other hand up to close his jaw.

His eyes were trained on you, just now noticing the tinge of pink that dawned on your cheeks and how red your nose was from the cold, to which he found adorable. Flashing you a toothy grin, he straightened himself up and wiggled free from your grasp, his larger hands now engulfing your own.

Your quietly watched him, unable to find any remarks now he has seemingly stepped out of his shell. Stunned at how he took the initiative to hold your hand in the process. “Do you fancy some butterbeer perhaps? After you pick up what you need?” He asked, looking at you with a smile, his cheeks flushed immensely.

“S-sounds good to me, Nev.”

---

After that moment in Hogsmeade, you’ve been hanging out more with Neville, You’ve shown more emotion in the short span you’ve met him than your stay in Hogwarts, making everyone re-think of that title of yours.

You felt like yourself, you felt free with him around. It was the best feeling you’ve ever had.

It was a pleasant surprise for everyone when you suddenly appeared in the Great Hall with your hair free and not in the usual bun they’ve grown accustomed to.

While walking to your house’s table, you made eye contact with Neville, flashing him a bright smile, leaving the boy shy and his friends hitting him and calling him out on what he actually did with you.

“Blimey Neville, she seems better with you than how she ever did before.” Seamus called out, giving his friend a noogie in the process.

You rolled our eyes at the remark, a smile remaining on your lips as you reach your table.

Everything was going well when one of the people in your house asked, “Hey Y/N isn’t that your owl?” causing you to look up that your owl, indeed was flying towards you with a certain black envelope you know too well. The bird landed in front of you, letting go of the parchment and stares up at you.

You forced a smile, despite your heart dropping at the knowledge of what’s inside the letter; to which a certain boy noticed from afar. “Hello there, Peanut. Got a letter for me?” the barred owl blinked at you, as if he knew what was to come.

With a shaky hand, you opened the envelope and pulled the letter out. Your mother’s familiar handwriting greeting your vision as you read the letter.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you scrunched the letter up in your hands. You raced out of the hall, causing a few people to look your way as you bumped into people, vision blurred.

Neville saw all of it happen, how your expression went from happy to the most heartbreaking one he’s seen on anyone. He didn’t waste anymore time and chased after you, knowing exactly where to find you.

You were slumped by the furthest nook of the library as you were silently sobbing, thanking whatever higher power there is that there isn’t anyone around to see you at such a miserable state. However, you did hear the chair beside you move, causing you to look at the cause of the noise to see Neville.

“Now isn’t a good time to suggest Herbology books, Nev.” You humored, wiping your tears as you sent a tight-lipped smile his way. His heart was torn into pieces at the sight of you so shattered, he knew about your situation with your family and how you were forced to be someone you weren’t.

He shook his head, his hand reaching for your own and ran his thumb across your knuckles; the boy knew how much you love when he does that. Visibly, you relaxed and leaned into him. You rested your head on his shoulder and sobbed quietly, tears staining his shirt.

His arm protectively curled around your frame, cradling you as you just sobbed, quietly listening to the whispers of how you hated the fact that you were still so fearful of your parents— how you were still controlled by them.

You pulled away from his embrace, your eyes puffy from the crying. “N-Nev, I’m so-”

“Before you even finish that sentence, don’t. You don’t have to apologize for anything, love.” He crooned, bringing his hand to wipe your tears away. Loving the way how you leaned into his touch.

“It’s alright to be afraid, you know? You’re still a human, darling. Sometimes, people get tired of keeping up with something they know they’re not and it’s okay to be like that.” Neville whispered, tone laced with tenderness as he spoke. Your eyes were locked with his brown ones and all you saw was sincerity in every word he spoke.

“You can still be yourself, love. Be someone that you love, not someone to please other people. There’s a reason why you’re in Hufflepuff and not in any other house. You know that deep down inside of you and I’ve seen that first hand.” He continued, smiling fondly at the memories you;ve managed to create with him. How you slowly stepped out of your cold figure and show who you really are.

“You tend to put people before yourself like how you stood up for me that night with Malfoy, like how you are with your parents. That’s what I love about you.” He confessed, making you look at him with surprised eyes.

It was the first time you’ve ever heard someone say that— it felt good. Warmth spread through your body as you stared at him and you saw it. The adoration he has for you and right there, you know that wasn’t lying.

“I-I’m sorry, that d-didn’t mean to sl-” “I love you too.” You cut him off, now finding the words you’ve wanted to tell him for the longest time. “I hope you don’t change the way how you lo- wait what?” He was continuing to ramble on until what you said had processed in him. “Y-You do?”

“Yes, I do.” You nodded once, now resting your forehead with his as you laughed softly. “Thank you, Neville. For staying with me and believing that I’m more than what others see.” You spoke gently, feeling his warm breath against your lips, the familiar scent of mint wafting through your nose.

“You’ve done the same for me, love.” He responsed, now holding your face with his hands gently, afraid to hurt you even the slightest.

You saw how his eyes flicker for just a split second to your lips, to which you took the change to pull his tie to press a gentle kiss on his lips. His eyes were wide, feeling your plush ones against his; until he too melted, and gave in.

The both of you pulled away, breathless. You broke out into a quiet laugh, hugging him in the process, to which he gladly reciprocated.

“Everything’s better with you, Nev.” You whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as you smiled. He mirrored your smile, pulling away to hold your hand and presses a peck to your forehead.

“I intend to keep it that way forever.”

And that’s when you knew that everything would be okay, as long as he’s there with you.

#neville longbottom #neville #neville longbottom x reader #neville x reader #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom imagine #neville imagine #neville fluff #neville x y/n #neville longbottom x y/n #harry potter #harry potter imagine #i hope you like this

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dessoleill · 3 years

Text

an honor that will get you killed

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Person A falls asleep in Person B’s lap and Person B has a conversation with someone else while stroking Person A’s hair as if they were a sleeping cat.

Draco felt a knot in his stomach as he glanced around the train station. Loud, full of color and life, parting children waving goodbye to proud parents from inside the Hogwarts Express, warm hello’s exchanged between friends who hadn’t seen each other all summer and a part of him, a part he wasn’t willing to accept was bigger than just a pinch, was yearning for time to stop. So he could cling to the little childhood he had left.

Reality, however, was much darker.

And it had been like that for some time now. Ever since Potter and his friends had managed to get his father arrested after their fight in the Department of Mysteries, the Malfoy name had downgraded from one of the best magical lineages to something close to war criminals. And with the Dark Lord using Malfoy Manor as headquarters, Draco’s summer had been plagued with constant anxiety that evolved to panic attacks almost daily because what if, next morning, his mother woke up hung by her toes in the living room as punishment for his father’s mishandling of things.

And so he took a deep breath and made his way through the crowd to find his own friends. He had become quite good at ignoring the disdainful looks people would throw in his direction quite well over the summer, but for whatever reason it turned harder to bear when the ugly looks were coming from people he had known for years. As if all of Hogwarts had suddenly turned into an army of Harry Potters and each and every pair of eyes was a dagger pointed at his heart.

And then he saw y/n. Next to Pansy and Blaise and Theo, the four slytherins were looking around the station waiting to see a pale blonde head of hair, and Draco almost smiled as y/n’s eyes landed on his. She did smile, all teeth and gums, and Draco sped up the pace to be able to feel her in his arms.

“Draco!” y/n squealed and threw herself at the slender boy. He breathed her in and pulled her body closer to his. This, he noticed, was the first time in weeks he felt someone touch him and the warmth he felt coming from her body moved something inside him. He had missed being touched.

“Y/n” he muttered into her hair and let himself savour the few seconds of intimacy before hearing chuckles coming from his friends. She curled her fingers with his and dragged him close to the other three slytherins who were smirking at their public affection. “Blaise, Theo, Pansy.” He nodded at them, hoping the blood that had rushed at his pale cheeks wasn’t noticeable to his friends. “Had a good summer?”

The summer small talk was enough to accompany the five of them into their train compartments. Pansy spoke of a summer spent in her parent’s summer house in Italy and Blaise cursed at his mother’s new husband: “A complete twat.” He said and frowned at the memory of the new man. “Said he hopes we’ll be a happy family,” he mocked.

“Maybe you will?” suggested Theo making Blaise chuckle loudly.

“Mother’s only hoping he’ll get me an internship inside the Ministry before throwing him away.”

Both boys continued bickering next to Pansy who stared at Theo adoringly. Meanwhile Draco was trying not to make it too obvious that he was enjoying Y/n’s fingers tracing patterns on his palms.

“How was your summer, love?” he asked softly in her ear. She turned to look at him and Draco felt the coldness inside his heart start to melt as she tangled her legs with his and started to speak.

He took her in, her eyes and the color of her skin, the shape of her mouth and how it curved upwards when she met his gaze hoping this would be ingrained inside his memory forever. Y/n spoke of a summer far warmer than the one he had lived, full of sun and laughter and funny anecdotes that had made Draco laugh for the first time in weeks. And as the train drove into the late afternoon and the skies turned lavender, y/n curled her body next to Draco’s and started to drift away.

Her head fell into his lap in a matter of minutes and Draco smiled fondly as he started to stroke her hair softly, eyeing his friends to keep their bickering quiet with the promise that if she were to be disturbed he’d wingardium leviosa their asses into the river below. And as her breathing slowed down, so did the world to Draco. He looked outside the window and saw the landscaped so familiar he had memorized after years of tracing the same route, tall hills of green and dark pine forests, little cottages sprinkled here and there and for a split moment Draco finally felt at home.

And then he heard Blaise clear his throat.

He had been too lost inside his head to notice Theo and Pansy were gone, Blaise now sitting right in front of him. Draco liked Blaise, not because he was a particularly warm friend, but because he was always honest with him, and after years of Crabbe and Goyle kissing his ass, the harsh truth that always left Blaise’s mouth was refreshing.

“What?” he asked bluntly, keeping his tone low so as to not wake the sleeping girl in his lap.

“My step-father” Draco saw the disgust in Blaise face as he said so “mentioned

something the other day. Something that, well, honestly scared the shit out of me.”

Draco didn’t answer, just stared at the boy questioning. “He said that the Dark Lord had been… uhm… rather generous with your family.” Draco’s stare hardened. “And that the only reason you all were forgiven was because someone in your family took The Mark.”

His stomach dropped but managed to keep his composure. He looked down at y/n and found her sound asleep, the nerves coiling at his guts not because Blaise mentioned it but because he didn’t want y/n to have anything to do with that.

“And?”

“Draco, do you have it?” Blaise had read Draco’s fear as well and kept his voice low. Low enough for only the two boys to hear. Draco didn’t answer, didn’t move his head or made any gesture to indicate he had, but Blaise understood and all the color drained from his face.

Draco continued caressing y/n softly and smiled at her face, unbothered, completely oblivious to the hellstorm that was about to hit. He looked up at Blaise and found him staring at her too.

“It is an honor…” he started but got interrupted.

“An honor that will get you killed,” spat Blaise. “Does she know?” Draco looked at him, alarmed at the idea. He would never drag her into this. “She needs to know.”

“She doesn’t…”

“Draco, she is not a little baby. And that” he looked down at his forearm “is a secret too big for you to carry on your own.”

“I’ve been carrying it for weeks now, Blaise. Not only carrying this but living with him breathing down my neck. With my mother’s late night sobs and my aunt’s wretched personality under my roof, all to save my family, not just from dishonor but from death. For weeks now I’ve eaten away my sanity but hoping that I would get to see her again, have time with her before all hell breaks loose, so don’t take that away from me.”

Both boys got silent and Draco knew he understood his feelings. He felt her cuddle closer to him and felt the knot in his stomach, the one that had been living with him for months now, grow bigger. Blaise was right, and both boys knew that sooner or later a secret this big would come out. Draco just needed time, time and a lot of luck to manage what needed to be done.

Luck to stay alive long enough to enjoy more time next to y/n before the warmth in her eyes turned to ice once she knew of the secret he bore tattooed on his arm. Once her stare turned to disgust and she, like all the others, looked at him with daggers pointed at his heart

#draco imagine #draco oneshot #draco angst #draco fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #draco prompt #writing prompt #theres just a bit of fluff here im sorry

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worldcrawlerhp · 3 years

Text

Hermione Granger’s Trial

“We are gathered to hear of the 53 counts of crimes committed by one Hermione Jean Granger:

Arson attempt on one Professor Snape of Hogwarts.

Theft of polyjiuce ingredients from Hogwarts potions stores.

Illegal supply and use of polyjiuce potion to impersonate Hogwarts students Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and Mimsy the Cat belonging to Millicent Bulstrade—“

“Excuse me sir, the cat was not intentional!”

“Yes thank you Miss Granger. Moving on;

Possession and extended use of an unregistered time turner.

Illegally freeing one Buckbeak, a prisoner due for execution.

Illegally freeing one Sirius Black, a prisoner due for Dementor’s kiss.

Concealing the whereabouts of one Buckbeak and one Sirius Black from authorities.

Kidnapping one Rita Skeeter.

Keeping one Rita Skeeter (unregistered beetle animagus) in a jar for an extended period of time.

Making threats to one Rita Skeeter about her articles.

Starting and masterminding an illegal society named ‘Dumbledore’s Army’.

Practicing and teaching defence spells that were at the time illegal to students.

Lying to High Inquisitor Umbridge about alleged terrorist weapons.

Intentionally entrapping High Inquisitor Umbridge with the Centaurs of Hogwarts forest.

Illegally travelling unaccompanied from school grounds during term time.

Use of magic outside of school grounds.

Breaking and entering the Ministry of Magic.

Destruction of the prophecy hall within the Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic.

Destruction of several time turners and experiments within the Time Room, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic.

Performing an unsanctioned obliviation on two muggles, Dr Helena Granger and Dr Martin Granger.

Use of magic to forge muggle documentation of passports, visas, and drivers licences under the names Monica and Wendell Wilkins.

Illegal use of polyjuce potion to impersonate one Harry Potter, Undesirable, however consent was given in this case.

Continued use of illegal undetectable extension charms.

Hiding from authorities as a wanted undesirable.

Hiding from authorities when called in to blood-status questioning.

Accomplice in hiding wanted undesirables Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

Threatening one Mundungus Fletcher for information.

Kidnapping one Mafalda Hopkirk and taking a strand of hair without her consent.

Illegally gaining access to the Ministry of Magic under polyjiuce potion.

Theft of Slytherin’s locket belonging to High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge.

Destruction of the residence of one Bathilda Bagshot, Godric’s Hollow.

Attempted destruction of one horcrux, held within Slytherin’s locket, belonging to one Tom Riddle, known as Voldemort, thereby committing partial attempted murder.

Impersonating Penelope Clearwater in front of official Snatchers.

Concealing the true identities of undesirables Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley from official Snatchers.

Complicity and main beneficiary in the destruction of an antique heirloom chandelier of family Malfoy.

Theft of a wand, 12 3/4 inch walnut with dragon heartstring, belonging to one Bellatrix Lestrange.

Theft of a hair of one Belletrix Lestrange.

Illegally impersonating one Bellatrix Lestrange through the use of polyjiuce potion in order to gain access to Gringotts bank.

Accessory to the confunding of two Gringotts security guards.

Accessory to the Imperiosing of Travers Mcgarrin and Bogrod of Gringotts .

Illegally accessing the Lestrange vaults in Gringotts.

Theft of the cup of Helga Hufflepuff from the Lestrange vaults.

Destruction of Goblin-made dragon shackles.

Destruction of underground railroad, entrance floor, and roof of Gringotts bank via illegally riding a dragon.

Intentionally letting a dragon loose in the English countryside.

Breaking curfew in the village of Hogsmeade by apparating into the village after allowed hours.

Illegally gaining access to Hogwarts school.

Destruction of the cup of Helga Hufflepuff.

Destruction of one horcrux, contained in the cup, belonging to Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, and thereby committing partial premeditated murder.

Theft of the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.

Aiding in the destruction of the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.

Aiding in the destruction of one horcrux belonging to Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, and thereby aiding in partial premeditated murder.

Destruction of several corridors of Hogwarts school, thereby causing the deaths of 5 Death Eaters.

Solicitor Jenkins, you have the floor.”

“Thank you your honour. It is needless to say that Miss Granger committed all the mentioned acts as direct and indirect ways of freeing the world of Voldemort, something in which she was successful despite all the odds. This has effectively saved thousands of innocent lives and brought back many British asylum seekers to our shores.

I would also like to remind the court that even though a law may exist, that does not make it right, and Miss Granger has shown truly insightful judgement and reasoning in the face of such unjust laws. Many of the aforementioned laws broken by Miss Granger have since been rescinded, supporting my point.

It is also suggested that any punishments required for the remaining offences have been executed tenfold through the unfair persecution of muggle-borns immediately prior and during the Second Wizarding War, being forced into hiding, and suffering the crucicatus cast by Mrs Lestrange. I would like to remind the court that Mrs Lestrange was widely accepted as having mastered the curse, and was imprisoned for life for a list of crimes including submitting multiple of her victims to the cruciatus to insanity. Miss Granger suffered under her wand for approximately twenty minutes.

Therefore it is my suggestion to clear any remaining items and allow the young Miss Granger out of the courtroom as a free woman with a clear record, and allow her to collect her Order of Merlin, First Class tomorrow in person.”

“Thank you Jenkins. Is there anybody here who wishes to press further charges against the defendant?”

There were low murmurs from all corners of the room, but nobody spoke up.

“It is therefore this court’s duty to move to voting of the Wizgamot. All those in favour of a full pardon for the actions just listed, please raise your hands.”

Hands were raised in a sea of red cloaks.

“Those against?”

A couple of members shuffled nervously in their seats but nobody raised their hands.

“With 58 votes for and zero against, this court declares Hermione Jean Granger cleared of all charges. Could Ronald Billius Weasley please take the stand.”

-----

A/N: So this was a little plunny that came to me and I got carried away writing it. I think they would have had to put all three of them on trial after the war in order to clear their names, but when I started writing it I realised that actually... there was quite a lot to what they had done! Anyway hope you enjoyed!

#hermione #hermione granger #harry potter #ron weasley #romione #harmony #harmione #dramione #reference #hermione trial #trial #wizgamot #long list of crimes #i mean seriously #worldcrawler #my writing #onehsot

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writingismyhappytime · 4 years

Text

Draco Malfoy and the Hopeless Situation

Warnings: Language, Angst

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7) Aesthetic

Something is terribly wrong this year.

You're not sure how to describe it, but it's as if the very air is different, like it's heavy and thick, weighing on everyone. Your parents almost didn't want you returning to Hogwarts this year with the rumors, but you scoffed at them and came back anyway.

Now you kind of wish you hadn't.

You'd noticed your mother hasn't been speaking with Narcissa Malfoy, you've heard her whispering to your father that she doesn't dare get involved. You're not exactly sure what that means, they refuse to ever tell you anything, or just wave you off when you ask.

According to Harry, however, You-Know-Who is back, but he's also been claiming that for years. You've always been skeptical, someone just doesn't come back from the dead, but after the end of last year, with his godfather dying and everyone suddenly saying they saw the Dark Lord --- well, you're just uncertain now.

It's kind of frightening, actually. You're worried for your parents, you know that Voldemort actually targeted the pure blood families to recruit them into his Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy being one of them; you're not sure how your parents managed to wiggle out of it, but you're glad they didn't get involved.

You wonder how Draco is fairing, what's going on at Malfoy manor. Is it really true that his family is part of the Death Eaters that are supporting the Dark Lord's return? Is that why he was so weird last year, joining that horrid toad-like woman, stating that he was trying to keep you safe, that you didn't know everything that was happening?

Maybe you didn't.

You feel almost foolish now, like someone has lifted a veil from in front of your eyes and you suddenly realize that you've been ignoring obvious signs. Now the papers are even talking about the random attacks on muggle born wizards, the gatherings, and it's very concerning.

Fred and George don't seem bothered, their joke shop is flourishing, just like Fred said it would. You saw him many times over the summer, you actually really like his shop, but it's not the same between either one of you now. You thought maybe it could be once you got out of school, but... it's not. He's basically independent, he and his brother, and he's loving it.

You just... wish things didn't have to end the way they did last year.

You're both writing letters to each other, more so now than before actually, especially over the summer. Your owl has been constantly going back and forth much to your mother's consternation, sometimes she needs to use the owl sometimes and you shouldn't be so greedy, apparently.

It's not like it matters, most of her friends are high society gossip queens, it's not like she has anything actually important to talk about. Your father has been gone a lot though, but you don't really think he's been at the Ministry like he claims; he's up to something, him and your mother both, but you're not sure what.

No one will talk to you.

It's so frustrating!

Even if they avoid telling you about it, you hear about it at school. The dark vibe is intense, and Dumbledore has been so absent this year, although he's still miraculously the headmaster despite that circus last semester. You're not sure how he managed that, but you noticed that he isn't looking like he feels that well, either.

Neither is Draco.

He's not acting his usual haughty self, he's very pale, and you've noticed the black rings beneath his eyes. He has his underlings following him around of course, and he still has his boastful appearance and looks down his nose at others, but it just... well, it seems like it's a facade, it's not genuine like before.

You're actually worried about him too.

You know the rumors, and if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is really back, the Malfoys are right in the middle of it. Draco and his mother at least, since his father is currently in Azkaban for breaking into the Ministry --- on the Dark Lord's behalf.

Which means he must be back, doesn't it? You keep trying to find excuses, ways to pretend that it's not true, because why should it be? That was something that happened when you were just a baby, it doesn't even seem real to you, it's just history, right?

Well, apparently not, because now it's happening again.

You frown down at your school books where you sit in the library at one of the tables, tapping the tip of your feathered quill nervously against your paper. You've been staring at this page for a few minutes, but you're not really reading anything.

You're listening.

There's a few Slytherins sitting a couple seats down, whispering as they lean over the table towards each other. Pansy is one of them, she's always in the middle of chaos, but she's also the perfect source of gossip. She looks pleased as she talks about the Malfoy's, still praising them for being loyal to their blood even in the darkest of circumstances. She comments on how hard it must be for Draco with his father being gone, his mother stuck at the manor with all her "guests."

By guests does she mean Death Eaters? Is Malfoy manor like their home base?

She should really watch what she's saying when so many people are around.

You hear a slight huff of vague laughter, and you look up, seeing Draco walking through the library, white blonde hair messed, a smile on his face that's not genuine and actually looks more like a grimace. Crabbe and Goyle are flanking him as they move with purpose, and you frown, watching them.

Is he okay?

His eyes flick over as he passes your table, his gray eyes catching yours for just the briefest of moments before away, his attention returning to his task. You watch as he disappears into the rows of books in the library, almost feeling disappointed. He's not spoken to you once this year, not tried to pick on you, be smooth with you, absolutely nothing!

It's not characteristic of him at all.

Not that you mind, of course, he's a jerk, and he's rude, and snobbish. You want him to be a better person but you're not sure if he actually is, and the only reason he's ever nice to you is because of your family name, your House; if you'd been anyone else, you would be treated like you were below him, especially since you don't think muggles are complete dirt.

Still, you've spent time with Draco outside of school, you know he can be decent, it's why you like him. You just know he can be better, but you're not going to pretend that you can make him be better or make him change, it's his choice to be who he is and to act the way he does.

It's just disappointing because he has a good heart.

Or maybe that's just what you want to believe.

He saved you last year, made sure you weren't in trouble when it came to the D.A. getting caught; he actually made sure you didn't make it to that last meeting, and you'd said some horrible things to him because of it. You sort of regret being so mean, but, well, he had no business interfering! You should have been there, you are one of them!

Maybe you should have believed Harry more, instead of being so skeptical. You're grateful for all the defensive spells you learned thanks to him, at least if everything does go bad you'll be able to defend yourself --- against Death Eaters, of all things.

People you know, which is what makes it worse.

You sigh, and finally close the book you've been pretending to read with a final thunk. You can't concentrate, and you're tired of trying too. There's too much on your mind, this year is getting to you and you're barely into it!

Stupid Draco and his ignoring you, you're not sure why you find it so annoying. It's so unlike him, he always at least acknowledges you! Sure, you don't care, not really, it's just... worrisome. He's changed so much these few months, it's like he's not even himself.

When you first saw him this year, he was still pale, wearing his traditional dark green robes that complimented his color and white-blond hair. Now he has sch terrible dark shadows beneath his eyes, and looks almost gray sometimes, as if he's exhausted and becoming ill.

You've noticed Snape watching him pretty closely as well, but you know about his reputation. Snape was a Death Eater, loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and how he became a teacher for Dumbledore is beyond you; why Dumbledore let him become a teacher is a mystery! The man obviously hates children, and this year since he's been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, it's been... interesting.

Everyone always says that position is cursed, you've had a new one every single year that you've been at Hogwarts... well, since Harry Potter has been at Hogwarts. You can't say Snape has been a terrible teacher, for as long as you've known him he's wanted that class. He takes it very seriously, more so than anyone else --- especially that horrid woman Umbridge, who you hope is somewhere as awful as she is.

At least Snape treats the class for what it is; dangerous.

He wants to make sure that all of the students have a firm understanding of the suffering the Dark Arts can bring, so far as to even make the lights dimmer and hang up some very morbid photos. His teachings, as much as no one would dare admit, were very similar to Harry's, in your unasked opinion. Snape wants everyone to not simply just memorize the spells, but how to use them and what situations call for them.

Even the theories he assigns for homework at least interesting. Lupin was the only other teacher who you found to be so practical, except he was much friendlier and personable, whereas Snape is sort of loomy and intimidating.

"What is it, (Y/N)? You're looking moodier than usual," Someone comments snidely, and you cut your eyes at Pansy Parkinson where she and Millicient sit; you're not fond of Millicent, at all, and you don't pretend you are either. She was part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial squad last year, and would use her... you want to say larger, more broad build to intimidate other students and anyone smaller than her. Right now her black hair is loose around her jutting jaw, and it's not flattering in the least.

"What do you want, Pansy?" You frown at her, your chin propped on your hand. "Don't you have something to gossip about?"

"No." Pansy shifts, and you scowl at her as she puts herself right across from you, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Your mind unfortunately flicks to the night of the Yule Ball, when she went with Draco dressed in such pink frills, so gaudy. Her style hasn't changed much since than either, although you've noticed her and Draco are together, just the two of them more often.

You're not bothered by it or anything, after all these years it's no surprise to see them together. She's just a horrid girl, who likes to torment others and has a mean streak --- but she's from a pureblood family, so it's no surprise.

You gaze at her with a bored expression, not even going to entertain her. Is she trying to snap at you, get you riled up for some reason?

You're fairly certain you hate this girl, although you know it's a strong term. You know her and Draco are cosier than usual this year, you heard about their little snuggle on the train ride to Hogwarts. His head in her lap, her smirk as she caressed his hair --- it does make your blood boil just a little at the thought.

You know his hair is soft, you've run your fingers through it numerous times. You wonder if he's kissed her yet, like he has you --- he certainly knows how to kiss very well, so maybe she's who he's practiced with.

Oh now that's a sickening thought.

You don't like that at all.

You brush your hair behind your ear, raising your brows at Pansy when she just sits across from you, studying you.

You're all growing up now, all around sixteen to seventeen years old. Before where you would typically keep your hair in a braid of sorts, you've started leaving it down, and it's longer now than it was before. You've found a lot of your classmates are losing their childish round faces, are becoming taller and filling out, and you're no different.

You're taller now, though not as tall as Draco, and your mother keeps fussing at you to wear a little makeup around your eyes, they're so pretty and they should stand out. You have to concede that she's right, and hasn't Draco complimented you now and than about how nice they are?

You wonder if he compliments Pansy about how she looks, if he really does like her that way. Is he finally done with you, even being friends? Did you hissing at him the end of last year finally finish off the shred of whatever it was between the two of you?

He's always been such a constant, you almost admit that you kind of miss him. You don't miss his belittling people or tantrums, but the good moments, like when he stayed the summer with your parents, or how kind he was to you that one Christmas --- that's the Draco you like, and believe he would be were his father not such a bloody jerk.

"So, I heard Blaise Zabini was talking about you this morning in the commons room," Pansy suddenly states, earning your attention. "He was talking to Theodore Nott about how tall you've gotten over the summer."

"Theodore just likes to talk about plants, and Blaise is too vain to notice anyone but himself." You reply shortly, not interested. You highly doubt Blaise Zabini is interested in you, you've never even had a conversation your entire time at school. He's usually pretty quiet and reserved, and though he sits with Draco and the others during lunch, he doesn't seem to care much for them. You know he's incredibly prejudiced against anyone who isn't a pureblood, but he comes from a woman who's been widowed seven times, her husbands dying under suspicious circumstances.

"Oh, come on, (Y/N), you're pretty enough to have someone interested in you." Pansy replies, but it's the way she says it you know she's not sincere. You just look at her, refusing to rise to the bait; is she taunting you because she's insecure about her relationship?

That's not your problem.

"I have to get to class," you say, making your tone as disinterested as possible. You rise to your feet, gathering your books together. Pansy looks annoyed for just the briefest moment before plastering a smirk on her face, getting to her feet so she can be on the same level as you.

"Going a little early, aren't you? Want to make sure you get there ahead of everyone else? It's just Snape, he already caters to us as Slytherins. No need to suck up to him."

You roll your eyes blatantly, turning away from her and taking your time leaving the library; you don't want her to think you're running away from her either. You don't care for her stupid attitude towards you, and you're not going to let her think you can bully you either.

Stupid Pansy Parkinson.

~~~~~~

Draco is exhausted.

He can barely keep his eyes open as he sits in Transfiguration class, his chin propped on his fist. He's trying to pay attention, but there's much more pressing matters than worrying about homework or what McGonagall is teaching. She's already given him detention for forgetting two assignments already, much to his consternation.

Griffyndors.

He exhales heavily in irritation, hair moving out of his eyes. There's so much going on, and he's so tired. He just wants to sleep, but if he's resting he's losing time, and time is precious right now. He has to protect his family, he can't fail in his objective this year, in the mission he was given.

If he messes up, something could happen to his mother, and she's all he has left now. His father in Azkaban, it's thrown his family inot disarray, and his mother is barely keeping control of Malfory Manor since they've fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord.

His eyes rove the classroom, and they settle on you as you answer a question a few rows down from him. He's tried to avoid you this year, to ignore your very existence; the less you're involved with him, the better off you're going to be. You chose the mudbloods, despite your pureblood status, and the Dark Lord is concerned that your family may not be... loyal, in a sense.

He's worried.

Narcissa Malfory defended your mother, and your father since he works with the ministry. He hopes that means, despite their fall from grace, something in your family's defense. There's been so many attacks on muggles and other mudblood supporting wizards, it causes his stomach to clench.

He hopes that if he avoids you, no one will think anything of you, that you'll be left alone. You'll be safe. Draco can't give anyone ammunition that can be used against him, plus if you knew his plans for the year --- you'd hate him. You'd never speak to him again, and for some reason he cares about that.

He's even kept a distance between his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, Theodore and Pansy. They know he's planning something and would help him no matter what, but he can't give them details; and damned Snape, always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He's not going to steal Draco's glory, the boy can do it himself!

He'll figure it out, somehow, without anyone's help! Snape would ruin everything, and he doesn't have to keep such tabs on him, either!

Draco's fingers curl tightly where they rest on the table in front of him, and he swallows hard. He has to be careful, he knows that. He's still a prefect, not that it really matters to him as much as it did last year. The summer changed everything, it's like his entire life has been tilted and he's struggling to keep it righted.

He thought being a Death Eater, working for the Dark Lord, would be great. He wanted to be like his father, wear his Dark Mark proudly and help keep the muggles separate from the wizarding world. Keep the bloodlines strong and pure, and yet...

The Dark Lord doesn't really seem to care who gets hurt in the meantime. If you're a bloodtraitor, or just simply someone who doesn't think muggles are lowly, you're the enemy. Anyone who doesn't comply will be punished, and if you fall out of favor, like the Malfoys --- Draco knows he was only assigned to kill Dumbledore so that he would fail.

It's not a punishment for him, but for his father in failing his attack on Harry Potter last year, on getting caught and being sent away.

So, Draco can't be around you, not this year. He's going to pretend he doesn't care about you at all, it's his only tactic. You're safer being out of the way, he just has to keep Pansy away from you. He's noticed she's been aiming for you lately, although he's not sure why. He can tell you're annoyed but you're not a very confrontational person.

He shifts, absently flipping the page of his book when he notices everyone else does. He's not paying attention to anything being said, he'll figure that out later.

"And what does Reparifarge do?" McGonagall asks the class, her beady eyes flicking across the students.

Your hand and that of Hermione Granger's both raise quickly, and you cut your eyes at her. You half expect McGonagall to let her answer, considering she's a Griffyndor --- you suppose you're a little used to the preferential treatment Snape used to give during Potions and now in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"(Y/L/N)." McGonagall addresses you, apparently deciding to not less miss-know-it-all give her answer for once.

"It undoes the Transifiguration of the object," you say, brushing your long hair behind your ears. You've never let it go so long before, but it looks good on you. In fact, you're filling out nicely, with your height, it's like you're becoming prettier the older you get. Draco lets his gaze linger on you as you elaborate on your answer when prompted, answering until McGonagall looks pleased, nodding her head.

"Very good, (Y/L/N.)" McGonagall compliments, slowly pacing in front of her desk, hands clasped in front of her. "At least one of you has been paying attention during class. Isn't that right, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco blinks, ripping his gaze off of you and to the teacher staring him down.

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, what is the most important thing to do when casting a transfiguration spell?" she asks, glaring at him from beneath the hem of her hat; he doens't take it personally, she glares at all of her students --- or perhaps it's more that her face is just always set in a stern manner.

"... Concentrate." he manages after a moment, scrambling for an answer. He's quite sure she mentioned something like that earlier in the class.

"Correct. So let's make sure we're all concentrating on our studies, shall we?" she replies, and he frowns as she turns away, gesturing at the board behind her. The chalk rises, elegantly beginning to write a new spell upon the blackboard. "Now, everyone take out your wands."

He huffs as he slouches back in his chair, Pansy patting his arm reassuringly where she sits beside him. Her hand lingers on his sleeve, fingers casually brushing against the black material in a soothing manner.

She shares the same views as him, is loyal to him and hasn't left his side all year, and he appreciates that. At least he knows he can rely on her if it comes down to it, and she's one of the Twenty-Eight pureblood famillies as well --- not a bad option, as far as dating goes.

He just doesn't have time for it right now.

~~~~~~~

Dear (Y/N),

George and I have a new prank coming out, and I want you to try it first! When you get time, head on down to our shop, and I'll give you a sample to take back to Hogwarts come vacation. I know it must be dreadfully boring without George and me there, no one else has the good humor we do, eh?

Tell Ron that Mum's awful mad at him again, if you see him. She's not, but it puts him in a fluster and it's funny to watch. Did you get the parcel I sent you last week? Hope you liked the sweets from Honeydukes, I made sure that I didn't send anything with Errol, especially after his fiasco with Hagrid.

I actually wanted to make sure you got the candies before they were too old!

Anyhow, like I said, come by the shop, would you? It's been since summer we've seen you, you know how George asks after you constantly. Sometimes me thinks he has a crush on you, but can't say my brother doesn't have good taste.

Fred

You smile as you read the letter Fred sent you. He sends you one at least every few weeks, along with some silly care package of a sorts. You're pleased that he still communicates with you, even if it's not like it was before. He's funny, he teases you, but it's casual between you now, there's not really any romance left.

At least you can still be friends, and you treasure that.

You glance at the box of candies he's sent you, and they're the expensive ones that you always like as well. His joke shop must be doing pretty well considering, but he and his brother are natural pranksters.

You stifle a yawn behind your hand, knowing it's getting late. You're still sitting in the commons room whereas everyone else has left for the night, the fire crackling in the elaborately carved fireplace casting a dim glow about the long, dungeon-like room. The lamps above that hang on their chains are turned low for the night, and that's typically the unofficial sign for going to bed.

You just... didn't want to have to deal with the clatter of the other girls, and liked the peacefulness of the room when there wasn't anyone else around.

The room has lots of low backed black and dark green leather sofas, wooden tables with a set of Wizard's Chess on it and other books or belongings of students they've forgotten. The room has a grand atmosphere, despite it being quite a cold one, and the large window looking out into the lake always gives the room a green tinge that you've come to like over the years.

It's familiar to you, comforting, and though you've never understood how you ended up in Slytherin, it's your house, and you wear the green and silver colors proudly. Slytherins aren't all bad, and though you hate to compliment Professor Slughorn, the new potions teacher, he's not terrible at all --- he's just a quirky old man that means no harm.

Slytherins are cunning, ambitious --- but at least they look after their own. They care about the members of their House, admittedly; sure, Pansy Parkinson would tease you and try to get under your skin, but if a Griffyndor or a Ravenclaw said something out of the way to you, she'd snarl and rip them apart.

Well, maybe she wouldn't, perhaps that's a bad example.

Your eyes flick up as you hear the commonsroom door opening, and you blink as Draco Malfoy slips inside. Your eyes flick to the grandclock against the wall, seeing the late hour as the Slytherin boy stumbles towards the stairs.

What is Draco doing out so late? What in the world could he have been doing?

He's not noticed you on the sofa, and won't unless you say something. You shouldn't, it's none of your concern what he's been up too, but ---.

"Draco?" You find yourself asking, your soft voice catching him off guard in the otherwise quiet room. He half jerks around, gray eyes darkly shadowed but wide as he recognizes you. You see him look at the clock before back at you, obviously wondering what you're doing up at such a late hour.

"(Y/N)? Why are you awake?" He asks raspily, before clearing his throat. His hands slip casually into his trouser pockets, his black sweater wrinkled and worn looking, out of character for him. He has always prided himself on having the best clothing, looking his best --- his hair, which typically he kept smoothed back, falls around his eyes, completely unkempt.

"I could ask the same of you." You reply, absently folding the letter Fred sent you and letting it rest on the table with the candies. You're curled up on the sofa, a few pillows around you, legs tucked beneath them. "Where are you coming from?"

"I'm a prefect, just checking to make sure everyone was to bed."

"You're a terrible liar, Draco," You sigh, frowning at him. He might be a prefect but he's basically ignored every single duty of one all year; no one's brave enough to complain about it, but you've heard the irritated whispers.

He sends you an annoyed look, shrugging his sweater clad shoulders. He's tall, but he looks slimmer to you than before, and you wonder what's stressing him so. He's so absent minded this year, so out of the loop...

"Are you okay?" You ask suddenly, starting to get to your feet. It has to do with that whole Death Eater business, doesn't it? You think they're just thugs, bullies who follow a bigger bully just so they can be cruel, they don't care about any cause. He could be stressed about his father being in prison, or that mess going on with Harry, who's been so angry towards everything this year, but he's had it hard too.

This year is just --- difficult.

"I'm fine," Draco averts his gaze from you, his eyes focusing on the stairs leading up to the boys quarters. He just wants a few hours of rest, to swallow the fear that tightens his throat and forget the world for a bit. He's spent so long working on that stupid cabinet that his eyes were blurring, and it's still not fixed!

He's becoming desperate.

"Are you sure? You don't seem like it," you say hesitantly, and he dares to look at you again. "What's going on with you this year?"

"Nothing." He mutters, running pale fingers through his messy hair. "You should be in bed, (Y/N), we have early classes tomorrow."

"I could say the same to you," you retort, miffed. He keeps avoiding answering your questions, you hate that. There's no sense in being evasive, although he does look tired, maybe he just wants some rest? "You've been avoiding me all year."

Oh, you've noticed that? "No I haven't, it's just a busy school year."

"This is the first conversation we've had," you cross your arms against the coolness of the room, refusing to let him get off that easily. You're not sure why you're persuing this, you just --- well, you feel bad about last year.

Guilty, really.

Maybe he's angry at you, maybe you struck a terrible nerve when you lashed out at him for stopping you going to the last D.A. meeting; he knew there was going to be a raid, and he prevented you from being caught in the mess of it. You hadn't known that, and you'd said some horrible things to him, he'd looked insulted, you'd thought, but maybe it was hurt?

"So?" Draco sounds irritated, and he keeps shifitng his weight back and forth, cutting his eyes at you before away. "Look, I'm tired and going to bed."

"Draco, I --- I'm sorry about last year," you suddenly blurt, having to get it off your chest. It's plagued you for a few months, and though you thought nothing of it before, how he's treated you this year, blatantly ignored you --- you can't stand it!

You think about the Christmas you spent with his family, the summer he stayed with yours, the moment in the tower of his manor that he kissed you like no one else ever has --- you adored Fred, but he was sweet, and gentle, it was completely different. There's nothing really romantic left between the two of you now, at least on your behalf, and in some way maybe you're a little relieved that it's passed.

You were always so conflicted.

"Sorry? What about?" The blond boy looks startled, and you finally have his full attention. He'd started to stride past you towards the stairs, but had paused at your words, just a few feet away. The firelight sends a reddish glow across his skin, giving his cheeks just the smallest hint of color.

"When we last spoke," you hesitate, absently twisting a few strands of your hair, nervous. "Last year, you helped me, but I didn't know it, and I was horrible to you. I'm just... I'm sorry about that. I thought you were just being a jerk to me again, but ---."

"I've never done anything to intentionally be a jerk to you, (Y/N)," Draco interrupts you, his voice firm. "You know that."

"Intentionally, no," you agree, seeing his brows furrow. "But I wanted to apologize ---."

"That doesn't matter," he shakes his head, and you blink at him, surprised.

"It doesn't?"

"What? No, I don't even think about that." He dismisses with a wave of his hand. Why are you dwelling on something so inconsequential? He'd completely forgotten about that, last year was a blur to him, the whole thing with Umbridge. It's like that was a completely different time now, some distant past that belongs to a different person.

"Oh." You hesitate, suddenly unsure. He doesn't... well, if he's not upset about it, why is he treating you so coldly?

Why do you care?

Maybe you deserve it, maybe it's for the best. You've been mean to him too, you guess, and your relationship has always been rocky. You should just drop it, gather your things and leave, let him get some rest. People grow apart, and though you were raised together as children, you've gone to school together for years --- sometimes it's best to leave things in the past.

You turn away from him, grabbing your mail and the parcel Fred sent you, hugging them to your chest. You don't know what else to say to him, so you just look away, decide to leave him be. You shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have confronted him. He's gazing towards the stairs again, and for some rest your chest aches as you look at him, because he looks --- he has such an expression of despair.

What's Draco gotten himself in too?

It's none of your business, you scold yourself. Your parents warned you that if things were too strange at school, that you were to let them know and come straight home. So far nothing was too out of the ordinary, but you tend to be oblivious.

It's better that way.

"Goodnight, Draco," you mumble, only to hear him sigh.

"Wait, (Y/N)," his hand suddenly closes against your sleeve, tugging to keep you from brushing past him. You hesitate, suddenly finding that you're an arms length away, so close you can see how terrible the black circles beneath his eyes are, how pale and almost gray his skin seems. He looks so terrible, and the black sweater does nothing but support that.

"Yes?" You hold your breath as you look up at him, standing perfectly still as his pale fingers suddenly rise, trailing through your long hair absently. He lifts a few strands before letting them fall, his gaze focusing on the necklace that you're wearing.

You can feel the heat start to burn your cheeks; this was his Christmas gift for you, a very pretty necklace that's one of your favorites. You actually wear it fairly often, just usually beneath your robes or sweaters. Only the two of you know it was a gift from him, you've never told anyone, and neither has he.

"You still have that?" He doesn't have to sound so surprised.

"Of course." You look down at it, almost guiltily. "I mean, it's one of my favorites. I wear it all the time."

"Oh." Draco ignores how satisfying your words are. "I just thought... well, I'm glad you like it."

"Mmmhmm." You don't know what else to say. You're starting to get uncomfortable, you don't know... where this is going.

"You should go," Draco says wearily after a moment when there's nothing but the crackling of the fire between you. "You heard about what happened to that Griffyndor Katie Bell, didn't you? You shouldn't be out late."

"Oh, that was horrible." You shudder at the thought of it. "Poor girl is in St. Mungo's now, they don't know when she's getting out. It's lucky Hagrid got her back when he did."

Draco nods in agreement, but he's not looking at you again. "Nothing like that will happen again, don't dwell on it."

"And how do you know that? No one even knows what happened," well, that's one thing you haven't told your parents about. You also know that Ron Weasley was ill some time ago, spent some time in the infirmary, but you're not sure what over. You did find it odd those two events happening, but it's Hogwarts.

You just don't ---.

"You're safe, you have nothing to worry about," Draco repeats, and he squeezes your arm lightly, just enough to attempt to be reassuring. "Of all the people here, you're safest."

"Why would you say that?" What an odd choice of words. You stare at him, off guard. "Do you know something about what happened?"

"What? Of course not," he scoffs, but he's not looking at you again, he does! He always looks away when he lies, it's his tell --- you've known him long enough to pick up on that. You jerk your arm out of his grip, frowning up at him.

"Draco Malfoy, did you have something to do with Katie Bell?" You demand of him, tightening your grip on the parcel in your arms, tensing. "What did you do?"

"What? Nothing!" Draco squawks, but he takes a step back from you. "How could you accuse me of something like that?"

"Well, I --- I don't know, you just look guilty!" Is it a ridiculous idea? You wonder. Draco has never hurt anyone, he's just a jerk, and usually a coward. You remember when he tried to one up Harry in Hagrid's class with Buckbeak, how he'd lamented about an injured arm that he was perfectly fine soon after. He tends to be a big baby about everything, but he was pampered, spoiled.

"I'm just tired, (Y/N)." Draco sounds weary, and you feel guitly immediately. He does look so exhausted, and you know Draco better than most people, he wouldn't hurt someone like that. Maybe socially destroy them, belittle them in every other single way, but not like that, not with magic so horrible.

"I know, I'm sorry. You're right, we should get to bed." You say, clearing your throat nervously. You gaze up at him for just a few more seconds before turning away. "Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight." Draco watches you walk away from him, disappear up the twisting stairs towards the girls dormitory. The room seems colder when you leave, emptier. He almost wishes you'd stay a few more seconds, just so he's not alone, not ---.

No, he can't worry with you.

Draco presses his hands against his face, inhaling a ragged breath. He hates the burning in his eyes, and he fights back the overwhelming despair of his situation. You just distract him, you're his one weakness in this whole school and he knows it. You can be used against him and that's not acceptable.

He has a mission, to kill Dumbledore for the Dark Lord, to bring his family honor and to be in his good graces again. His father failed in getting the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and so his family is suffering for it.

Draco's eyes trail down to his left forearm, where he knows the Dark Mark throbs. He was so excited at first, getting the Mark, becoming a Death Eater like his father despite his Mother's warnings. He wanted the mission, he wanted to help his family, but the weight of this, the heaviness of what he has to do and what happens if he fails --- it's killing him. He feels like he's carrying so much on his shoulders, like he's drowning, choking and he can't breathe!

His chest pinches, and his shaking fingers curl tightly along the back of the sofa you vacated. He tries to keep his breathing even, to not panic, to not let the fear take over him. He knows he's shaking, his eyes are burning and he just wants to sit, curl into a ball and not move for a few hours.

He doesn't want to kill anyone, but he has too. He saw what Voldemort did to the old mugglestudies teacher, what he does to people who he views as useless or threats. He worries constantly about his mother, how she's fairing --- it doesn't matter his Aunt Bellatrix is there, she's loyal to the Dark Lord even over her own family.

He has no one, and he can't trust Snape.

He can't trust anyone.

It's just... just a hopeless situation.

@ariminiria @xaohroa @raven666hale. @thebrookerose. @imthedrappleapple. @scarlet-witch-baby @a-mnda @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone @maelloute @httpmcrvel @ mayorofzillyhoo @happyhollands

#dracomalfoy #harrypotterfanfiction #draco malfoy fan fiction #draco-fuckingmalfoy #slytherin #dracoxreader #dracoxoc #draco malfoy x y/n #readerinsert #harry potter reader insert #draco malfoy x reader insert

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quietkite · 3 years

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐬 | 𝟏

The Wattpad Version ➼ Lovely Little Liars Table of Contents

𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀

Trigger Warnings:

Offensive Language, Mention of Death

Draco

He couldn't bear to look.

Lucius Malfoy stood on a podium with restraints on both his arms and legs. A heavy metal brace rested on his neck with a multitude of locks unable to be unlocked with just a simple 'alohomora'.

His mother was next to him with an emotionless look on her face, but she knew how to control her emotions. Her hands were locked with her son's, squeezing it with a mixture of fear, anxiety and comfort.

He couldn't tell if she was giving or wanting the comfort.

Draco could have almost been unrecognisable. His overly light blonde hair was a mess. He wore an oversized light grey shirt with long, pushed up sleeves. He had navy jeans that were ironed but slightly crushed up. He could have been Potter if he wanted to.

There were fifty people in stands looking down from their high spots. Draco stood by his mother on the side of the cold, and open, cobblestone courtyard where his father stood silently on his podium in the middle of it all.

Then out of nowhere, memories flooded his head, bad memories. It worsened by the second and Draco felt that he might have blacked out.

But it was time.

A dementor floated airily toward his father. Draco saw the anguish in his father's eyes. The defeat. The dementor didn't immediately suck out his father's soul like how the process of the dementor's kiss would normally go. His father turned his head to see his wife and son one last time. But the anguish in his father's eyes turned into hatred as he looked at Draco. He was able to get one word out before the dementor took his soul.

"Faggot."

The dementor took less than a minute to take the man's soul as Lucius's soulless body was dragged away after falling forwards with an eerie hollow-sounding thud.

That was when the tears flooded out. Draco didn't know if he was crying over his father's soul being permanently stripped away forever or that his last words were about his complete hatred for him. His mother took her hand from his and rubbed his back trying to soothe him. Draco knew how much this broke his mother too.

When they reached the elevators, Draco had composed himself enough. No matter how much his family was hated now, he couldn't show the pain. The Malfoys shouldn't show any more emotions than they already had shown. Too much emotion that is showcased to the world, meant the more damage that could be done to you from the world.

Narcissa then swiftly apparated them back to the Malfoy Manor silently.

Once there, his mother immediately requested to be alone as she slowly, yet gracefully, walked to her quarters, her black high heels clicking as she walked.

Draco's trials had happened the week before. He was spared for being underage when he took the mark. Someone defended him but they wore their hood hiding their identity. When Lucius's punishment had completely finished Draco had a faint glimpse of his defender's vibrant, emerald green eyes and round looking glasses as the Wizengamot members filed out as his defender attended Lucius's soul detachment. The mysterious person was a bit shorter than average, had tanned skin and wore muggle-looking shoes called running shoes. Draco could have guessed they were no older than seventeen or sixteen.

Although Draco didn't understand how the stranger had to much evidence to prove his innocence.

But alas, the stranger wasn't able to prove him to be completely innocent. He still had the dark mark.

As Draco wasn't going to Azkaban yet, they put him on probation instead.

He couldn't cast any offensive spells and hardly any of the ministry-approved spells were helpful to him. The ministry then made it so if Draco were to leave his home he would only be allowed twelve hours per day.

A loud bang sounded at the door making Draco visibly jump. Quickly running towards the door in case it was the ministry, he opened the door to see a person slightly shorter than him with raven coloured hair styled in a short, black bob, immediately attacking him with a strong bear hug. Not far back was another with long, dark brown hair that had a natural purple tint, smiling.

It was Pansy and Astoria.

Pansy and Astoria could have been counted as two of his actual best friends.

Pansy was his first friend that was a girl ever. They weren't ever going to marry as their families were already close enough to be family. She had admitted to liking him in the sixth year while they were in their seventh. But she got over that quickly. But to him, Pansy was always like his sister. She helped him in his darkest times and vice versa. They were quite close. They loved each other as actual siblings would. He would do anything for her.

Astoria was a bit of a different case. The two were mutual friends at first thanks to one of his other friends being Daphne Greengrass, Astoria's older sister. When Draco was in his seventh year and she was in her fifth, they were told they'd be wed one year after Astoria graduated from Hogwarts. Because Daphne had died a month after the war when her health was terrible from a blood curse which resurfaced in her and a critical hit while fighting in the war it caused the entire Greengrass family go through much grief. They still grieved, because family is one of the hardest lose.

"Dray, darling!",Pansy cried out as Draco hugged her, shocked about her and Astoria's sudden,unexpected arrival.

"W-what are you two doing here?",Draco asked confusedly.

Pansy shot Astoria a look of confusion and worry. Astoria crept up closer towards the doorway.

"Did you not receive the letter?",Pansy replied with a clear sense of agitation and worry lining her voice.

"Maybe it would be better if we talked inside.",Astoria stated, pointing inside the manor.

Draco quickly looked backwards inside his house to see if his mother was still in her room before answering,"Of course, although we ran out of tea and won't be able to get anymore for a while without our house elves for the year."

Pansy gave a firm, but compassionate nod while Astoria gave him another smile.

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"I am so sorry we weren't there for you today, we—",Pansy started before Draco cut her off.

"It's okay. I'm fine now. But what is this about a letter?",Draco asked, quickly changing the subject.

Pansy eyed him, searching for clues to see how Draco wasn't fine at all, before answering Draco's question.

"I was in my Manor reading when an owl flew in with a letter. As you know our owls normally went straight to our parents unless it was a friend our parents approved of. But the stamp was none of the pureblood crests. It...it was from Hogwarts. They requested that we were to come to Hogwarts for a reunion and some news. And this was only sent to those in our year. But I-we, came here to ask if you were coming to the reunion."

Draco was shocked.

A reunion?

How come he was never owled?

"Do you know who else is coming? Slytherins I mean."

"Well, Goyle...he committed suicide after Crabbe died. Theo gave me a maybe though it was pretty unclear, Blaise hasn't answered any of mine or Astoria's owls. But I do know that I'm going, although Astoria is only in her sixth year meaning she can't go. That bitch, Millicent is dead thank Morgana. But I heard a rumour that Tracey was going to come after she was proven innocent by the ministry."

Draco stiffened at the thought of Tracey. None of his friends were ever fond of her and Millicent, for reasons nobody wanted to nor was ready to discuss.

"I will go only since you will be going and because Astoria cannot go with you. When did the letter say the reunion was?"

"In two days time I believe."

"Merlin. Okay, I will have to let mother know then. Have either of you two seen Theo or Blaise since the war?"

"I haven't seen the two but Pansy and I have only owled Theo once if that counts and his response was only one word. But we're not exactly sure if he will go to the reunion. And we haven't heard a word from Blaise since then. He just disappeared off the radar.",Astoria piped up. She was almost always with Pansy and always thought of her as second older sister. Especially since Daphne's death.

"How is your mother doing right now Dray? Je me sens comme un idiote de ne pas demander!"

"She's....fine...",Draco remarked doubtfully, looking backwards at the kilometre long hallway filled with the moving portraits of the past Malfoys.

"She's that bad? Merlin!",Pansy replied a gasp, shaking her head with pity.

Astoria discreetly nudged the young woman as she realised what time it was. At least half an hour had passed.

"Merde. Sorry to cut our time short Dray dear but I promised Astoria we'd go somewhere for a bit as she can't apparate on her own yet. Oh! Mcgonagall also stated that she wanted us there a day earlier. I can apparate us to the train station."

"It's completely fine. I should be available then. I'll have to let mother know now."

Astoria gave Draco a smile as Pansy gave him one last tight, warm hug before Pansy apparated the two young women to wherever they had made plans to go.

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When the two girls were gone Draco let out a heavy sigh.

He trudged to his paren— his mother's room to check on her. Lucius's death took quite a toll on her. He didn't know what could happen to her if he left her alone for only two days.

Draco opened the door as the only sound made was a squeak from the door opening. Narcissa laid in her bed upright with a tiny, dark green book in her hands, silently flipping the page, a small frown etched onto her face.

"Mother..?"

"D-Draco!",Narcissa jumped,"I didn't hear you come in! Did you need something? Is it already supper? I can make you some food if your—"

"No no mother. It's just that Pansy and Astoria came over a small while ago and informed me of something."

"Oh those two darlings, what was it that happened dear?"

"Er— They told me that all of the seventh years from last year were invited to a reunion. I have already confirmed with Pansy on my attendance to the meet. But was part of the ministry's prohibition not giving us our letters? I only just found out about the reunion from Pansy today. But more importantly, will you be okay alone? It should only last two days, but I'll have to leave tomorrow."

"I should be fine by myself Draco. I am not that weak to become dysfunctional over one man's death. Although I will contact my lawyer about the owls. You should go start packing. Your old school trunk is in your sixth closet."

Draco smiled at his mother, who's stance straightened up, as he left the door with a squeak when he closed the door slowly.

Once the door was closed completely, Draco walked quickly to his own room and slammed the door shut as he slid down the door, his long legs sprawled out

He took a long deep breathe as he smiled some tears falling down.

"I wonder if Potter will be there."

Table of Contents

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#angst #blairon #blaise zabini #draco malfoy #drarry #fanfiction #gaylove #gryffindor #harry potter #hermione granger #lgbtq+#love #pansmione #pansy parkinson #ron weasley #slytherin #trauma

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hufflly-puffs · 4 years

Text

This is obviously not the first (and not the last) post about Rowling using the so called Ring-structure in her Potter books, meaning that the events in the books mirror each other, especially book 1 and 7, book 2 and 6, as well as book 3 and 5 (book 4 is an outsider and should not be counted). Here are some mirrors that I noticed though the list is obviously not complete. Feel free to add your own thoughts.

„The Philosopher’s Stone“ & „The Deathly Hallows“

Harry arrives at the Dursleys // Harry leaves the Dursleys

Dumbledore uses the Deluminator // The Deluminator is passed on to Ron, who uses it to find his way back to Harry and Hermione

Hagrid carries Harry on Sirius’s bike to the Dursleys // Harry leaves the Dursleys with Hagrid on exactly this bike

First mention of Godric’s Hollow // They visit Godric’s Hollow, including the former home of the Potters

Harry gets Hedwig // Hedwig dies

Harry’s first Quidditch game, he catches the Snitch with his mouth // Harry gets the Snitch from his very first game, opens it at the close

Dedalus Diggle is mentioned for the first time // Diggle is later one of the Order members escorting the Dursleys from Privet Drive

We learn that most wizards are too afraid to use Voldemort’s name and call him You-know-who instead // There is a taboo curse put on the use of the name Voldemort

Hagrid introduces Harry into the Wizarding World // Hagrid is the one who carries Harry’s body, watches him leaving this world

Both Ollivander and Griphook are introduced // Both become prisoners at Malfoy Manor and later escape through Harry’s help

We learn that the wand chooses the wizard and about the connection between Harry and Voldemort’s wand // Voldemort learns about this connection as well, uses a different wand to beat Harry, wand lore becomes an important topic in the final book

There are rumours about dragons at Gringotts // There are actually dragons at Gringotts

We first see King’s Cross station, where Harry leaves his old life behind // King’s Cross station is what Harry’s ‘heaven’ looks like, with the possibility to leave his life behind and move ‘on’

When we first meet Ron we learn that he is afraid not to live up to his family’s expectations // While destroying Slytherin’s Locket we learn that Ron is still afraid he is not good enough

Neville is sorted into Gryffindor // Neville proves to be a true Gryffindor, pulls out sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat

The new students wonder how the Bloody Baron got covered in blood // Book 7 reveals the answer to that

Harry gets the Invisibility Cloak // History of the cloak is revealed, family heirloom, turns out to be one of the Hallows

First time Harry sees his parents is under the cloak in the Mirror or Erised // Last time he sees them he is hidden under the cloak again, using the Resurrection Stone

First time Grindelwald is mentioned on Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card // We learn more about Dumbledore’s relationship to Grindelwald

First time Harry visits the Forbidden Forest, sees Voldemort there // Last time he visits the Forbidden Forest, final fight with Voldemort

First time an unicorn dies in the forest // ln book 7 someone innocent is sacrificed there as well

The centaurs prophecy that the Dark Lord will return and that Harry will die // Prophecy comes true

Harry wants to go alone through the trap door, but Hermione & Ron follow him // Harry wants to hunt Horcruxes alone, but Hermione and Ron escort him

“‘Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won’t be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He’ll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn’t matter any more, can’t you see? D’you think he’ll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor win the House Cup?’” // This is exactly what happens after Voldemort takes over

In order to win the chess game Ron has to sacrifice himself // In order to defeat Voldemort Harry has to sacrifice himself

“Chamber of Secrets” & “The Half-Blood Prince”

Harry finds a mysterious book, Riddle’s dairy, trusts Riddle, later revealed to be Voldemort // Harry finds a mysterious book, Potion’s book of the Half-Blood Prince, trusts Prince, turns out to be Snape

Ginny is introduced, has a crush on Harry // Harry falls in love with Ginny, they become a couple

At Borgin & Burkes Harry hides in the Vanishing Cabinet, watches Draco looking at a cursed necklace and a Hand of Glory // Harry spies again at Draco who visits Borgin & Burkes, cabinet Harry used as a hiding place will later be used to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts, Draco uses both the cursed necklace and the Hand of Glory in his attempt to kill Dumbledore

Tom Riddle is introduced, learn that he later became Voldemort // We learn all about the backstory of Riddle/Voldemort, how Riddle became Voldemort

Arogog is introduced // Arogog dies

All Slytherins are portrayed as evil, house of all Dark Wizards // Slughorn is introduced as a more nuanced Slytherin character, Draco gets an redemption arc/becomes a more complex character

Peeves destroys the Vanishing Cabinet at Hogwarts // Draco repairs exactly this cabinet

Riddle’s diary is introduced, acts like it has a mind of his own // Later revealed to be a Horcrux

Harry suspects Draco to be the Heir of Slytherin, which turns out not to be true // Harry suspects Draco to be a Death Eater, which turns out to be right

Harry and Draco duel at the duelling club, Harry uses Rictusempra, a tickling charm // Harry and Draco duel at the girl’s toilet, Harry uses Sectumsempra and almost kills Draco

Moaning Myrtle is introduced // In book 6 she comforts Draco

Cornelius Fudge is introduced // Fudge resigns in book 6

Harry and Ron use Polyjuice Potion to transform themselves into Crabbe & Goyle // Crabbe & Goyle use Polyjuice Potion to transform themselves into little girls

“Prisoner of Azkaban” & “The Order of the Phoenix”

Sirius is introduced // Sirius dies

Harry uses magic during his summer holiday but is not punished // Harry uses magic during his summer holiday and is almost expelled from Hogwarts

Dementors are introduced // Demontors attack Harry at home

Hermione uses a time turner throughout the whole school year // All the time turners at the Ministry get destroyed

Sirius breaks out of Azkaban // Bellatrix and other Death Eaters break out of Azkaban

Professor Trelawney & divination class is introduced // It turns out that Trelawney is an actual Seer and made a prophecy about Harry and Voldemort

Harry learns more about his father, idolizes him // Through Snape’s memory Harry learns that his father hasn’t always been as kind as he thought he was

Harry uses the Knight Bus to travel to Diagon Ally // Hermione uses the Knight Bus to travel to Grimmauld Place, Weasley use Knight Bus to travel to Hogwarts after Christmas break

Harry pretends to be Neville on the Knight Bus // Turns out that the prophecy about Harry could have referred to Neville as well

In the first DADA class with Lupin the students confront a Boggart // Molly contronts a Boggart at Grimmauld Place

We learn about the Fidelius Charm // The Fidelius Charm is used to hide Grimmauld Place

#ps #dh #cos #hbp #poa #ootp #meta

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blamethebanana · 4 years

Text

Character Study : Pansy Parkinson

Like many characters in Harry Potter, Pansy is one of those whose vocation is only to represent oneself absolute evil or the greatest good. They are as deep as a breaded fish and are reduced only to their function.

Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin in her greatest role.

Maleficent, hateful, manipulative, selfish, cruel, cowardly. So many adjectives that describe the Slytherins of the original series who are neither Draco Malfoy, nor Severus Rogue, nor so insignificant that we forgot until their very existence.

Ah yes, I forget Slughorn, but it corresponds to another snapshot of the Slytherin, elitism even if it means ignoring those it considers banal and without talent, see stupid as well as ugliness. Yes, apart from Draco Malfoy and young Tom Riddle, Slytherins are doomed to be ugly or fat, or both.

(This statement can be corrected with Fantastic Beasts or The Cursed Child, but let's face it even if the first is absolutely great, they are both a way for Rowling to limit criticism of the original works by putting more complex characters, different ethnicities and different sexual orientations - although the representation of the LGBT community goes more through Ezra Miller than through Dumbledore, let's face it.)

Pansy is also described as a sadistic person with an evil spirit, who likes to harass his little comrades, faults corresponding to the image given to all Slytherins during the books. She uses her vicious spirit to enter the good graces of Draco Malfoy with whom she seems in love.

The complexity of Pansy Parkinson?

At first glance, in JK Rowling's work, none of the Slytherins outside of Draco, Regulus Black, Narcissa and Rogue have complex personalities. Yes even Voldemort, but it is another subject that I would raise in the future.

Yet ... Pansy Parkinson has the potential to be so much more than the obedient little dog who attacks in place of his master, and when that could be explained.

Pansy Parkinson belongs to one of the twenty-eight sacred and although the place of the woman in the society of the purebloods is not specially described, it is implied that the role of a woman does not differ from that a few centuries earlier. Give birth and stay at home. Molly Weasley being pureblood, we can use it as an example. In addition, the Pureblood Suprematists, sometimes affectionately named Death Eater, have very few women in their rank, they are counted as two - Narcissa excluded. Pansy would therefore have lived in a society where his role was to be led by a man, only to be given to another. The Malfoy family being powerful and influential, it is not surprising that her ambition is focused on them, even if it means being an object for sale, as much as being sold to an owner who can bring us a few things.

Pansy is only bad because that is probably all she has been taught to be. She's probably just a scared little girl trying to cope. Character strength is often something that Fanon associates with Pansy due to her assertive tongue which is canon and which would be a protective mechanism.

If Pansy lived in a loveless home, with outdated ideas about the place of the destined woman, it is not difficult to imagine what her father, a death eater, could do with her. In addition, Pansy has no brother, and seems to be an only daughter, so it marks the end of the Parkinson lineage, and that even with a beautiful marriage should not help to be better seen by his family, like Leta Lestrange .

Pansy is therefore moved by the fear hidden behind a cruel facade induced by a childhood that could have been difficult for her. She could also have created in her a need for recognition from her peers, in particular the recognition of Draco Malfoy.

This argument is reinforced by the big scene from Pansy Parkinson. You don't know what I'm talking about? When she yells to hand Harry over to Voldemort to “save” them all of the battle of Hogwarts. It is not the actions of a Death Eater, but rather of a terrified person, which is reinforced by the fact that he is not taken part in the war.

The appearance of Pansy Parkinson?

Like many characters from Slytherin, her physique is described as unsightly. Would it be a feature to enter the house? Only Blaise, Draco, the Black sisters, and a young Tom Riddle seem to have been spared the curse of the ugliness that descends on the house.

We therefore have two options: The first is the most likely, it is simply that the story is told from the point of view of a Gryffindor who coats Gryffindors and that Pansy is an ugly Slytherin, the judgment that carries Harry Potter or even Hermione Granger on her physique are therefore biased by their enmity. Indeed, Rita Skeeter describes Pansy as vivacious and pretty. Is this true? Or does she compliment her because of the information she provides?

The second option is sad. Pansy was touched by the Slytherin ugly curse.

Why is the universe that fans create so important?

Does this question need to be answered? Harry Potter features a lot of characters who are ignored, or categorized by their action and where their character trait is often pushed to exaggeration. And that allows us to have a different vision of them, like Percy who is only limited to his ambition, Charlie to his dragons - thank god Hogwart's mystery is there -, Crabbe and Goyle have their stupid looks and their gorilla builds, Oliver Wood has his viceral need to win the Quidditch or Lavender and her relationship with Ron and her taste for gossip and superficality.

We thank JK Rowling for giving the world the universe of Harry, but we can never congratulate the fans enough for what they have done with it, an open place where everyone is accepted and where the characters are human., with more complexity than being kind or mean.

I can understand that we can't develop all the characters, but two lines on them that offer more than "She sold Harry first, and then she said bad things about Neville and Parvati, and what's more a Slytherin! ".

So thank you to those who made Pansy a lesbian with a strong character or a powerful feminist with a strong voice. You gave her what she deserved.

#pansy parkinson #harry potter #slytherin pride #hp #is that headcanons ?#favorite characters #character appreciation #character study

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lolasworks · 4 years

Text

MoD!Harry fic snippet (WIP)

The scene of Tom finding out that I’ve had in my head forever and is pushing me to write a full length fic for, lol.

---

“How familiar are you with the Tales of Beedle the Bard?”

Tom scoffed. “A collection of children’s stories? That’s your proof?”

“Have you read them?” Harry asked, that damned smile unwavering.

Tom had indeed read them. In his third year, Avery had made a joke referencing a cackling stump, and the rest of Tom’s flock had laughed. Tom had chuckled along, of course – a spectacular actor even at thirteen – and gone to the library at his soonest notice to investigate whatever the hell Avery had been on about. He was remarkably disappointed, but he wasn’t about to be caught ignorant of any part of pureblood life, even fairy-tales.

“I have,” he replied simply, with a sneer. “I remain unimpressed by hopping pots and mythical fountains.”

“And the Tale of the Three Brothers? What did you make of that?”

Tom eyed him warily. “An undefeatable wand could be useful, granted. It’s almost a shame such a wand remains fictional.”

Harry’s smile grew. “All stories have a glimmer of truth to them, Tom.”

“You still haven’t explained how Beedle’s stories have anything at all to do with who you are.”

“Not all of his stories. Just the Three Brothers.” Harry twirled his wand between his fingers, tilting his head to one side. His startling gaze remained fixed on Tom. “Did you know, there are some who believe that the brothers existed, once. That they met Death, and received his gifts, and all but the Cloak were recollected shortly after.”

“People will believe anything, if they’re dim enough.”

“Oh, but the Three Brothers did exist, Tom. They had names, even. Antioch, the eldest, gifted the Elder Wand and killed in his bed. Cadmus, gifted the Resurrection Stone and driven mad by it, until he took his own life. And Ignotus, the youngest, gifted Death’s Cloak of Invisibility and the only one to live a long and happy life.”

“Fascinating,” Tom said dryly. “But as I said, I already know the story, thank you.”

Harry ignored him. “The three items were called the Deathly Hallows. Collect all three Hallows, the story says, and become the Master of Death.”

Tom had heard of this, too, though he had chosen Horcruxes as the faster and more reliable approach to securing himself protection from Death’s clutches. Harry apparently would disagree. Tom carefully quirked a brow to disguise his curiosity and prompted, “Immortality?”

Harry smiled again, rueful. “Something like that.”

“A lovely story, Peverell, but the fact remains that unless you have conclusive proof of these Hallows’ existence – something that no one on record has ever achieved - then the Tale of the Three Brothers is still nothing more than a fairy-tale.”

“It’s not the Hallows you need to find for your proof, Tom,” Harry said, mysterious as ever, and stood to leave.

“Seriously?” Tom stood too, incredulous. “That’s what you’re going to give me? May I remind you, Peverell, that you promised me answers, not conspiracy theories.”

“I’ve given you more than enough,” Harry laughed. “This next part you can find yourself.” And with that frustrating farewell, he flicked two fingers to his temple in a mocking solute, and sauntered out of the Common Room.

It was only after he’d left, of course, that Tom remembered it was well past curfew. He scoffed to himself. Then, with only the tiniest allowed moment of inward anger, he followed Harry out into the corridor. He had three brothers to find, after all.

It took Tom longer than he would be pleased to admit to find a family of brothers named Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus in Hogwarts’ genealogy section. He had little to go off, of course – no semblance of when these brothers may have lived, or a surname, or the names of their parents or children – but Tom was not in the habit of making excuses for himself. When he did find them, however, he might have laughed if he weren’t so bloody furious.

He barely managed to restrain himself from blasting a confringo into the Common Room entrance two weeks later, and then again into Harrison Peverell’s stupid, handsome, dastardly face when he found the other boy seated next to the fireplace, chatting up a storm with Quirinus bloody Lovegood, of all people.

“Leave,” said Tom. His magic crackled around him, dark and wild and savagely sharp, but he couldn’t bring it in himself to care.

Quirinus left.

So did every other student in the Common Room, for that matter, and when the final frightened second year had sprinted up the dormitory stairs, Tom flicked up a viciously overpowered privacy ward and set the full force of his glare upon Harrison James Peverell.

Harry, typically, looked completely unconcerned.

Tom wanted to kill him.

“Peverell.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Harry grinned. “What can I do for you, Tom?”

“Antioch Peverell,” Tom snarled. “Cadmus Peverell. Ignotus thrice-damned Peverell. You didn’t think to mention that you were a direct descendant of the recipients of Death’s Hallows?”

Harry shrugged. “You figured it out, didn’t you? And wasn’t that more satisfying?”

Tom let the hold on his magic slip just slightly, and relished the slow, startled blink he received when a nearby table shattered into splinters.

“Did you inherit the Deathly Hallows, Harrison?” Tom asked, voice calm and dangerous.

“No,” said Harry. “The Elder Wand was lost to Antioch’s rival, remember?”

Tom closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, but Harry wasn’t finished, because of course he wasn’t.

“I put in the effort and collected them myself,” he continued, casually. “Unintentionally, mind you, but that’s Fate for you.”

Tom inhaled slowly through his nose. “You mean to tell me that you are currently in possession of the three most powerful magical artefacts of all time?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“And therefore, you are the Master of Death.”

“If you’d like to call it that, yeah.”

“And are thereby immortal.”

“Essentially.”

“And yet,” Tom carefully opened his eyes once he was certain he would not cast an – apparently useless – Avada Kedavra upon the smiling boy on the couch. “You would have me believe that my quest for immortality is so unwise?”

That took the smile from Harry’s face. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands held tightly together. “Tom, there is a very big difference between immortality gained through a pact with Death and immortality gained by splitting your bloody soul. One destroys your sanity, for starters – although,” he leaned back again, thoughtful, seriousness gone as soon as it came, “That one is arguable.”

“And if I killed you here?” Tom asked. He raised his wand. “If I shot the Killing Curse between your eyes right now, what would happen?”

Harry lifted one brow at him. The tip of Tom’s wand brushed his peculiar lightning bolt scar. The sensation seemed to amuse him, for some reason, eyes glittering with laughter.

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “I suppose Dumbledore would feel pretty vindicated, for one.”

Tom’s grip tightened.

“I can show you, if you’d like.”

His grip loosened again. The syllables of a curse slipped back from the tip of his tongue. “What?”

Harry shrugged. “I doubt you’ll truly believe me unless you see it.” Paying no heed to the wand still bare millimetres from his face, he stood and wordlessly dismantled Tom’s privacy ward as he wandered to the door, before turning back to Tom expectantly. “Coming?”

Helplessly, furiously, Tom followed.

The walk to the Room of Requirement was as quiet as things ever got around Harry, with the boy – the bloody Master of Death, supposedly, and wasn’t that just fantastic – humming some unrecognisable song under his breath. Tom wasn’t sure if he could open his mouth yet without casting an Unforgivable.

The discovery that the Come and Go Room was, in effect, an Untraceable room – even when Unforgivables were cast inside – was one Tom and his Knights had discovered in his fifth year. Tom had instructed Nott to implement the Cruciatus on Crabbe. He had done so, of course, ever Tom’s most faithful, though the Curse was pathetically weak. Once the tense few moments spent waiting for a squad of Aurors – or worse, Dumbledore – to come apparating into or outside the Room were past, Tom had taken great delight in showing him what a proper Cruciatus looked like.

Somehow, it did not surprise Tom that Harry knew of this one of the Room’s many qualities.

How old is he really, Tom wondered, but the thought only made him angrier. However long Harrison Peverell had lived was just more proof that he was unworthy of his power over Death – if, indeed, he possessed such a power.

Harry paced the customary steps next to the Room, and when the materialised door opened it revealed an expanse entirely unlike what Tom had expected. A duelling room, perhaps, would seem appropriate, or a simple table and chairs reminiscent of an interrogation. Instead, Harry and Tom walked into a cosy looking area filled with plush armchairs and couches, a roaring fireplace in one corner, and every surface decked out in familiar red and gold.

“The Gryffindor Common Room?” Tom asked, incredulous. How in Merlin’s name did Harry manage to keep surprising him?

Harry gave him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I just asked for somewhere comfortable. The Room must have plucked this place as the comfiest from my memory.”

“I highly doubt the lions would let a snake into their den,” Tom said sceptically. “Even one so tame as you.”

For once, Harry didn’t rise to the bait. “No,” he simply agreed, “I doubt they would.”

Tom let it go. He had more pressing questions to be answered.

“How, precisely, do you intend to prove you can’t die?” He asked instead. “I would be happy to cast the Curse for you, only I don’t look forward to explaining away your corpse – though if I must, I will carry that burden.” He added a slow, dangerous smile for good measure.

Harry, of course, was not intimidated. He settled onto one of the many red and gold chairs next to the fireplace like he’d lived in this room all his life, and bounced up and down a few times to seemingly check its softness. Tom noted, with distant irritation, that it did appear softer than any of the armchairs in Slytherin, though whether that was true of the real Gryffindor furniture or an advantage of the Room he didn’t know.

“No need to burden your wand with that Curse, Tom,” Harry replied once he was satisfied, as though it would be Tom’s first time casting Avada Kedavra. “I’ll do it.”

“In case you had forgotten, Peverell, a man cannot destroy himself using a spell,” Tom drawled. “His magic won’t allow it.”

Harry smiled. This one was not particularly pleasant. “True enough. But the Elder Wand never fails – not even with this.”

With that, he drew from a pocket within his robes – and Merlin, someone get this boy a wand holster – a strange wand, darker and more slender than the holly and phoenix feather that Tom had seen him with all year. Its remarkableness couldn’t be seen or sensed without holding it, but Tom restrained a shiver regardless. The Death Stick. Jealous greed coiled in Tom’s stomach like the Basilisk with her prey.

Harry seemed unconcerned with Tom’s intense gaze – and perhaps rightly so, considering the reputation preceding the wand he was holding like a damned quill – and just smiled up at him again. This one held even less humour than the last.

“Do watch closely,” he said, before lifting the Elder Wand to his throat and saying, without hesitation, “Avada Kedavra.”

Green light exploded into the room, forcing Tom to throw an arm over his eyes as he stepped back. In a second, it was gone, and Harry lay limp in his obnoxiously coloured chair.

Or rather, Harry’s corpse. It was very, abruptly, startlingly clear that he was only a corpse, because Harry’s magic was gone. Where before Tom had sensed the quiet depths of Harry’s power like a constant flowing presence everywhere he went (however prone to tsunamis those depths may have been) there now was simply – nothing. The hum of Hogwarts and the comforting warmth of Tom’s own magic and an almost violent lack of anything else. Tom checked for a pulse anyway, dumb with shock, but felt no surprise when he found none.

He stood over Harry – no, over the corpse – for a moment longer. Then, his gaze fell down. Harry’s grip had slackened on the Elder Wand as the life left him, but it remained, caught between his limp fingers and the edge of his robes. It sat innocently enough. The most powerful wand in the world. Powerful enough to overcome the rules of magic and destroy its own master. What Tom could do with that wand…

And then, like the first inhale after near-drowning, Harry’s magic returned to the world with a fierce, overwhelming rush. Tom nearly staggered at the abrupt force of it, and it took only a second for Harry’s body to catch up and he sat straight with a strangled gasp. One breath, two, three, four, five, and Harry relaxed back into the comfort of that stupid, Gryffindor chair, every muscle loosening with exhaustion. He mustered just the strength to return the Elder Wand to its place next to his heart. Tom watched it go.

“How’s that for a demonstration?” Harry said, head tilted back and eyes closed.

Tom took a moment to reply. “Well, you certainly make a convincing argument.”

Harry laughed, though he didn’t open his eyes.

They sat in silence for several moments, minutes, hours, until Harry had caught his breath and Tom could think without the overwhelming desire to reach into Harry’s cloak and take the Elder Wand for his own.

“You said you found these… artefacts,” Tom said eventually. “How?”

“Believe it or not, they sort of fell into my lap,” Harry replied. “I disarmed the owner of the Elder Wand, who’d only gotten it themselves by disarming a man in a fit of panic. The Stone was given to me inside a gift from a mentor, of sorts. The Cloak was my father’s, I’ve no idea how he got it.”

“Without even trying, you collected the three most powerful items of all time,” Tom murmured.

Harry finally lifted his head and looked at Tom. “You know, immortality really isn’t all its cracked up to be.”

Tom nearly laughed. He nearly punched Harry. How disgustingly plebeian, that this boy could raise such a Muggle nature in him. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m so old, Tom.” Harry closed his eyes again, just for a moment. His features flickered with exhaustion and some bottomless emotion Tom might have called sorrow, if he knew such a thing. “I’m so, so old. I’m tired. I never wanted this.”

“You have all the time and power there is to have and yet you do nothing with it,” Tom hissed, reaching for that familiar fury within his soul rather than think on the twist in his chest at seeing Harry so… defeated. “You waste your gift and you expect sympathy?”

Harry leapt to his feet. Tom fought the relief at seeing those eyes fill with life – even if it came in the form of anger and frustration at Tom himself.

“You think I haven’t tried to change things?” Harry snarled back. “You think I haven’t tried to fix the problems of this pathetic world, you think I haven’t tried everything I could fucking think of to make things better? It never lasts, Tom! It all ends up the same, no matter what I do, what I change-” He cut himself off with a curse, and looked away. His next words seemed to be only for himself. “This world, these people. They’ll do anything for destruction. It always ends the same, ends the same.”

Tom watched him mutter to himself. He wondered, just for a moment, if Harry would show him one day – those past attempts, the worlds Harry had seen.

“Then perhaps,” he said quietly. “You may let someone else try.”

Harry stopped. For a second Tom thought he had pushed too far, but Harry simply shook his head. The anger had left him, there and gone, as all of his emotions seemed prone to doing.

“I wouldn’t wish this existence on anyone, Tom,” he said, smiling that dead man’s smile again. “Not even you.”

“But you would wish it on yourself?”

“Maybe I’m a masochist.”

Tom scoffed. “Unlikely.”

“No, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it’s something else.” He sat down again. The red and gold swallowed him up, making even his dark skin look pale. “You know, even with the Elder Wand, you need to mean the Killing Curse for it to work, Tom.”

Tom stared at him for a moment, smiling and weary and looking, all of a sudden, very, very, old. He wondered how Harry had discovered that the Elder Wand allowed the use of Avada Kedavra on its master. He wondered how many other methods Harry had tried, before that one, and after. He wondered when he gave up trying.

“So this is the Master of Death, then?” Tom asked, and finally sat in an adjacent chair. He was right – they were definitely more comfortable than the ones in the Slytherin Common Room.

Harry spread his arms. “This is him.”

Tom let out a quiet hum. “And how would the Master of Death like a glass of firewhiskey?”

Harry blinked. He blinked again. He gave Tom a considering look from the tips of his toes to the curls of his hair. Then he laughed, and said, “Race you to the kitchens?”

Tom grinned, less false than true – which, for Tom, was about as good as it got. “Done,” he said, and sprinted, in a very un-Dark Lord-like manner, out the door, Harry hot on his heels.

The dream of immortality had not left Tom’s psyche, but perhaps it could lay in slumber, just for that night.

#tomarry #master of death harry potter #mod!harry #time travel au

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wiccastark · 4 years

Text

Fighter | C15 | George Weasley

EMILIA

I WAS in the middle of my Charms Theory OWL when I heard a faint explosion. I noticed some look around confused but returned to their test when was they couldn't find the cause of the commotion. I, however, was smirking down at my paper as I knew what...more like whom was the cause of the commotion. A moment later, there was another explosion but this time, it was louder. Everyone stopped their work and looked around as Umbridge walked towards the closed doors. She threw open the doors and looked around for the source of the banging. A firework buzzed around her nose before whizzing past her and into the hall and exploding into bright blue sparks. Umbridge looked down the hallway in confusion before the Twins appeared flying on their brooms. As they threw fireworks into the air and they exploded into bright sparks, papers began to fly through the air. I caught George's eye who gave me a large grin and winked, causing me to laugh and shake my head.

Everyone gasped when the twins set off a firework which formed into a large dragon. The dragon began to chase Umbridge causing everyone to laugh and cheer even louder when it chased her out of the hall and close its mouth around her before exploding, destroying all of her Inquisitorial Orders.

Everyone followed the twins out to the courtyard and continued cheering. George flew past me and grabbed my face. I gasped in surprise as he pulled me into a kiss, and I could hear catcalls echoing through the cheers. He pulled away and winked again before flying away. I clapped alongside everyone else while trying to calm the heat in my cheeks. More fireworks were set off and the sparks formed into a 'W'.

However, my celebration was cut short as I turned around and my eyes widened to see Harry on the ground. I rushed over to him and knelt down in front of him. "Harry!" I cried out when I noticed he was breathing heavily.

I continued crying out his name until his eyes finally forced on me and he gasped; "Sirius."

Harry's voice caused shivers to travel down my spine. I picked him off the ground and grabbed Hermione and Ron. Harry led us back through the castle as he explained what he had seen.

"Harry, are you sure?" Hermione asked as we rushed up the changing staircase.

"I saw it. It's just like with Mr Weasley. It's the door I've been dreaming about. I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before. Sirius said Voldemort was after something. Something he didn't have the last time, in the Department of Mysteries," Harry explained again.

"Harry, please, just listen," Hermione's voice caused us all to stop; "What if Voldemort meant for you to see this? What if he's only hurting Sirius because he's trying to get to you?"

"What if he is? I'm supposed to just let him die? Hermione, Sirius and Emilia are the only family I've got left," Harry said, looking down at me when he said I was family.

Hermione and Ron shared a look for a few moments of silence before Ron asked; "What do we do?"

"We'll have to use the Floo Network," I explained as we continued our way up the stairs.

"Umbridge has the chimneys under surveillance," Hermione denied which made me shake my head before answering; "Not all of them."

We all quickly changed out of our robes and into more appropriate clothing. I wore a black turtleneck to hide my runes which was tucked into a black pair of tight jeans. I was still zipping up my black leather jacket as I followed behind the others. I decided against my usual heeled boots as I wore a pair of flat black combat boots. I could feel the straps on the holster on my thigh which held a seraph blade encase I couldn't use my wand or whip.

We reached Umbridge's office and Harry used Alohomora to unlock her door. I had never been inside her office and my eyes wanted to cry with the amount of pink that was in the room. Hundreds of cats on plates lined the office and their eyes made me feel like we were doing watched. We knelt down the fireplace and activated the Floo when Harry spoke; "Alert the Order if you can."

"Are you mental? We're going with you," Ron remarked, knowing that none of us will let Harry go by himself.

"It's too dangerous," Harry tried to argue but I grabbed onto his shoulder and informed him; "When are you going to get it into your head? We're in this together."

"That. You. Are," the voice of Umbridge snarled as we turned towards the now open door.

She had tired Harry down into a chair while the rest of us were held back of her Inquisitor Squad. Ginny and Luna had been caught and had now joined us. "Caught this one trying to help the Weasley girl," Malfoy remarked as he walked in with Neville.

"You were going to Dumbledore, weren't you?" Umbridge asked as she bent down to meet Harry's eyes.

"No," Harry answered but she didn't like that answer as she smacked him hard across the face as she screamed; "Liar."

I went to launch myself at her, but I was stopped by Goyle tightening his grip on my arms. I couldn't use my enhanced strength on him as that wouldn't end well for anyone.

"You sent for me, headmistress?" Snape's monotone voice echoed through the room causing Umbridge to turn and look at him standing in the doorway.

"Snape, yes. The time has come for answers, whether he wants to give them to me or not. Have you brought the Veritaserum?" she asked the Potions' professor which made my eyes narrow at her.

"I'm afraid you've used up all my stores interrogating students. The last of it on Miss Chang," Snape answered which made us all realise that Cho didn't snatch...by choice anyways. "Unless you wish to poison him... And I assure you, I would have the greatest sympathy if you did. ...I cannot help you," he continued speaking before turning to leave.

"He's got Padfoot," Harry's voice caused Snape to stop before Harry continued; "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden."

"Padfoot? What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What is he talking about, Snape?" Umbridge demanded as Snape turned around before shrugging; "No idea."

Once Snape left, Umbridge turned around in defeat. "Very well. You give me no choice, Potter. As this is an issue of Ministry security... you leave me with... no alternative. The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," she spoke which made my vision turn red.

"That's illegal," I snapped, struggling against Goyle's hold.

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," Umbridge answered as she put a photo of Fudge face down.

She held a wand in front of Harry and when she went to say the spell, she was stopped in her tracks by Hermione crying out; "Tell her, Harry!"

"Tell me what?" Umbridge asked as she stared down at Hermione.

"Well, if you won't tell her where it is... I will," Hermione demanded which caused us to stare at her in confusion.

"Where what is?" Umbridge snapped, getting annoyed with Hermione's encrypted words.

"Dumbledore's secret weapon," Hermione finally answered, and I had to prevent my brows from frowning in confusion.

Hermione obviously had a plan.

Umbridge led Hermione and Harry out of room with her wand pointing towards them. Several minutes passed before Ron and I shared a look. I knew Ron had a few of Fred and George's Puking Pastilles in his pocket and I knew that the goons holding us were dumb enough to eat them. The other houses were always cautious when accepting candy from anyone else...but the Slytherin aren't because why would anyone give candy to a Slytherin?

"Man, I'm hungry," Ron groaned as he reached into his pocket and pulled some pastilles.

At the sound of food, Crabbe and Goyle pushed us aside and grabbed the sweets, shoving them into their mouths.

A smirk formed on my face as they began puking their guts out. I signalled to the others to rush out of the room as the Inquisitor Squad was distracted by Crabbe and Goyle vomiting everywhere. I quickly grabbed our wands which had been placed on the desk and tucked them into my pocket.

"Nice," I cheered as Ron and me high fived while we run as fast as we could away from Umbridge's office.

Ron knew where Hermione was taking Umbridge and Harry as we made our way towards the Forbidden Forest. When we were on the wooden bridge, we met up with Harry and Hermione run the other way.

"How'd you get away?" Hermione asked when we stopped running.

"Puking Pastilles. It wasn't pretty," Ginny explained as I began handing back everyone's wands.

"Told them I was hungry, wanted some sweets. They told me to bugger off and ate the lot themselves," Ron informed them which Hermione looked at him in shock.

"That was clever, Ron," she complimented him and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the tip of Ron's ears turn slightly red.

"Has been known to happen," he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"It was brilliant. So how are we getting to London?" Neville asked as we all looked over at Harry.

"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate everything you've done, all of you... but I've got you into enough trouble as it is," Harry explained as he walked past which caused me to cross my arms over my chest.

"Dumbledore's Army's supposed to be about doing something real. Or was that all just words to you?" Neville argued to which I agreed with.

Neville's words caused Harry to stop and look back at us

"Maybe you don't have to do this all by yourself, mate," Ron stated as I walked over to Harry and placed my hand on his shoulder.

"He's my dad, Harry," I said to him which made him look down at his feet.

"So how are we going to get to London?" Harry asked us after a few moments of silence.

"We fly, of course," Luna said in her usual airy tone which made me slightly worried.

Turns out Luna's idea was to fly on Thestrals. Everyone but Harry, Luna and myself could see the creatures so watching everyone's terrified faces gave me quite a good chuckle. To the Ministry, we go!

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine #george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x oc #wizard #witch #nephilim

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Anaticula Pt 48

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 21b - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 - Pt 27 - Pt 28 - Pt 29 - Pt 30 - Pt 31 - Pt 33 - Pt 34 - Pt 35 - Pt 36 - Pt 37 - Pt 38 - Pt 39 - Pt 40 - Pt 41 - Pt 42 - Pt 43 - Pt 44 - Pt 45 - Pt 46 - Pt 47 -

After the class Harry hurried off to the common room with the others behind him including Neville, who was rushing to keep up. “Harry, are you sure?”

“I saw it. It's just like with Mr. Weasley. It's the door I've been dreaming about. I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before. Sirius said Voldemort was after something. Something he didn't have the last time, in the Department of Mysteries.”

Hermione, “Harry, please, just listen. What if Voldemort meant for you to see this? What if he's only hurting Sirius because he's trying to get to you?”

“What if he is? I'm supposed to just let him die?” Hermione tried to grab him only to have him turn pulling his arm away, “Hermione, he's part of the only family I've got left.”

Ron, “What do we do?”

Neville nervously watched as Harry said, “We'll have to use the Floo Network.”

Draco, “Umbridge has the chimneys under surveillance.”

Draco, “Not all of them.”

Up to her office they hurried and charmed open her door, “Alohomora.”

Harry, “Alert the Order if you can.”

Neville, “Are you mental? We're going with you.”

Harry, “It's too dangerous.”

Ron, “When are you going to get it into your head? We're in this together.”

Umbridge behind them entered saying, “That you are.”

Crabbe entered with Luna and Ginny in his hold, “Caught this one trying to help the Weasley girl.”

Umbridge shoved Harry into the chair, “You were going to Dumbledore, weren't you?”

Harry, “No.”

In a firm slap the mouths of the students fell open at her striking him on the cheek, “Liar.”

With narrowed eyes Snape entered lowly humming, “You sent for me, headmistress?”

Umbridge, “Snape, yes. The time has come for answers, whether he wants to give them to me or not. Have you brought the Veritaserum?”

Snape shook his head, “I'm afraid you've used up all my stores interrogating students. The last of it on Miss Edgecomb. Unless you wish to poison him... And I assure you, I would have the greatest sympathy if you did. I cannot help you.”

In his turn to join Barty down the hall to come up with a diversion he froze hearing, “He's got Padfoot.” Looking at Harry the teen continued at his stiffening, “He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden.” A burning of a charm in his pocket on his thigh signaled the Order was assembling and he inhaled narrowing his eyes praying you weren’t there.

Umbridge, “Padfoot? What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What is he talking about, Snape?”

Shaking his head Snape flatly said after a glance at the other students, “No idea.” Then turned promptly to go find Barty to try and get into contact with you and the others.

Umbridge, “Very well. You give me no choice, Potter. As this is an issue of Ministry security... you leave me with... no alternative. The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue.”

Hermione, “That's illegal.”

Umbridge, “What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him.”

Neville scoffed, “We all know the hex on you, what’ll you do, fire ducks at him till he talks?”

Umbridge turned and grabbed the neck of Harry’s shirt pinning him back making him gasp for air at the shock of it, Hermione afraid for what she would stoop to shouted, “Tell her, Harry!”

Umbridge, “Tell me what?”

The room all looked at her, “Well, if you won't tell her where it is...I will.”

Umbridge, “Where what is?”

Hermione, “Dumbledore's secret weapon.”

She smirked tugging Harry from the chair and motioned for Hermione to come with her. Out the castle and straight to the forest she followed the duo huffing about the mud growing on her pink pumps by the minute. “How much further?”

Hermione, “Not far. It had to be somewhere students wouldn't find it accidentally.”

Harry, “What are you doing?”

To which she whispered back, “Improvising.”

In the empty clearing where Grawp is usually kept the teens circled wetting their lips anxiously wondering where he went to, “Well? Where is this weapon? There isn't one, is there? You were trying to trick me.” In a defeated tone she continued on, “You know...I really hate children.”

The snap of a branch had them turn around and had her wand extended up at the band of centaurs Harry nodded his head to remembering your sharing a sign of respect if they had ever crossed paths with the herd, to which Bane returned a nod.

Umbridge however stated in Hermione’s flinch of a nod at Harry’s miming, “You have no business here, centaur. This is a Ministry matter. Lower your weapons.” An arrow was notched and she added, “I warn you, under the law, as creatures of near-human intelligence...” The arrow was fired and she ducked behind Harry, who muttered, “Protego.” Shielding the pair of them.

Behind him she cried out, “How dare you? Filthy half-breed. Incarcerous.” Instead of firing a rope off the herd halted seeing the duck shoot out of her wand making the teens roll their eyes.

The herd circled them all and Hermione spotted Grawp approaching who picked up Umbridge at her tight grip on Hermione’s arm, “Please. Please stop it. Please.”

Umbridge shouted at an arrow being fired at her ankle, “Now, enough. I will have order. You filthy animal. Do you know who I am?”

Reaching up Hermione tapped Bane’s elbow drawing his eyes to her, “Leave Grawp alone. It's not his fault. Please. No, he doesn't understand.”

Bane nodded and shouted in Giantish making Grawp set Umbridge down in their reach to be lifted by two of them, “Potter, do something. Tell them I mean no harm.”

They began turning to run off while Bane awaited his answer, “I'm sorry, Professor. But I must not tell lies.” Bane smirked and gave the order to carry her off.

Umbridge, “What are you doing? I am Senior Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge. Let me go!”

Hermione peered up with a grin, “Thank you, Grawp.” The giant nodded and strolled off back to his bed to sit down.

Harry patted her arm, “Hermione. Hermione, Sirius.”

Out on the edges of the forest Harry asked the rest of the DA, “How'd you get away?”

Ginny, “Puking Pastilles. It wasn't pretty.”

Ron, “Told them I was hungry, wanted some sweets. They told me to bugger off and ate the lot themselves.”

Hermione, “That was clever, Ron.”

Ron, “Has been known to happen.”

Ginny, “It was brilliant.”

Neville, “So how are we getting to London?”

Harry, “Look, it's not that I don't appreciate everything you've done, all of you...but I've got you into enough trouble as it is.”

Neville, “Dumbledore's Army's supposed to be about doing something real. Or was that all just words to you? I wrote to Jaqi and she’s not answering, she never ignores a call.”

Ron, “Maybe you don't have to do this all by yourself, mate.”

Draco, “So how are we going to get to London?”

Luna smirked, “We fly, of course.”

Hours you had been sitting and after a stolen trip to the toilet each in pairs you returned to watch without a sign of anything until you got word from Neville about Harry’s dream not long before one from Snape confirming what Neville had assumed. In a note to Percy you a confirmation that Sirius and Remus were safe though a distant door opened and again you stood readying your wands.

Draco, “Department of Mysteries.”

Harry, “This is it.”

Softly in latin you muttered, “Honestly, are we going to have to break his legs to keep him safe?” soft chortles sounded around you and you heard them coming closer.

Harry, “Ninety-two. Ninety-three. Ninety-four. Ninety-five.” Looking at the floor where he’d seen Sirius kneeling he muttered, “He should be here.”

Moving closer Hermione spotted you in the drop of the mirror charm moving your hands at your side in a silent question of why they were there, “Harry.”

He looked up and asked, “Jaqi? Fred, George, Regulus, what are you doing here?”

Moving closer you said, “Trying to make sure you didn’t come here. You tiny terror you.”

“But, Sirius-,”

You nodded, “Not Dad Harry. Dad’s at home.”

Harry shook his head, “But, he, I-,”

Neville’s head turned and he tapped Harry’s shoulder, “It's got your name on it.”

In a whisper as he claimed the orb the prophecy spoke, ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal... but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not. For neither can live while the other survives.’

Lowering the orb his eyes turned to you as you shifted with Regulus and the twins to circle the younger students blocking them at the arrival of a Death Eater masked who strolled closer to you.

Lucius’ voice sounded out turning your head, “You know, you really should learn to tell the difference between dreams... and reality. You saw only what the Dark Lord wanted you to see. Now, hand me the prophecy.” His brows rising in a hopefully convincing gesture making Draco nudge his arm Harry shook off.

Harry, “If you do anything to us, I'll break it.”

Narrowing your eyes a familiar face appeared and you subtly drew your wand in Bellatrix’ approach signaling you to tap Neville’s wand holding arm to remain still, “He knows how to play. Itty, bitty baby. Potter.”

Neville, “Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Her eyes locked on you with a taunting smirk then back to him, “Neville Longbottom, is it? How's Mum and Dad?” Twitching her fingers around the handle of her wand reading to fire a curse at you both.

Neville, “Better, now they're about to be avenged.”

Your hand rose up to shove his arm back down with a circle of your wand over you reducing her curse to a pink mist falling to the floor, Lucius stepped between you and Bellatrix raising his hand, “Now, let's everybody just calm down...shall we? All we want is that prophecy.”

Harry, “Why did Voldemort need me to come and get this?”

Bellatrix raised her wand again shouting making Lucius turn gripping her arm to lower it in a low growl, “You dare speak his name? You filthy half-blood!”

Lucius lowly growled, “Shut, up!” Turning around he glanced at you with an exasperated sigh then looked to Harry who inched closer to your side while Neville glared at Bellatrix still, “It's all right. He's just a curious lad, aren't you? Prophecies can only be retrieved by those about whom they are made. Which is lucky for you, really. Haven't you always wondered... the reason for the connection between you and the Dark Lord? Why he was unable to kill you... when you were just an infant? Don't you want to know the secret of your scar? All the answers are there, Potter, in your hand. All you have to do... is give it to me. Then I can show you everything.”

Harry softly muttered, “I've waited 14 years.”

Lucius nodded, “I know.” Extending his hand palm up.

Harry quickly stated, “I guess I can wait a little longer.” After a roll of your eyes Lucius gave you a nod and locked eyes with his son in a try to give him courage to send a hex their way, stepping back readying for an attack, “Now. Stupefy.”

The other teens around you raised their wands at the other Death Eaters around you shouting, “Stupefy.”

One Death Eater shouted back, “Levicorpus.”

To which Neville blocked silently to shield you both firing back, “Petrificus Totalus.”

Regulus patted his back in the drop of the Death Eater’s body loudly to the ground, “Well done, Neville.”

“Stupefy.”

After a series of blocking spells you all eyed the swarming group of Death Eaters at which Ginny aimed her wand at shouting, “Reducto.”

Softly you stated, “Wrong spell.”

Ginny looked at you as your hand gripped her arm in a mental rubbering spell to keep the prophecies in tact to bounce around then settle and you back stepped into Draco’s chest, “What?”

Pushing her along you said, “Run, now!”

At the sight of the collapsing shelves sending glass balls raining down to the floor all the teens joined you in sprinting at George saying, “Get back to the door.”

The door swung open at Fred’s charm and you all, even against your tries to stop, fell through the door into the seemingly bottomless hall attached and came to a sudden hovering stop inches from the ground. A final small drop and you sighed at being on the ground again. Clambering to your feet you eyed the roughly carved octagonal hall around a lone archway with a silvery veil fluttering inside it serenely luring you closer with the soft whispers coming through it.

Ron stood up saying, “Department of Mysteries.”

Barely audible you heard your name being called before a soft whisper saying, “I am here.” Your eyes narrowed as you inched closer.

Ron, “They got that bit right, didn't they?”

Harry, “The voices. Can you tell what they're saying?”

Hermione, “There aren't any voices, Harry.”

Ron, “Let's get out of here.”

Luna, “I hear them too.”

Hermione, “Harry, it's just an empty archway.”

Shaking your head as Regulus gripped your belt loop keeping you from walking through it if you were in a trance you said, “No, it’s a doorway.”

Draco, “To where?”

The voice spoke again, “Not yet. Balance the scales. Trust. Hope. Love.” Stepping back you said, “Somewhere we can’t go yet.”

Dark plumes of smoke circled the room with Bellatrix’s cackle echoing around the room landing around you as you circled up again looking at the others with Bellatrix landing opposite you raising her wand.

Plumes of light entered next in the first flash of spells you answered with another circle of your wand pushing back the Death Eaters with a rebounding curse dissipating theirs. The Aurors lined up with you blocking the teens as best they could with Sirius tugging Harry away from Lucius, who gave Sirius a nod for a good show of a duel. “Please, Harry. Get behind me.”

Bellatrix strolled closer to you, “Did you actually believe...or were you truly naive enough to think... that children stood a chance against us?”

Lucius extended his hand again, “I'll make this simple for you, Potter. Give me the prophecy now...or watch your friends die.” His eyes locked with Sirius who readied his own stance.

Sirius brushed Harry more behind him, “Don't give it to him, Harry.” In Lucius’ step closer Sirius lowered his wand and in Lucius’ inhale he drew his fist back and punched him knocking Lucius out of the way so he could fire at Rudolphus behind him sneaking up on Neville, “Get away from my godson.”

Sirius pulled Harry back behind a band of rocks, after his having thrown the prophecy at the ground smashing it, saying while you rebuffed another of Bellatrix’ curses and fired another at Rudolphus in his try to raise his wand at Neville, “Now, listen to me. Take the others and get out of here.”

Harry, “What? No, I'm staying with you.”

Sirius, “You've done beautifully. Now, let me take it from here.”

Rudolphus stepped forward shooting a curse luring Sirius and Harry out, “Black.”

Lucius lined up beside Rudolphus and Harry fired off a spell, “Expelliarmus!”

Rudolphus lost his wand and Sirius rebounded Lucius’ curse at Rudolphus sending him off into the distance, “Nice one, James.”

After a third blast of your wand slamming Bellatrix into the wall she soared off into a plume of smoke you followed with your eyes blocking her from trying to attack Neville leading to her landing on the side firing off a green blast at Sirius, “Avada Kedavra.” Sending him back through the silver archway vanishing from sight.

Harry was instantly grabbed by Remus in her smirking backwards strut as he cried out, “No. No.”

Her smirk died at her noticing your body wreathed in sparks and eyes glowing in your sharp inhale making her turn and run through the hall behind her, behind you in your sprint after her Remus cried out, “It was a Ghoul Jaqi! It was a Ghoul!” Harry froze in confusion as did the others but in the Peruvian instant darkness clump you threw behind you none moved until the twins managed to mutter the counter spell to allow them all after you.

“I killed Sirius Black. You coming to get me?”

Four halls later and in the main hall a ripple of the tiles under Bellatrix’ feet managed to trip her up enough for you to rush behind her slamming into her back sending you both into a sideways flip at the planting of your foot in a drop to your knee. Tightly your hand fisted in her hair and you her head slammed harshly into the ground bloodying her cheek and nose at the splitting tiles under her. Echoes traveled the hall your eyes darkened to purple hearing Remus with the other Death Eaters having fled, “Ghoul!”

A jolt of a red curse to your torso sent you flying onto your back allowing her to scramble to her feet in an unsteady stagger trying to get away from your reach. Panting you rolled over and climbed to your knees peering at her through your curls with a giggle, “Aww, Auntie Bella, what happened, no hug? First time we’ve met. Come on.” On your feet you said, “Come closer.”

At her stepping back again your smirk deepened in a weak chuckle and you blocked her next curse, “You are not my family! Pathetic halfblood!” Her wand swished and you winced at her next Cruciatic curse lowering you to your knees.

When she released it you chuckled, “Halfblood?” Her head nodded with brows raised and you rose, “Guess they don’t get the news that quick out in Azkaban. Surprised uncle hasn’t told you yet.” Stepping closer to her you said, “My Mum is Voldemort’s cousin.”

Her face dropped and she shook her head, “Lying! You’re lying!”

A swish of her wand and you aparated to avoid the golden bench she hurled at you making her twist around then fall heavily at your left hook when she turned to find you behind her, “Ask him.”

“Crucio!”

In a swish of your wand you stated in Latin, “Rubber,” then aimed your wand at her, “Glue” sending her curse back at her making her cry out in a drop to her knees. In a glance to your right you spotted Harry appear in the hallway you had exited distracting you from her. Suddenly a sharp jolt landed in your side dropping you to the ground in another muffled shout and a bolt of red light burning another scar into your skin making the teens and Aurors group up behind your mirrored barrier blocking them in the hall.

“I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK! AND YOU ARE A WORTHLESS DIRTY BLOOD LIAR!!” In a trembling rise to your knees your eyes narrowed at her and before she could raise up or step away you lunged forward. Tackling her with hard punch to her face making Hermione gasp covering her mouth to remain quiet at the next three jolts of faltering red light you kept punching her through as she continued her shouts, “He’s, Dead!!” Another jolt of red light came and she struggled to get out from under your body pinning her down, “Orphan! Halfblood! LIAR!” Another punch came down and through her bloody cough she jammed her wand in your side, “Impirius!”

In a jolt of yellow light you grit your teeth as she tossed you off her to slide into the wall in her stagger to her feet again. With a harsh cough she straightened up in a teasing tilt of her chin as the gashes on her face bled, “Filthy, halfblood, liar!”

Again your body found its feet and you charged over for her making her backtrack into the path of the lit fireplace freeing Riddle inside making the group gasp seeing you still heading for her. An enamored smile came from her in a tilting sway of her body to avoid his path using him as a shield. Only in his eyes raking over you halting on the clear bleeding wounds on your middle and arms he missed the rise of your arm in a firm back hand across his cheek making the rest of the group cover their mouths at Riddle’s suddenly raised wand. Him and Bellatrix missing Dumbledore’s entrance entirely as he lifted you from the ground with a snarl at the burn in his pinking cheek.

Off to the side Neville pocketed the picture from the camera that had been following you from home still capturing stills of your battles and reactions candidly as it was enchanted to when your family got together in big groups.

Narrowly Riddle’s eyes looked over your face more hurt and confused than furious with you pulling you a bit closer to ask why you had struck him only to lower you as Bellatrix taunted again, “Orphan, Halfblood, liar!”

In relief you coughed as your free hand rose to your neck Riddle turned to Bellatrix, “What did you say?”

She pointed her wand at you which he flicked her wand away making her smirk drop, “That lying little child said her filthy mudblood mother was a relation of yours.”

Riddle flatly replied, “Yes, my cousin.” Her mouth fell open in a glance at you catching your thumb swiping off your chin in a subtle ‘screw you’ then she looked at him again back stepping as he said, “You mentioned something about, orphan?”

Timidly she repeated, “I, killed, Si-,”

Riddle shook his head and held her in place with a curse turning to draw her back between you both in his step aside while you noticed Albus behind his own mirroring charm “Now, if you are breathing when she is done with you, we will be discussing a few ground rules.” His hold on her dropped and she eyed you, “Raise your wand Bellatrix!”

Softly you stated, “Let me make this perfectly clear. Never touch the Longbottoms or my father again.”

Her eyes narrowed raising her own wand as you raised yours, shaking her head she said, “But, I-,”

You shook your head, “No, you didn’t.” A blast of orange light exploded from your wand sending her flying into one of the fireplaces where she slammed hard into the back of it then collapsed to her knees after a slide down the wall vanishing to the hidden manor making your head turn to Riddle, who instantly fired a holding charm on you.

“Now that your anger is sated,” he floated you closer, “Now that I have been patient with your anger you will repay that kindness with another, and you will tell me what the prophecy is.”

Struggling to breathe you hovered there and he started, “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ...” After reciting what he knew so far he demanded, “What power?”

“It doesn’t say.”

Tighter he gripped your neck making those behind your barrier struggle to remain quiet, “Then what does it say?!”

In a weak whisper you replied while Remus covered Harry’s mouth noticing him ready to shout, “and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...”

“That can’t be all.” His grip tightened and he pulled you closer, “Show me! If that is-,”

At your eyes flashing silver his did as well making Remus mumble in latin, “She just, so quickly, broke into his mind.”

Regulus leaned over to whisper, “I told you.”

The longer you shared of the memory the more your scar darkened starting to drip black ooze making Ginny ask, “What’s happening to her face?”

Sirius’ fists clenched, “Hold on Pumpkin. Hold on.”

Suddenly you gasped breaking the bond when the left side of your face was drenched with the ooze and his eyes narrowed and in a turn of his head your barrier flickered allowing Harry through before it shot up again in your calming breaths on your back when Riddle dropped you. Instantly from his confused glance at the liquid on your face Riddle turned to face Harry while you slid backwards out of his sight up against the wall where you trembled in your shift onto your knees.

Harry, “So much for a weapon, huh?” Softly you whimpered lowering your head to wipe your face on the bottom of your blood stained tank top.

Riddle answered, “Do you even understand what it means, Potter?” Stepping closer, “What it truly means, for you?”

Forcing yourself to your feet you sheathed your wand, extending your hand towards Dumbledore it folded around the Elder wand that flew towards you in your full body morph into Dumbledore as you triggered another fireplace behind you to light up mocking his arrival.

Firmly in his voice you stated, “It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom. The Aurors are on their way.”

Riddle turned as you flicked the wand sideways casting Harry aside near Dumbledore, who inched closer to your barrier he wandlessly strengthened in what he sensed as the waning of your strength.

Riddle, “By which time I shall be gone, and you... shall be dead.” A jut of his wand cast out a blue beam of light bubbling and dripping in its meeting your red and white one easily growing stronger over his making his smirk flinch at the sea of lightning bolts shooting off around you, “You've lost, old man.”

In a move from Harry to jolt up again Riddle used your move to brush him back again to withdraw his attack to breathe a ball of flame he flung out with his wand creating a flaming snake. Motionless in your eyeing the rising snake Riddle took that as a reason to smirk until you gave the wand a flick. From its belly outwards it rippled into ice while you avoided its attack in a step to your right trapping Riddle in a ball of water from the fountains that dropped to the ground at Harry’s jump to his feet again.

A grip of his shoulder and a shove had him sliding across the floor behind the golden centaur you brought to life to guard and hold him back while you turned to face Riddle. Without a pause dissipating the shadow curse he sent at you with a rippling wall of light drawing a stunned gasp from him when it washed over him healing his blistering cheek from your slap.

Narrowing his gaze his arms shot up for an explosion making the entire wall of glass behind him shatter to send at you and Harry both that turned to dust against your protective bubble. In a ripple of dust his body faded making you turn only to see Harry drop at a swirl of dust circling up around him. On the ground his normally emerald eyes glowed in a bright blue bringing you over to him at the retraction of the golden centaur.

Riddle, “Harry. So weak. So vulnerable.”

In his mingled visions Riddle was stirring up Harry’s eyes locked on yours, “Look at me. Harry, it isn't how you are alike. It's how you are not.”

Riddle feeling his control fading, “Harry?”

Harry winced back, “You're the weak one...and you'll never know love or friendship. And I feel sorry for you.”

At that you fired a familiar silver spell mentally muttering, “Apstraho!” casting Riddle in a harsh explosion of light into the wall behind him rippling out of Harry, who you stepped over as the light dimmed.

Riddle, panting on his finding feet stated, “You're a fool, Harry Potter. And you will lose everything.” His eyes rose to land on you before you could raise your wand holding you up by your neck, “Starting with you.”

In a swipe of his hand Dumbledore drew Harry’s dropped wand to himself at the fall of your barrier seeing your reappearing scar bleeding the black ooze again and he raised it in the ripple of your disguise falling at the lighting of the fireplaces on your right bringing Fudge and a series of Wizengamot Aurors into clear view.

All at once their expressions dropped as another picture of you was captured, in a turn of your head Riddle’s eyes widened seeing you in his grip making him look to where he had left you finding it empty. Dumbledore’s step into his view narrowed his eyes again seeing his wand was aimed at you and not him clearly meaning to him that Dumbledore had forced you to duel in his place. Another glance at you dripping with remorse ended at your soft Parseltongue whisper of, “Run.”

In one motion he released you and vanished into thin air, weakly your feet couldn’t hold you and your body collapsed backwards into Neville’s arms after his race over you fell with eyes rolling back dropping Dumbledore’s wand at his feet. Around you and Harry the others grouped as Fudge stood still muttering, “He’s back.”

Pt 49

#Voldemort #Department of Mysteries Battle #He's Back

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obsidianarchives · 5 years

Text

Beneath the Surface - Part 1

The Woes of Imperfection

Hermione Granger walked through the Hogwarts castle with Ginny Weasley, trying to keep her nerves in check. She couldn’t keep her hands still, running them through her thick hair, stuffing them in her pockets, adjusting the collar of her robes as they made their way up to Professor Slughorn’s office.

“It’ll be fine,” Ginny sighed, tucking a lock of her red hair behind her ear. “All Slughorn wants is to fawn over you now so he can say he knew you when later.”

Hermione had heard about the Slug Club from Ginny, Harry, and Neville. From what they’d said, it sounded like a group of kids their new Potions professor Horace Slughorn had chosen as his personal favorites. While she disapproved of the practice, she knew how many connections the man had throughout the wizarding world, and it wasn’t lost on her how important this could be for her future.

“I just can’t believe he invited me.”

Ginny scoffed, “You must be joking.”

Hermione pursed her lips but didn’t respond. The words she knew Ginny was thinking echoed through her brain. She’s the brightest witch in our year. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe it, but the statement felt more like an expectation than a compliment, a threat thinly veiled beneath it. What would happen if she was no longer the brightest? If someone else suddenly studied harder, retained more? What if they realized it was all a lie, just hard work and an unhealthy obsession with getting things right?

She didn’t speak her worries out loud to Ginny — they had plagued her for years even before she’d found out she was a witch, and she knew her best friend’s sister wouldn’t truly understand, even if she tried.

They were the last two to arrive in Slughorn’s office. It was bigger than most of the professors’ offices that Hermione had been to. On the far wall sat a fireplace, a plush emerald couch facing it. Chests and shelves lined the walls, pictures of blinking and smiling people looking out from the tops of almost every surface. A liquor cabinet stood sturdy next to another doorway, which Hermione assumed led to Slughorn’s desk because she couldn’t see it from the entrance. A round mahogany table commanded attention in the center of the main room, surrounded by eight chairs and laden with food Hermione was sure had been brought up by house-elves.

Slughorn’s other guests were awkwardly mingling, a few glancing at them as they entered the room. Of the five other students there, Hermione recognized Ravenclaw fifth year Melinda Bobbin and Slytherin Blaise Zabini. Hermione flushed as she made eye contact with Cormac McLaggen. His eyes were still slightly unfocused from Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts earlier that day, but he smiled at her in what she supposed he thought was alluring. She looked away quickly, to Professor Slughorn, who was dressed in decadent robes of periwinkle.

“Ah, Miss Granger and Miss Weasley! Excellent,” he said, “Let’s all take a seat, shall we?”

They all made their way towards the table, Hermione keeping close to Ginny so that they could sit together. She slid into her seat, her nerves spiking as McLaggen sat heavily in the chair next to her.

“Help yourselves, help yourselves,” Slughorn insisted, reaching for the bowl of buttered peas.

The room was quiet for a moment but for the clinking of dishes. Next to Hermione, McLaggen’s fingers fumbled around the bowl of chicken legs, and it tipped over, the bowl falling with a clatter onto his ornate ivory plate. Ginny snickered and Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

“So, Cormac,” Slughorn started as McLaggen rushed to pick up the food, “Have you heard from your uncle recently?”

“I just got a letter from him the other day, as it happens,” McLaggen said with a grating smile, “He’s had quite a lot of work to do at the Ministry, as you can imagine.”

“Of course,” said Slughorn, “There’s quite enough to be going on, what with these perilous times. Still, it doesn’t hurt to plan for the future. Do you think you’ll go into the Ministry like Tiberius?”

The conversation went from there. Slughorn’s small eyes fixed on each of them in turn, interrogating them with updates on their famous or well-connected family members and inquiring about their future goals.

After asking Ginny thoroughly about her hexes and name-dropping the noted author of Harmful Hexes: A Guide to Reactionary Spells Darold Vengecraft, Slughorn turned to Blaise Zabini.

Zabini had been quiet during most of the other conversations, his dark eyes unreadable. Now, he answered Slughorn’s questions graciously, from what new wizard his mother had recently been seen with to what his future aspirations were.

“I’d like to go into the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” he answered, “My mother has taken me on a few of her international trips, so I’m interested in relations between Britain and other countries.”

“An exciting career path!” Slughorn exclaimed, “And one I’m sure you would excel in. I’ll have to connect you with Sandrine Walton, she’s been the head of the department since Barty Crouch’s unfortunate demise. In fact, maybe I should introduce her to Miss Granger as well! The three of you have quite similar backgrounds.”

Hermione was startled at being included, even though she was the only one left to interrogate. She cut her eyes at Zabini briefly, tilting her head in confusion. Though they had had classes together for the past five years, she didn’t know much about the Slytherin other than that he had scoffed at the idea of Harry being the Chosen One on the train to Hogwarts and that she generally saw him alone in the library outside of classes. Was that what Slughorn meant?

Zabini had made a face too, the frown contorting his deep brown face. Suddenly, Hermione realized that they were the only two Black students in the room. Now, she understood.

“Well…” Hermione said, trying to sound diplomatic, “I don’t know if that’s true, exactly. I’m Muggle-born, sir.” That wasn’t to say that being Black didn’t matter in the wizarding world, at least not in Hermione’s estimation. Still, Zabini was the pure-blood son of a famous witch — their backgrounds couldn’t be more different.

“Yes, yes, and I must say again how impressed I am with you,” Slughorn said, transitioning his attention smoothly from Zabini to her, “Mr. Potter spoke so highly of you when first we met, and still you wowed me in our first Potions lesson. With brains like yours, there’ll be many doors open to you once you leave Hogwarts.”

Hermione blushed, feeling pleasure mingled with discomfort. While she had no doubt of the value she could bring to wherever she decided to go, she wondered if what Slughorn said would be true, given the anti-Muggle-born sentiments that had been bubbling under the surface of the wizarding world, now swiftly rising with Voldemort out in the open.

Across the table, an annoyed look flashed across Zabini’s face as he lifted his goblet to his mouth, barely concealing his snort.

Before Hermione could say anything, Ginny spoke up, “Have something to say, do you Zabini?”

He rolled his eyes as he set the cup back down on the table, long fingers wrapped loosely around it. “Only that I don’t know that someone with brains would have been in the middle of that mess at the Ministry.”

Hermione felt a surge of annoyance at the haughtiness on his face. “Perhaps not,” she said, sensing that Ginny was just barely holding back the urge to curse him. She lay a hand on her arm under the table. “But someone with brains would know not to speak about things they know nothing about.”

“Oho!” Slughorn exclaimed, eyes brightening, “How could I forget you were one of the few in the Department of Mysteries in June? Dumbledore is still quite caged about it, but I don’t suppose you could tell us what happened?”

Hermione felt as if a very bright light was shining directly on her, and she suddenly felt wrong. She didn’t want to think about the catastrophe at the Department of Mysteries. She glanced fleetingly at Ginny, who grimaced. Her chest seemed to burn with the memory of the spell Dolohov had thrown at her, knocking her unconscious.

She took a deep breath to center herself. “If Professor Dumbledore won’t say anything about it, I don’t think I should.”

Slughorn frowned, “Oh poppycock. Always the secret keeper, Dumbledore is. But I suppose he’s the only one You-Know-Who ever feared for a reason.”

He moved on then, to asking about Hermione’s background. She answered his questions as truthfully as possible, trying to feel less self-conscious. Everyone listened intently, but for some reason, it wasn’t the fact that McLaggen’s elbow kept “accidentally” bumping into her that bothered her the most, but Zabini’s stare. There wasn’t anything different about his expression, on first glance it seemed to hold a detached interest. Still, Hermione could feel heat rising on her skin under his gaze, and wondered if she was imagining the strange twinkle in his eyes.

…

Overall, the Slug Club seemed fine. Hermione had survived Slughorn’s questions, McLaggen’s clumsy flirting, and Zabini’s sneering. When Ron asked her about it the next morning at breakfast, though she could hear the accusation in his tone, she answered truthfully.

“It was alright,” she shrugged as she scanned the Daily Prophet for any worthwhile news. “About what you would expect.”

Ron scowled and stabbed at a piece of melon on his plate.

He wasn’t the only one, it seemed, who was upset about not being invited to Slughorn’s dinner party.

“Slughorn must be cracking up if he’s forgetting the families who matter,” Malfoy sneered to Crabbe and Goyle as they waited outside of the Transfiguration classroom, his voice carrying across the hall to the Gryffindors. “I mean if he’s letting in filth like Granger—”

“Oh Malfoy if you’re so upset, why don’t you go cry to your father about it?” Hermione said before Harry and Ron could whip out their wands. Ron let out a bark of laughter.

Draco turned pink, “You watch your mouth, Mudblood.”

“Careful,” she said, “Your mother wouldn’t like another of her family members bested by a Muggle-born, would she?”

Draco reached for his wand as Harry drew his in preparation. At that moment, Professor McGonagall rounded the corner, hawklike eyes scanning the hall.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, eyeing the wand in Harry’s hand.

“No, Professor,” Hermione said, grabbing Harry’s arm.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes a moment and then turned, entering the classroom. As Hermione pulled Harry after her, she noticed that Zabini was watching her behind Malfoy, an amused look on his face. The minute he realized she had seen, he looked away, his face falling into its signature scowl.

Hermione turned back to follow Susan Bones through the door, feeling confused. Why would Zabini find anything she said funny — especially when disparaging his own Housemate?

“Hurry and find your seats,” Professor McGonagall called from the front of the room, “We have a lot to cover.”

Hermione made her way to her seat, still pulling Harry along although the danger of him cursing Malfoy had passed. Once she sat down, she decided to disregard Zabini’s strange behavior. Whatever he was thinking didn’t matter. She had magic to learn.

By the time she got to Potions class, she had completely forgotten that morning’s incident. Today, they were working on the Awakening Solution, a potion that increased its drinker’s energy.

Hermione spent the entire hour slaving over her cauldron, making sure she added the minced peppermint at exactly the right moment, plucking the dandelion petals meticulously, and stirring the appropriate amount of counterclockwise times before leaving it to stew for the week. She felt satisfied with the way the yellow liquid shone brightly from her cauldron, and when Professor Slughorn inspected it he exclaimed that her work was very well done.

But when he went to Harry’s cauldron, Slughorn was beside himself. He gushed over him, saying that the shade of marigold that bubbled from Harry’s cauldron could only be the work of a masterful potion maker, the subtlety in the coloring causing him to award twenty points to Gryffindor.

Hermione felt a surge of anger as Harry grinned behind Slughorn’s back at Ron. As far as she was concerned, using the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook was tantamount to cheating, and the praise Harry kept getting grated on her. As Slughorn moved on to Ernie’s neon green liquid with a strained smile, Hermione’s eyes met Zabini’s. Was it her or was the corner of his full lips pulled up? Great, now he was laughing at her, too.

The phrase echoed in her brain again. She’s the brightest witch in our year. Feeling a surge of panic, she tore her gaze away, stuffed her scales in her bag, and stalked off ahead of Harry and Ron as the bell rang.

It wasn’t that she had to be the best in every class — Harry was consistently better than her at Defense Against the Dark Arts and it never bothered her — it was the fact that Professor Slughorn absolutely fawned over Harry when he wasn’t putting in the same effort she was. And what was more, the voice of doubt seemed to be creeping up in her more than usual. If Harry could defeat her with counterfeit instructions, then clearly she wasn’t all that good at Potions to begin with.

“I hope there are mashed potatoes for lunch,” Ron exclaimed, catching up to her.

“Even if there aren’t, you’ll eat everything within a five-person radius,” Harry said with a grin. The Prince’s book was clutched tightly in his hand, his finger holding the place he had been reading before class. Hermione scowled.

She scarfed down her food quickly and hurried off to the library. There was enough time before her next class that she could maybe find something to help her understand more about the properties of the Awakening Solution. She scanned the spines of the books in the Potions section quickly, exhaling as she found A Guide to Precise Potion-Making.

She lugged the heavy book down to the nearest table, dropping her book bag on the chair next to her. She scoured the table of contents before finding the chapter on potion ingredients for alertness. Flipping quickly to the correct page, she began to read.

Based on what was in here, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Odd numbered counterclockwise stirs were better for potions that made the drinkers groggy, but the even number would have the opposite effect. She’d stirred exactly eight times as Advance Potion-Making had told her. Fresher ingredients often yielded better results, and Hermione had only just restocked her peppermint the week before when she realized she had forgotten to get some in Diagon Alley.

“Of course you’ve got the book,” an exasperated voice said above her.

She looked up, surprised. She’d been so absorbed in her reading that she hadn’t noticed anyone else in this section.

Zabini stood at the end of the table, a scowl on his face.

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, that book you’re reading,” he said with a jerk of his head.

“Oh,” she said, “I’m almost done.”

He rolled his eyes, “You don’t even need it, your potion was near-perfect.”

There he was, talking about things he didn’t understand again. She glared at him, “My study habits are none of your business.”

“You know no one’s going to look at you differently if your potion isn’t the precise shade of the summer sun or whatever,” he sounded almost bored, “Everyone knows you know everything.”

Hermione could feel pressure on her chest, heat rising on her cheeks. She slammed the book shut and stood, grabbing her bag and stalking away from him. She made sure to check out A Guide to Precise Potion-Making on her way out of the library.

…

She spent most of her time trying to quell the doubt she felt bubbling up within her every time she failed again at creating the perfect potion. Though there wasn’t much more information in A Guide to Precise Potion-Making that she didn’t already know, Hermione found herself perusing its pages in her free time, trying to forget the way Zabini’s words had needled at her, how they seemed to hit right where she was most sensitive.

A part of this was ignoring her growing irritation with Harry and the Half-Blood Prince, but that was getting more difficult as the weeks passed and autumn arrived in full swing. Apparently, there were spells written in the margins of the wretched book, and Harry had taken to casting them without knowing what it was they would do. Past her own issues, Hermione was appalled by his carelessness.

“It’s nothing, Hermione,” Ron said when she snapped at Harry over it in the common room one evening. He leaned back in his seat, glancing across the room at Lavender Brown, who was pouring over a magazine with her best friend Parvati Patil, “We’re just having a laugh.”

That was the only thing Ron seemed to be relaxed about. He kept making snide comments about the Slug Club whenever he could, suggesting that Hermione liked being “cozied up with McLaggen.” Harry had gotten out of the next two dinners by scheduling Quidditch practices at the same times. While she didn’t begrudge Harry trying to avoid Slughorn’s parties, she hated that his strategy meant that she had to go alone — as Chaser for the Gryffindor team, Ginny’s priority was Quidditch. Hermione saw the value in Slughorn’s dinner parties, and so in the interest of keeping her future options open she hadn’t tried to find a way to get out of them. Still, she was starting to feel more on her own than she had in awhile.

The Slug Club dinners weren’t all that bad though. There was always good food and Professor Slughorn introduced the group to different former students of his who were doing important and interesting work, including the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet and the drummer of the Weird Sisters. Even still, Hermione felt isolated, the pressure to be perfect constricting around her whenever Slughorn introduced her as “a rising star.”

At the same time, she found herself navigating the strange dynamics of the group. Melinda Bobbin was nice enough, but was far more focused on her own ambitions, while McLaggen was perhaps too nice — he kept hitting her on the shoulder every time he spoke to her or cracked a joke. Tracy Dearborn, a third year whose father had dealings with the American magical government, was too young to really understand the importance of being invited and seemed to only be there for the food.

She wasn’t sure how or why, but of everyone in the Slug Club she felt most aligned with Blaise Zabini. Generally, his quiet face rested on disinterest as he scanned the room. Whenever he was asked a direct question he would answer charmingly, his eyes alight and face with the appearance of being open, but once Slughorn turned from him he would settle back into himself, reserved.

Slughorn was harmless in his praise for the most part, but occasionally he would say something to give her pause, and Hermione would find herself meeting Zabini’s eyes across the room in her exasperation or surprise. Each time, it seemed that he had sought her out as well, the confusion or resignation on his face accompanied by a raised eyebrow or a brief frown.

She wasn’t sure why it kept happening — she hadn’t even addressed him since their clash at the library. Even though they didn’t speak to each other, she couldn’t help but notice him whenever he was in a room, her eyes drifting over his tall figure, his dark skin and chiseled jaw. She had caught him watching her too, and found herself puzzled by his searching gaze.

In mid-October, Slughorn hosted another dinner. This time, the special guest was Quidditch star Gwenog Jones. Hermione felt a surge of vindication when Slughorn introduced her. The irony that Harry was missing something that would actually be of interest to him in his effort to avoid Slughorn wasn’t lost on her.

The feeling was fleeting, however, as most good feelings had been since that past Saturday, when she, Harry, and Ron had witnessed Katie Bell rise up from the snow, jerking and twitching after accidentally touching a cursed necklace.

The entire castle was on edge, full of nerves and fear. Only Harry seemed to be fueled with renewed vigor, despite having his Malfoy-Did-It stance shot down by Professor McGonagall.

Even things between the Slytherins seemed tense; on her way to Charms earlier that day, she had noticed Zabini huddled with Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson, though they’d seemed to be arguing. At the very least, Zabini had looked uncomfortable, and now, sitting across from her at Slughorn’s dinner table, he seemed reserved, quiet even for him. Hermione looked down at her plate. Why did her thoughts keep drifting to the goings on of Blaise Zabini?

As dinner wrapped up, Slughorn made an announcement, “Each year I like to throw a little Christmas party before break,” he said, “I’ll invite some of my former students — Gwenog, you are of course invited — and you should feel free to bring a guest,” his eyes turned to Hermione, “Miss Granger, I’ll need a list of Mr. Potter’s free dates. I won’t have him missing this little soiree.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, feeling awkward. Her eyes met Zabini’s across the table, but his face was blank. She looked back to Slughorn. “I — yes, Professor.”

Harry’s reaction to that bit of information didn’t surprise her when she shared it with him in Herbology class the next day. Neither did Ron’s.

“Stupid name,” he said under his breath as Harry went to retrieve their Snargaluff pod from across the room.

“Look, I didn’t make up the name ‘Slug Club’.” While she understood his anger, she didn’t see why he had to take it out on her.

“Slug Club,” he said derisively as Harry came back, “It’s pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don’t you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—”

Hermione’s irritation flared. She had already suspected that he and Harry had been laughing at her being locked up with McLaggen behind her back, but having it thrown in her face was another thing.

“We’re allowed to bring guests,” she threw back at him, “and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it’s that stupid then I won’t bother!” She’d thought it would be a good idea, asking Ron. That way, the three of them could go together. If Harry invited Neville or Luna, it could be a good time.

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it, looking cowed. “You were going to ask me?”

“Yes,” Hermione huffed, “But obviously if you’d rather I hook up with McLaggen…”

“No, no, I’ll go,” Ron said hastily.

He acted nicer to her for the rest of the day, and Hermione was relieved. It felt good to not have to be at odds with her friends for some petty reason or another, especially with everything happening outside of Hogwarts. Tales of disappearances and deaths peppered the Daily Prophet and more and more Hogwarts students were being affected; on most days it felt wrong to be arguing over Christmas parties and nastily annotated textbooks.

Their truce didn’t last long, however. Hermione spent her evening in the common room near the fire, cross-checking her Ancient Rune translations with the textbook. She was just packing up when Harry and Ron entered in their Quidditch robes, Ron looking furious.

“What happened?” she asked, sliding the last of her notes into her book bag.

“You — Ginny — Dean!” Ron’s voice sounded strangled with anger.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, then looked to Harry, hoping he could translate. Surprisingly, even he seemed to be struggling with his own deep-seated emotion. He dropped onto the couch, allowing Crookshanks to leap into his lap.

“We ran into Ginny and Dean on the way back from the pitch,” he said, “They were, er—”

“They were snogging! In the middle of the corridor!” Ron shouted. A couple of first years across the room shot a startled glance at him.

“Okay…” Hermione said, glancing back to Harry again, “And?”

“And so I don’t want my sister out in public like some wanton woman.”

Hermione frowned, “Ron, Ginny and Dean are dating.”

“So?” Ron’s ears were dangerously red.

“So, they’re allowed to snog. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Of course you would think so, given that you’ve snogged Krum.”

Hermione felt confused. Why was her brief relationship with Viktor, from two years ago, being thrown in her face? The fact that they’d kissed wasn’t even a secret, and yet Ron sounded betrayed somehow.

“Well yes,” she said slowly, “I’m still not understanding the problem.”

“The problem is, what are people going to think about our family if Ginny’s running around the castle acting like a—”

“Ginny is her own person,” Hermione cut him off, “Her relationship with Dean has nothing to do with you.”

“Like hell it does! I’m her brother!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. They were tired from staring at her homework in the low light of the fire and frankly Ron’s attitude was starting to grate on her nerves. “Perhaps you need something to keep you occupied? So you’re not so worried about what Ginny is up to?”

Ron’s face was flaming now. He seemed at a loss for words, so instead he cursed and stalked off, stomping up the boys’ staircase to his dormitory. Hermione looked at Harry.

“Honestly, what’s been up with him lately?”

Harry shrugged, seemingly lost in thought. Hermione eyed him closely. She had started to suspect over the summer that he had feelings for Ginny, though she hadn’t brought it up with him. She wondered if his brooding attitude had to do with seeing her with Dean.

“Everything okay, Harry?” she probed.

Harry seemed to snap out of his thoughts, “What? Oh, yeah fine.” He moved Crookshanks from his lap and stood, “I’m going to bed.”

He hurried up after Ron, leaving Hermione once again on her own.

…

That Saturday brought the first Quidditch match of the season. According to Harry, Ron’s anger at Ginny and Dean had not only affected his playing but had almost dissolved the team as well.

“I keep telling you you need to talk to him. He can’t keep treating people like this,” Hermione told Harry as they went through their Transfiguration essays together. Ron had already gone up to bed after snapping at two poor fourth years for laughing too loud. He had been giving her the silent treatment for standing up for Ginny.

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry mumbled, sinking down further into his chair. The prospect didn’t seem to excite him.

Still, Hermione had been sure he would do it, especially with Quidditch on the line. She knew Harry wouldn’t be able to face it if he lost his first match as Captain, and to Slytherin at that. But if he had tried to set Ron straight, it didn’t make for a marked change in his attitude.

She came down to the Gryffindor table by herself that morning, tired of bickering with a grumpy Ron and exchanging helpless glances with Harry. She saw them sitting amidst the sea of red and gold, Harry trying to coax food into Ron, who looked slightly ill, his skin tinged green. She paused behind them as Harry poured pumpkin juice into a goblet.

“How are you both feeling?” she asked tentatively, glancing at Ron.

“Fine,” said Harry. He tipped the contents of a small vial into the cup with the juice, “There you go, Ron. Drink up.”

Ron started to take a sip when Hermione shouted, “Don’t drink that Ron!”

Both Harry and Ron looked up at her. Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief.

“You just put something in that drink.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just tipped something into Ron’s drink. You’ve got the bottle in your hand right now!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said, slipping the bottle into his robes.

Hermione fought the urge to tackle him and force the bottle out of his pocket. “Ron, I’m serious, don’t drink it!”

But Ron had already picked up the glass and drained it in one. “Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”

Hermione was appalled. She bent down low to whisper to Harry, “You should be expelled for that, Harry!”

“Hark who’s talking,” he whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?”

Hermione took a step back, feeling as though she’d been slapped. She turned away from them and stormed up the table, her anger rising.

How could Harry do such a thing? Confunding McLaggen hadn’t been about making sure Ron got on the team, it had been about defending her friends. Using Felix Felicis for an official game wasn’t only immoral, it was illegal. Hermione plopped down at the table, but now found her appetite gone.

Of course, she shouldn’t be so surprised at Harry’s willingness to disregard the rules. She’d been dealing with him in Potions class for over a month now as he took credit for someone else’s work and gained an inordinate amount of praise in the process.

She pushed herself up from the table. People were already making their way to the Quidditch pitch, but now she wasn’t sure she even wanted to go anymore. What she should do is go tell Professor McGonagall before the match started so that she could put a stop to this.

But she stopped herself, remembering the last time she had gotten between Harry and Quidditch. When she had told McGonagall about the mysterious broomstick Harry had gotten three years ago, Harry and Ron hadn’t spoken to her for weeks. Could she really go through that again?

She squared her shoulders and stepped out into the cool morning air. She would watch the game, and if things went well — as she knew they would since Harry had given Ron liquid luck — she would confront them again. They were her best friends, she had to at least give them a chance to turn themselves in before she did it herself.

She stomped across the grounds towards the pitch, where the sun shone down on the stands. It was a nice day, but she couldn’t enjoy it, not with anger and determination coursing through her veins.

She got to the stands and joined the line winding up the stairs, her stomach twisting and turning as she thought about what she would have to do. The scent of cinnamon and cloves tickled at her nose as she hurried up, barreling into the person ahead of her when the line stopped abruptly.

“Watch it!” the person said.

She looked up to see Blaise Zabini, in cuffed black jeans and a green and silver color-blocked pullover. He looked annoyed at first, but when he saw that it was her, his face changed, surprise in his eyes. “Why do you look like someone ate your homework?”

“Why do you care?” Hermione snapped.

He opened his mouth to retort, his eyes flashing, but someone else spoke up before he could.

“Oh, don’t mind her Blaise,” Pansy Parkinson said from the next stair up. She tried to look bored, but Hermione could see the wicked amusement in her eyes, “She probably just couldn’t see through all of that hair. Maybe if she did something reasonable to it she wouldn’t invade other people’s personal space.”

Hermione didn’t have the energy for this. Rather than respond, she pushed past the group of chortling Slytherins, ignoring Pansy’s sneer and Zabini’s frown. She continued up the stairs, squeezing through the group of third years who were blocking the way on the next landing.

The game went just as Hermione had predicted, punctuated by the aggravating commentary of Zacharias Smith. His mocking tone agitated Hermione further than watching Ron make his fourteenth save, or the moment she realized that Malfoy wasn’t playing, which meant that in addition to having to deal with her cheating friends she was also going to have to sit through days of conspiracy theories from Harry.

Once Harry caught the Snitch and Ginny “accidentally” plowed Smith over, the stands began to empty, students buzzing after such an exciting match. Hermione took a deep breath and hardened her resolve. She had to hold her friends accountable.

…

The next Monday, Hermione sat on one of the desks in the Transfiguration classroom alone, a group of yellow birds twittering around her head. She eyed them critically as they flew around, sure she could do better. Was it just her, or did they look slightly transparent from this angle?

She had chosen to come here during her lunch break rather than sit alone in the Great Hall. Ron was no longer talking to her, having chosen to blame Hermione for Harry’s manipulation of the both of them. His mocking tone in the changing room still grated on her.

“You added Felix Felicis to Ron’s juice this morning, that’s why he saved everything!” he’d said shrilly, his face red. “See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!”

Ignoring the fact that Harry fake-drugging Ron with lucky potion proved he couldn’t save goals on his own, Hermione wasn’t sure what else she could have done. How was she supposed to know Harry wouldn’t actually break the rules given the flippancy with which he had treated them in the past?

Ron not speaking to Hermione didn’t actually seem to be that difficult a feat for him, given that his mouth seemed to be permanently glued to Lavender’s ever since the post-match Gryffindor party. Harry seemed sympathetic to Hermione’s plight, but that hadn’t stopped him from sitting with Ron at meals or walking with him from the common room in the mornings. Hermione didn’t care that Ron and Lavender were together now past the fact that it meant she now had to find a new date to Slughorn’s Christmas party — what really bothered her was the way Ron seemed to pretend she didn’t exist, even though she hadn’t done anything to warrant such behavior.

The door to the classroom pushed open, startling her.

She looked up as Zabini stepped inside, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the birds flying around the room and then narrowing when he noticed her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as one of the birds came to land on her shoulder.

“Practicing,” she said shortly.

He wound his way through the desks, coming to a stop at the one he usually sat at during class. He grabbed the forgotten book lying there, eyeing the birds warily, “Doesn’t seem like you need it.”

Hermione huffed, and pointed at the one circling the chandelier above them, “That one’s wing is faded.”

Zabini rolled his eyes, “Merlin. You try too hard, you know that?”

Hermione’s temper had been quick to rise lately, and it rose now, “Some of us don’t have the luxury of being pure-bloods,” she snapped, “We actually have to work to be recognized.”

Zabini opened his mouth to retort but then he stopped, frowning. An odd look flashed across his face.

He shook his head slightly and turned away, “Whatever, Granger.”

With that, he was gone.

Hermione sighed and slid off of the desk, vanishing the birds with a flick of her wand. Lunch was almost over and she didn’t want to be late for her next class.

She walked through the halls to the Charms corridor on her own, sliding in and out of the swelling crowd, side-stepping a suit of armor that seemed to have the sudden urge to do a jig in the middle of the hall and ducking as Peeves swooped above the chaos, cackling.

She hurried up to the seventh floor and turned, stopping herself just before she ran directly into Cormac McLaggen.

“Oh, sorry,” she said quickly, stumbling around him.

“Oh hey Granger, I wanted a word!” he said. He was smiling at her, his floppy hair falling into his eyes.

“Er, yes?” she asked, glancing in the direction of the Charms classroom and back to him. He looked relaxed as he towered over her.

“You don’t have a date for Old Sluggy’s Christmas party, do you?” Confidence seemed to exude off of Cormac in waves.

“O-oh,” she stammered, “I don’t, actually.” She cringed internally. Why hadn’t she lied? She’d been planning to ask Harry the next time he was away from Ron, but hadn’t yet gotten the chance.

“Excellent,” Cormac said, “We should go together.”

At this point, Hermione felt stuck. “I...I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he said, stepping closer to her, his face falling into a mock-pout. He seemed so big standing there in front of her. There was no telling how he would react if she said no — he’d always seemed like a wildcard to her — and she had no idea if Harry didn’t already have a date for the party.

She bit her lip before conceding. “Sure, let’s do it.”

Before Cormac could say anything else, Hermione turned and hurried to class, feeling mortified.

The school began to buzz about Slughorn’s Christmas Party as it loomed nearer, despite only a few students actually getting invites. Hermione had done her best to keep the fact that she was going with Cormac to herself, but word spread anyway.

“I can’t believe you’re going with McLaggen,” Harry said as they sat in the library the day before the party, looking up from his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

“Well I figured you would already have a date by now,” Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

It was Harry’s turn to look uncomfortable, “Not yet. I did get some lovely chocolates from Romilda Vane though.”

“I told you,” Hermione said. Just the day before she had caught Romilda and her friends discussing how to slip Harry a love potion so that he would take one of them to the party.

“Yeah, well I’m not going to eat one so there’s no danger anymore,” Harry shrugged, “Ron’s not too chuffed about you going with McLaggen, you know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “And here I thought having a girlfriend would make him more prone to minding his own business.”

“He’s still a little sore about Quidditch tryouts I think,” Harry said, “You know how he gets. I think he would’ve rather you went with Malfoy.”

“You’re joking!”

“‘Course I am,” Harry grinned, “I’m just saying, he probably thinks he’s losing a friend to someone he feels insecure about.”

“He’s the one who started it.” It sounded childish but Hermione refused to feel bad, even if she wasn’t all that excited about her own choice of date.

The day of the party was tense, and Hermione wondered if she even wanted to go anymore. Since the news about her going with McLaggen had leaked, Ron seemed to go out of his way to be rude to her.

They were in Transfiguration class, practicing changing the color of their eyebrows. As Hermione focused intensely on her face in the mirror, trying her hardest to make her eyebrows a bright green, she heard a shout across the room.

She looked up to see Ron aghast, a brilliant handlebar mustache sprouting from above his upper lip. The entire class broke out into laughter, but Ron glared at Hermione, somehow singling her out in the midst of their classmates. Hermione rolled her eyes at his hostility before turning back to her work.

“Now, who would like to demonstrate their progress?” Professor McGonagall called about halfway through class.

Before Hermione could volunteer, Ron thrust his hand into the air, jumping up and down in his seat. “Ooh, ooh Professor pick me!”

Heat rose on Hermione’s cheeks as Professor McGonagall rose an unamused eyebrow at Ron and chose Slytherin Daphne Greengrass.

For the rest of the class, whenever McGonagall asked a question, Ron would mock Hermione cruelly. Tears welled up in her eyes as McGonagall finally snapped at him, threatening to take away House points, and when the bell rang, she was the first to leave the classroom.

This wasn’t fair. She knew she had done nothing to warrant Ron’s bullying. Sixth year was hard enough with her classes and the threat of Voldemort without Ron acting so harshly towards her. She was done, she decided as she wiped her tears in the bathroom, Luna Lovegood patting her back serenely. It was okay, she thought. Friends grew apart sometimes.

Harry was waiting outside of the bathroom, her book bag in his hands. “You left your stuff…”

“Oh yes,” she said. How was it that she had gotten so worked up that she’d forgotten her things? She took a deep breath, “Thank you, Harry. Well, I’d better get going…”

She hurried off before Harry could say anything further. She needed to pull herself together before having to sit alone, yet again, at dinner.

She changed into more comfortable clothes and snuggled with Crookshanks for a bit before grabbing a book and slipping out of her dormitory. The halls were almost empty, most of the student body down in the Great Hall.

The noise of the Hall swelled as she got closer, and she took a deep breath at the top of the landing, fortifying herself before descending the staircase to the entrance hall.

Zabini was exiting the Great Hall as she came to the bottom of the stairs. He noticed her and glanced behind himself, into the Hall, before walking directly up to her.

“Hey,” he said, “Everything okay?”

Hermione stared up at him, surprised. She eyed his face, his furrowed brows, warily, “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his school robes. “Because Weasley was being a git.”

She felt a surge of indignation, an urge to defend Ron to Zabini, a Slytherin who often kept company with the Malfoys and Parkinsons of the school. But she stopped herself. None of those people were supposed to be her best friend. And Zabini, who was supposed to be like them, was standing in front of her, looking down at her with more concern than she’d gotten from Ron in a long time.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly. She tilted her head at him, wondering what had made him come up to her.

He nodded once, looking satisfied, before abruptly turning away, raising one hand in a wave, “See you at the party.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, unsure if her response had reached him as he hurried down the staircase that led to the Slytherin common room.

To Be Continued

#HogwartsBSU #Blaise Zabini #Hermione Granger

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aidanchaser · 5 years

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Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero and @magic713m

Chapter Six Draco’s Detour

Malfoy Manor had become a busy place this summer, but Draco did his best not to participate. He kept to himself as often as he could. His bedroom, with its high ceilings and gold and silver leaf decor over white marble, was a relative safe-haven, even though being alone with his thoughts was not ideal.

He spent most of his time attending to one of two mental tasks: either Occlumency or, as Draco had begun thinking of it, “The Plan.”

Occlumency was easy, at least in concept. He had to practice not thinking, and hope that when Aunt Bella tried to read his mind at breakfast the next morning, he could conceal his thoughts from her. It had been difficult at first, and he’d seethed as she teased him about Pansy Parkinson or his struggles in Care of Magical Creatures. The worst breakfast had been the one where she’d uncovered a memory of a letter he’d nearly sent to Remus Lupin last year — he’d thrown it away, it was nothing, really — but it didn’t stop Bella from going into one of her worst tirades. She’d suggested if Draco wanted to learn something from a vicious creature, he could spend an evening with Fenrir Greyback.

Draco shivered just from the memory of it and tried to clear his mind in the way Occlumency required, but it was hard to get Bella’s shrill, furious voice out of his head.

So instead he turned his attention to the Plan. It wasn’t a great plan, not yet, and he would need to have reserve plans, just in case one of them failed. So far, he only had the outline of the first one.

Draco paced his bedroom slowly. By now, he was familiar with exactly how many steps it took him to circle the room, as familiar as if it were a prison. Ten from bed to window, where he could look out at the pure white peacocks that strutted around the yard and shrieked as shrilly as Aunt Bellatrix. The sun was just beginning to rise and Draco rubbed his eyes. He did not realize he had been up all night.

It was five more steps to his desk, where old textbooks were stacked and blank parchment laid out. Draco had initially sat down to write out his ideas, but he’d found himself afraid to put anything to paper. Instead, he kept all his thoughts in his head, which, while allowing him some measure of secrecy, certainly made it more difficult to review details.

But secrecy was a necessary measure. His mother had tried, fervently, to make him reveal his Plan, but he knew he didn’t need her help. She probably thought his silence a sign of incompetence, and it only made him angrier. He resented each time she asked to help or offered advice. He had a plan, and the sum of it was rather good; it would just require some very difficult magic Draco wasn’t sure he could perform.

But there was magic he was certainly good at — the Imperius Curse, for one. While Draco had been unable to resist the Imperius Curse in Moody’s class, he’d become adept at performing it under Aunt Bella’s tutelage. Macnair and Yaxley could have done with a lesson from Moody.

The Imperius Curse, however, was only a backup plan. Draco knew it could be unreliable. The victim could be discovered or they could lose their mind resisting and his entire plan would unravel. And, he would somehow need to communicate with the Imperiused person without being detected. It was too risky. Useful, but on its own it would not suffice.

It was only three steps from his bedroom to the door, which opened up into his own private receiving area. It had been something of a nursery when Draco was younger, and as he grew, it turned into his own private parlor. When his parents guests brought their children to dinner parties, their children would spend time up here, with Draco. Occasionally that meant Crabbe and Goyle, who were as thick as they were wide and did little other than eat the snacks the house-elf had provided. More often, it was Leonardo and Theodore Nott who visited. While Leo was a few years older than them, Theo was Draco’s age, and they’d been close as children. The books on the shelves were ones they held a common interest in — books about dark creatures, diagrams of mysterious artefacts, or mysterious, unexplained phenomena in wizarding history. In addition to the books, the shelves were full of dark artefacts and preservation jars of dark creatures, not unlike Snape’s dungeon back at Hogwarts.

Beneath the window was a tea table, where the house-elf was carefully setting out tea. Though her hands shook so badly the silver clattered loud enough to give Draco a headache, he felt relief. If Winky was setting tea up in his room, there would be no formal breakfast downstairs. That meant the Dark Lord was away on business.

Worse than Occlumency lessons, worse than Unforgivable Curse lessons, worse than mulling over the Plan, was dining with the Dark Lord. Draco had met him for the first time last Christmas, when he’d come home from Hogwarts for the holiday. While the Malfoys had never been exuberant celebrators, the Dark Lord’s presence had made for an exceptionally damp and dreary holiday, especially since the Dark Lord had been furious with his recent failure in seeking out the prophecy about Harry Potter. This summer, since the prophecy had been destroyed and Lucius Malfoy arrested, had been far worse.

The door opened without warning and Draco immediately steeled both his mind and nerves, prepared for a Legilimency attack from Aunt Bella, or something worse, but it was only his mother in the doorway. Usually she knocked, but she appeared to be in quite the hurry.

“Good, you are awake. And you’re dressed — are those yesterday’s robes? — never mind, Draco, we need to leave quickly.”

Draco noted the wide-brimmed hat on her head and the purse in her hand. “Where are we going?”

“Diagon Alley,” she said impatiently. “You need your school things.”

Draco flushed. He had told his mother he’d be going to Diagon Alley today, but he’d meant it more as a polite way of informing her he’d be out of the house. He had not meant it as a request for escort. He had other things to take care of, things he couldn’t do under her watch. “I don’t need you to take me, Mother. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Hurry up, eat your breakfast. It will take us quite some time to get through the security at Gringotts — and you —” Narcissa Malfoy’s mouth curled in disgust as she turned to the house-elf, “— that racket is entirely unacceptable. If you can’t even serve a meal without banging dents in the silver, what are you good for?”

Winky the house-elf bowed quickly, stammering out a flurry of apologies and promising to appropriately punish herself. She wasn’t so different from Dobby, though she burned meals less often, which Draco appreciated. Winky had joined the Malfoy family after the Triwizard Tournament. She’d needed employment after Barty Crouch, Jr. had been killed, and the Malfoys had been suffering with a small wizard staff for two years. It was a drain on comfort and finances, as far as Draco was concerned. Winky had been an excellent solution, until the Dark Lord had borrowed her shortly after the winter holidays. He hadn’t said why, only that he needed to “check on something important.” Winky hadn’t been the same since she’d returned.

But his mother had a point. House-elves were not meant to make a scene, so Draco had little sympathy as she vanished from the sitting room, presumably to punish herself.

There was little Draco could do to get out of going to Diagon Alley with his mother, so, with as much sulk as possible, Draco ate his breakfast and followed her down to the entrance. Her heels clicked against the white tile flooring, which had the unfortunate effect of alerting Aunt Bella to their departure.

She appeared in front of the door almost as quickly as if she had Apparated there, though it was impossible to Apparate within Malfoy Manor.

“Where are you two off to?” Aunt Bella asked in a falsely sweet voice.

Draco did his best to empty his mind as his mother answered.

“Just getting Draco’s school things, Bella. It’s a shame you can’t join us.” Narcissa tried to step past her but Bella grabbed her arm.

“Oh, come now, little sister. It wouldn’t be terribly hard — I could just take a lock of your hair and put it in a little potion. Draco and I could have a lovely shopping day together.”

If Narcissa was at all terrified of the idea of her sister stealing her identity, Draco couldn’t see it on her face. She was as polite and impassive as ever. “If it would please you, Bella, by all means, take Draco to Gringotts. He’ll need new robes from Madam Malkin’s, and his N.E.W.T-level textbooks from Flourish and Blotts, and fresh potion supplies from —”

Bella let go of Narcissa with a roll of her eyes. “You can’t even indulge me in a little joke?” She stepped aside and let Narcissa open the door. “Have a good time with mummy, Draco.” She blew him a kiss. “Do let me know if she takes any detours she shouldn’t.”

This last statement sacrificed her falsely sweet voice for a terrifyingly honest snarl. Draco hurried after his mother without even a good-bye.

Bella had watched Narcissa like a hawk this last month. Draco didn’t know the details of it, but he knew his mother had gone to Snape for help and Bella had been displeased. Draco had been displeased, too. He resented the way his mother bent so easily under the Dark Lord, under Bella, and he resented the way his mother didn’t believe he was capable of fulfilling the Dark Lord’s order. She didn’t believe he could do it, and she’d gone to Snape — Snape of all people — for help.

True, Snape had been Draco’s favorite teacher for years. Snape was head of Slytherin and had always been helpful to Draco in both Defense class and Potions class. Snape had a deep knowledge of the Dark Arts that Draco respected and admired. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Since then, Draco had lost his father and he knew it was Snape’s fault. Snape was the one who had told the Dark Lord that the prophecy was stored in the Department of Mysteries. Snape was the one who told the Dark Lord that there might be more he hadn’t initially overheard, and that the Dark Lord should find a way to claim it, perhaps finding the secret to killing Potter. Snape was the one who had been the bait to lure Potter to the Ministry and — worst of all — all the Death Eaters knew Snape was still fond of Lily Potter.

Draco didn’t know which disgusted him more. That Snape loved a Mudblood or that Snape was responsible for his father’s sentence in Azkaban. Or, worse than that, Snape was still on Voldemort’s arm, at least as close as Bella was. Draco was going to change that. He may have feared Bella, but he was eager to make her proud, to make the Dark Lord proud, and to avenge what was done to his father. Failure was not an option.

Narcissa Apparated them to London, which Draco supposed was one benefit of going with his mother. He had another year before he would be seventeen and could even take his Apparition exam. They entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, as most wizards did. Draco was used to Tom, the barman, greeting them with a certain amount of grace. Today, Tom hardly looked up from the glass he was polishing.

The unusually empty bar should have been a clue to Draco, but he was still stunned to see how much Diagon Alley had changed in the few short months since the Dark Lord’s return was made public.

Every shop window had been covered in Ministry of Magic leaflets and posters. It was impossible to window shop; all someone would get out of it would be a sense of paranoia, terrible advice on defending oneself from Dark Wizard attacks, and maybe a sneer from an Azkaban wanted poster. The ice cream shop next to the Leaky Cauldron was boarded up and a notice had been posted saying, “Please owl Auror Marcy Longfellow with any information on the whereabouts of Florean Fortescue.” It was marked with the gold Ministry of Magic seal. The windows of the shop next door were plastered in Death Eaters. Aunt Bella’s face looked strange to Draco. She was laughing maniacally, and her eyes were crazed. She was so haughty at home. Perhaps not as poised as his mother, but she’d shown a measure of control, and even the photographs of her and Narcissa from their youth showed her arrogance. That wasn’t to say Draco had never seen her madness, he’d just only seen it in her rage, not her laughter. He shivered, unsure which was worse.

Narcissa and Draco hurried on to Gringotts at the end of Diagon Alley. They passed several stalls that had cropped up over the summer, advertising defense against werewolves, Inferi, dementors, and even Dark Wizards themselves. Draco wondered how some magical broach could possibly determine who was or wasn’t a “Dark Wizard,” but he gave the booth as wide a berth as possible.

The most interesting shop and most noticeable, by far, was the brand new “Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” Everything in the windows flew, flipped, or flashed. A bright purple poster with gold lettering heralded their latest product: “U-No-Poo.” It was an excellent parody of the Ministry of Magic posters plastered in Diagon Alley and just for that, Draco almost found it funny. He had little interest in supporting a Weasley business, but there were a few things advertised in that shop window that caught his eye. Their advertisement for their recently imported Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, for one, looked particularly useful. Draco made a note to pick up a catalog when they passed by it again.

As his mother had predicted, it took them quite a while to get their money from Gringotts. Draco wasn’t fond of goblins, but at least they didn’t throw the Malfoys distrustful looks, no more than they did any other wizards. The only thing that the goblins had an interest in was keeping their clients’ gold safe and ready for use. The Malfoys were still important clients. That didn’t protect them from all the wand-waving, probity-probing, and sight-scanning all clients had to go through before being allowed to access their vault.

Once they’d secured enough gold to last them a fair while, they made their first stop at Flourish and Blotts. Draco had received an Outstanding on his Potions O.W.L., so he picked up Advanced Potion-Making. He also got the new Defense textbook, Confronting the Faceless. Draco didn’t know who the new Defense teacher would be, but the book certainly looked more interesting than the one Umbridge had assigned. He also guessed by the title that they would do something they’d never done in her class: actually cast defensive spells.

Draco was also taking Charms and Transfiguration at N.E.W.T. level so he picked up those textbooks as well. He’d achieved O.W.L.s in a few other subjects, like Astronomy and Herbology, but he didn’t have much interest in taking those classes.

Truthfully, Draco didn’t have much interest in any of his classes. Potions and Defense had always been interesting subjects to him, but even those didn’t matter much in the face of the task he’d been given. If he’d come to Diagon Alley without his mother, Draco might not have even stopped for his school books or the potions supplies they picked up next. He had interest in one thing, and it was around the corner in Knockturn Alley.

But Draco certainly wasn’t going to take his mother with him for that task. He’d have to find a way to slip out of her sight.

Draco was just considering telling his mother he needed to run back for a bag of gnarl quills he’d forgotten to grab from the potions shop, and surely she could go along without him, when she pulled him into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

The shop bell jingled as they entered, and the bustle of Diagon Alley vanished, replaced by the click of a sewing machine and the gentle sound of a harp. Madam Malkin stood from her desk as they entered and the clicking noise stopped. She took off her glasses to get a better look at them.

“My, Mister Malfoy, how you’ve grown. I imagine your school robes hardly fit anymore. Come, come, let’s get you fitted.”

“He’s outgrown his dress robes as well,” Narcissa said, as they walked to the full-length mirrors and the fitting stool. Draco ignored her hand and stepped onto it without assistance. “Have you anything new in stock?”

“I have a fresh design set from Berlin, arrived just last week. We can look over the patterns and see if there’s anything to Mister Malfoy’s taste, perhaps even something for yourself, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Thank you, but I’m just here for Draco today.”

“You didn’t need to be here,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t let you go about Diagon Alley by yourself, Draco.”

She reached out to stroke his hair, but Draco ducked away from her. He held his arms out and let Madam Malkin pin the robes on and tried to look serious. The face looking back at him in the mirror just looked petulant.

“I’m not a child, in case you hadn’t noticed, Mother.” He stared at himself as he spoke, watched how his brow furrowed like a child’s might before a tantrum and tried to compose his features. It only served to make him look tired. He’d always been pale, but he thought he looked lighter than usual. Maybe the lighting in here was just awful. He tried again to sound grown up. “I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

Madame Malkin clicked her tongue at him as she pinned the sleeve of his new robe to the shoulder. His pale skin turned pink as she chided him, like he was a toddler instead of sixteen.

“Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering on our own anymore. It’s nothing to do with being a child —”

One of the pins caught in Draco’s shoulder and he flinched. His exhaustion and his frustration overwhelmed him. “Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”

Madam Malkin huffed irritably as Draco stalked from the single full-length mirror to the three-fold mirror that would show the robes from all sides. He caught sight of four people standing at the door and he did not think his mood could get worse, but it did.

“If you’re wondering what that smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in.”

Madam Malkin hurried over with her tape measure as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom each drew their wands. Hermione Granger stood behind them, trying to pull them back, insisting it wasn’t worth the fight, but she only had two hands.

“I don’t think there is any need for language like that!” said Madam Malkin. “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop, either.”

“Yeah, like you lot would dare do magic outside of school,” Malfoy snapped. “Really, Longbottom, what curse do you think you’re going to get off on me? You’re not even pointing your wand the right way.”

To Draco’s delight, Longbottom did in fact check to make sure he was holding his wand correctly.

“That is quite enough!” Madam Malkin said. “Madam — Please —” She looked back at Narcissa for help, as if Draco would somehow listen to her more than Madam Malkin.

Narcissa strode over and the disgust she’d shown at Winky’s poor service was visible once again as she looked over Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom. “Put those away.” There was no anger in her voice, only hard, cold, immovable steel. “If you ever attack my family, I shall ensure it is the last thing you ever do.”

Potter stepped forward. He seemed to wear the white scar marring his dark forehead like a proud badge. His green eyes flashed with arrogance. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Madam Malkin looked like she was going to have a heart attack. Her hands flew to her chest and all the color drained from her face. “Really — you shouldn’t accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!”

But Potter did not stow his wand.

“I see,” Narcissa said in a low voice, “that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.”

Draco’s heart raced. His ears grew hot, but his face seemed cold. It was not a confession, barely even a warning, but Draco knew she meant those words, more seriously than Potter could even fathom.

Potter looked around the store, mock surprise fueling his arrogance. “Wow, look at that. He’s not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband.”

Rage burned in Draco, hot, white, eating at his exhaustion. He stepped forward, forgetting Madam Malkin had not finished pinning the hem. He stumbled over the excess fabric.

The shop bell rang as the door opened one more time. Draco’s mother caught his shoulder, holding him steady and holding him back. Then her hands tightened and her nails dug into his skin. Draco looked up and saw why.

“… won’t be long.” Sirius Black turned from whoever he’d been talking to in the doorway and surveyed the scene in Madam Malkin’s shop: the boys’ wands drawn, Hermione trying to talk them down, Narcissa composed and Draco furious, and poor Madam Malkin, who decided it might be best just to ignore it all together, and began fixing Draco’s hem.

Sirius didn’t look too well himself. Half of his face was washed in purple, the yellow edges of a bruise fading into his pale skin. He adjusted his leather jacket and Draco saw his hands, too, were marked with red and purple blotches. Draco thought he’d offer a bag of galleons to whatever Dark Wizard had cursed Sirius Black so completely.

But once Draco got past the injuries, he was struck by just how much Sirius looked like his mother and his aunt. He’d only seen Sirius Black at a handful of Hogwarts Quidditch games, but here, as Sirius and Narcissa stared each other down, it was impossible to deny just how alike they looked. Draco had never, not for a minute, considered that Sirius Black was related to him,. Now he could not see how he had missed it.

Before Draco could decide what to do with this information, Madam Malkin, determined to carry on as if nothing was wrong, started to roll up his left sleeve. “I think this left sleeve should come up just a bit more, dear, let me just —”

“Ouch!” he slapped her hand away, though she had not pricked him. “Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman!” Mother — I don’t think I want these anymore.” Draco yanked the robes off, pins and all, and tossed them to the floor.

“You’re right, Draco.” His mother kept her eyes on Sirius, like she hadn’t decided if she knew him or not. “Now that I know the kind of scum that shops here, I think we’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”

Draco pushed past them, knocking against Ron as he did so. He pulled the door of the shop open to the street and was startled to find a very large shape in his way. Carefully, he edged around Hagrid, and without looking back to see if his mother was following, walked up the street to Twilfitt and Tatting’s.

This time, Draco and his mother did not fight over whether Draco should or shouldn’t be able to do his shopping alone. They maintained a tense silence, commenting only on the fit of the school robes and the design of the custom dress robes they ordered. Narcissa ordered a set of dress robes for herself, as well.

Narcissa slipped the box of robes into the bag of books. “Why don’t we take care of Quidditch supplies next?”

It was a thoughtful peace offering. She knew Draco liked Quidditch, and he would be able to make decisions about the purchases she could not, since she didn’t know very much about the sport. But Draco only bristled. He hadn’t thought once about Quidditch since his last match against Hufflepuff. That was before O.W.L.s, before his father had been arrested, before he’d been given his monumental task.

Narcissa noticed his displeasure and suggested an alternative. “If you don’t need Quidditch supplies this year, then our last stop is getting owl pellets for Ulysses, and I believe he might need a new traveling cage. That old one’s gotten a bit tarnished, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t need to buy pellets for a stupid hand-me-down owl,” Draco snapped.

Draco had seen his mother angry plenty of times, but he’d never seen her angry at something he’d said.

“Ulysses is a family owl, not a hand-me-down. You should be proud to own him — I thought you were proud of him!”

“Finish the shopping yourself. I’ll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“No —” She reached for him, but Draco had already slipped out of her reach. He did not head straight for Knockturn Alley. Instead, he slipped through the crowd and right into the Quidditch shop. He could hear his mother calling for him, and he waited until she had entered the shop to slip out without her noticing. Draco was content to let her search among the broom racks and practice robes. He had more important business.

His first stop was Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. He knew better than to go inside. He did not think Fred and George Weasley would give him any business, not if they knew it was him. But he snatched one of the catalogs from the stand outside the shop and hastily flipped through it. The description of the Instant Darkness Powder he’d seen demonstrated in the shop window certainly sounded useful. The Decoy Detonators weren’t bad either. He didn’t see much use for the section titled, “WonderWitch,” and the Muggle tricks looked utterly ridiculous. The fireworks, while flashy, probably wouldn’t help him. But some of the prank products seemed practical for Draco’s needs. Even the Skiving Snackbox might be helpful if he needed to make an inconspicuous getaway.

Draco glanced over his shoulder one more time to make sure that his mother hadn’t followed him then hurried back to Knockturn Alley.

Draco had been to Knockturn Alley a few times before with his father, and most often, they stopped at Borgin and Burkes. There were other pawn shops on the street, but none staffed by respectable wizards who were willing to make discrete purchases. The Ministry had tightened rules on Dark Artefacts in recent years and the Malfoys had needed to pass along certain items. At the time, Draco hadn’t realized the half of what the objects could do. Now, he wished he had them. They might make his job much easier.

But the Plan didn’t involve dark objects. It involved one specific object, and a strange event that had occurred last spring. Fred and George Weasley had shoved Graham Montague into a Vanishing Cabinet located somewhere within Hogwarts. Montague had, as the cabinet’s name suggested, Vanished. Draco hadn’t cared too much about Vanishing Cabinets, even after Montague’s disappearance. It wasn’t until Montague came back that Draco’s interest was piqued.

Montague had talked at length about his experience, to anyone who would listen. He would moan and complain about the Weasley twins, and say that while he was trapped inside the cabinet, he’d heard bits of conversation from Borgin and Burkes. That had intrigued Draco, who was well aware one could not Apparate nor Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds. And when Draco had been set his task by the Dark Lord, he had begun further research on Vanishing Cabinets.

Sure enough, when Draco entered Borgin and Burkes, the large cabinet he’d recalled from his childhood visits was still there.

Mr. Borgin sat at his shop counter, examining a glass box that appeared to be empty. Draco wondered if it housed an invisible object or a curse, but he didn’t dwell on it long. He had a more pressing task ahead of him.

“Ah, good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” Borgin did not smile. He set the box aside. “Are we selling today? I must say, I’d be very impressed if your family had managed to hold onto anything of interest in the wake of the ah… events of the summer.”

Draco stiffened. His upper lip curled, much like his might have were she here. “Actually, I’m interested in this Vanishing Cabinet.”

Borgin’s eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly. “A useful object in these troubling times. You know how it works then? You simply step inside, Disappear, and Reappear when you are ready.”

“I’m well aware of how most Vanishing Cabinets work. Are you aware that this cabinet has a twin?”

Borgin stroked his chin. “Twin cabinets are quite rare. If it does indeed have a twin, its price is double.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not paying for this cabinet.”

Borgins eyes grew very cold. “Then, Mr. Malfoy, I’m afraid our business is concluded.”

“No, it isn’t. You see, this cabinet has a twin, but the twin doesn’t work. I’m going to fix it. You’re going to tell me how. See, a friend of mine got stuffed into the twin, and kept hearing conversations in this shop. I’d like to repair it, to restore the passage between the cabinets, allowing them to be used for travel. So tell me: would you know how to fix it?”

The shopowner’s lips twitched. He clearly did not like Draco’s business dealings as much as he’d enjoyed his father’s. “Possibly. I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”

“I can’t. It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

Borgin licked his lips. He seemed almost grateful to have a way out. “Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

Draco had expected resistance, and he felt a bit of thrill as he began to roll up his left sleeve. “No?” He stepped closer and revealed the blood red mark on his arm: an image of a human skull, with a snake winding around the jawbone, and extending from the teeth like a tongue. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.”

Borgin’s face paled. This — this was what Draco wanted. He wanted the power that came with serving the Dark Lord. He wanted the power to command, to control. He wanted people to listen to him, to follow his orders.

“Tell anyone,” Draco said, “and there will be retribution.” He added the only threat he could think of that might be worse than the Dark Lord himself. “You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.”

“There will be no need for —”

“I’ll decide that.” Draco rolled down his sleeve and buttoned the cuff. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe.” He gestured to the cabinet. “I’ll need it.”

Borgin’s voice still shook. “Perhaps you’d like to take it now?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man. How would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”

“Of course not, sir.” Borgin bowed, as deeply as he had when Lucius Malfoy had demanded secrecy on some of his sales, or asked things to be held for a time, until the Ministry reduced their raids.

“Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother. Understand?”

“Naturally, naturally,” and Borgin bowed once more.

Draco left in a hurry. He hoped his mother would be waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron. He didn’t want to spend another minute in Diagon Alley. The thrill of intimidating Borgin faded not long after stepping out of the shop. The pounding in his ears was slowly turning into a pounding in his head. The success of step one was washed over by the pressure of what was still to come. He tried to have confidence in his Plan, but he knew there were many parts that could go wrong.

It did not take him long to reconnect with his mother. She was in the Leaky Cauldron, anxiety barely visible in the tight lines around her mouth. For a moment, Draco felt guilty. Not for making her worry about him — he could handle himself — but for leaving her alone in Diagon Alley. What if she had run into Sirius Black again, and he hadn’t been there to defend her?

But neither said a word as they left and Apparated home.

Draco went straight to his room, determined to avoid Aunt Bella. His mind was buzzing so loudly he knew he would not succeed in an Occlumency test right now. He distracted himself with his new school things, and flipped through his Charms textbook.

Right there, in the course introduction, tucked into the list of standard charms was the Protean Charm. Draco had heard that before…. Yes, that Mudblood Granger had used it to communicate with her stupid group of Dumbledore loyalists.

Draco slipped a galleon out of his pocket and flipped to the page detailing the Protean Charm. He had the beginnings of a Backup Plan, just in case the Plan went poorly. If the Vanishing Cabinet was not enough, if he needed help from outside Hogwarts, he could use a charmed galleon for communication, just as Potter had. Someday, he’d have to thank Potter, Weasley, and Granger for all their help.

#draco malfoy #harry potter #harry potter and the half-blood prince #harry potter everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #hbp

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