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polarisgreenley · 1 month

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🏀we BALL🏀

Honestly my cheeks, sides and diaphragm have no recovered at how funny this fic is.

Her and the Hoop | Part 1

Solomon x ball ✨🏀

Tags: Solomon x ball, SFW, Solomon is deluded, one single humorous sexual reference, historical inaccuracies, lots of Australian pride, hammed-calves, not a single rule of the game is followed, witches/wizards can now contract tuberculosis

This crack fic was written for a HL discord event. I dedicate it to @morelikeravenbore and @2centniffler who I’ve written in as characters. A/N at bottom

A simple wink in their direction could ignite untold passions raging in their bosoms; as was the case for one such woman, who was fanning herself so forcefully despite the tepid temperatures of the Scottish summer.

The only logical explanation was that being in my presence had brought her to such a heightened state of arousal – an observation proven true by her husband's chagrin, engulfing him in the most violent shade of crimson. Unsurprisingly, the handsome woman collapsed to the ground, her body clearly weakened by such strong forces of lust.

I was later told it was caused by tuberculosis; to this day I do not believe them.

Word count: 918 {Wattpad | AO3}

The real reason Solomon Sallow despises his nephew so much, is because. . .

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Mostly women, married and unmarried from all across Scotland had congregated in my humble farming hamlet of Feldcroft. Desperate to witness the spectacle, they pushed against the barricades of the makeshift arena, corsets tight-laced and petticoats hiked up to expose their ankles to me. Perhaps it was to avoid the manure soiling their finest gowns – but I believe it not to be the latter.

The only logical explanation was that being in my presence brought her to such a heightened state of arousal – an observation proven true by her husband's chagrin, engulfing him in the most violent shade of crimson. Unsurprisingly, the handsome woman collapsed to the ground, her body clearly weakened by such strong forces of lust.

I was later told it was caused by tuberculosis; to this day I do not believe them.

For a moment, I entertained the fantasies brought on by the overwhelming amount of female attention, being naturally curious to what their soft flesh might feel like when they threw themselves against me – lauding my muscular frame from years of plowing the field; but I digress.

Nothing, and I repeat: nothing, could be comparable to to the feeling of supple leather, cradling the beauty of which was firm and round, inflated with so much love that seeped into my calloused fingertips. The truth – was only she, my orange and spherical lover could fulfill me, and I desired for nothing more. My obsession for the game overshadowed everything, and all that mattered was her and the hoop. 'Wilsona' is what I affectionately named her.

The sun had shone so brightly that day, it's warm rays bathing me in glinted golds and the promises of glory. It was the game of the century – the final showdown, so to speak. As captain of the Feldcroft Flobberworms, I'd assured our triumph against every opponent we had faced thus far. Today would mark our final and greatest victory in a worldwide basketball tournament, held for only the most talented of witches and wizards in the profession.

The crowd was vivacious, chanting my name before I'd even begun warming up with my trademark three-quarter shots.

Sol-o-mon! Sol-o-mon! Sol-o-mon!

I couldn't blame them; I had quickly risen to become one of Scotland's most revered basketball players – and arguably, one of the greatest in the world. I pencil-rolled down the court, grasping Wilsona tightly above my head before knocking one– two– then three of my own teammates off their feet. When implemented during a match, my then wobbling teammates would knock down our opponents like bowling balls to pins.

With the other team flailing about for purchase, I'd use my immense strength to swing Wilsona over my head and launch her into the air, having full trust she'd be caught by my ever-dependable teammate, Banshee. Holding the perfect amount of muscle and buoyancy in her tender-hammed calves, she'd use their power to float through the air, slam-dunking my Wilsona into the hoop.

I expected to be met with raucous applause after graciously displaying a preview of my three-quarter shot, and yet, my ears were assaulted by a name I'd heard only in myths...

Aura. . .

AURA, AURA, AURA! The crowd cheered.

It was the infamous wild woman, captain of the Australian team the Darwin Dugbogs, who'd just arrived at the scene in a chariot drawn by a dozen Milo-drinking Abraxans, evident by the chunky malted drink dried at their muzzles. Rumors of her story had swept through the hamlets like a haze, with some claiming she'd been taken in as an orphaned child by a court of kangaroos and raised as their own. As a man of considerable intelligence and impeccable breeding, I was incredulous to believe such utter hogwash.

An air of mystery and intrigue surrounded the wild woman, flowing through her lustrous auburn hair she'd adorned with sticks from her homeland. As she approached me, I found no reason to believe such a lovely and diminutive lady was anything to be feared on the court; my reputation was secure.

'How ya goin'?' She said, her native tongue so exotic and beautiful it could only be compared to a siren song.

I was utterly speechless, and even more so as she'd managed to ignore my handsomely rugged features in favor of the view above my head. A confident and all-knowing smile tugged at the edges of her delicate lips, as if she already knew exactly how the view from above would appear.

A ball of nerves settled into the pit of my stomach then, but I stood my ground. Defending my territory, I repeatedly dragged one leg back through the dirt while firmly planted on the other, like a bull preparing to charge.

In my own native tongue, I answered her back.

'Fuck it, we ball.'

AN: The idea for this hastily written crack fic was inspired by the image above, which I scribbled on after noticing it looked as if Solomon was about to slam-dunk a basketball through a hoop. I couldn't have written it without having met some insanely lovely people on a Hogwarts Legacy discord server 🩵✨

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy crack fic #solomon sallow #aurelie collins #banshee #sebastian sallow #anne sallow #feldcroft

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polarisgreenley · 1 month

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📣Hello please go read this it is beauty it is grace 📣

If he could immortalise your beauty and smile, he would build a monument of diamond, or paint a mural in the sky. If he could bottle this moment to eternally relive, he would bathe in the waters of a pensieve and never seek the breath of release. If he could promise everything will be all right, that you’ll find happiness and warmth as long as you have each other, he would offer his hand and wand, and his lips, amidst the song of an Unbreakable Vow, a solemn pledge that he would stay with you forever. All you have to do is let him in.

— Chapter 12, Stay With Me

For the one-year anniversary of my Garreth/ Reader OC fic Stay With Me [AO3, Wattpad] I commissioned the phenomenal @lyworth for these two pieces, featuring Garreth and the Reader, Prim! Thank you so much ❤️📚🍰🐦🔥

#hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley #garreth x reader #garreth x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy garreth #hogwarts legacy oc #hl prim #hogwarts legacy mc #acvasverse #stay with me

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polarisgreenley · 1 month

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Sebastian: I have a crush... on MC.

Garreth: Same.

Sebastian: What?!

Ominis: Get with the times, Sebastian. We all have a crush on MC.

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polarisgreenley · 1 month

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A Bouquet of New Beginnings: Chapter 26 "Peony II"

Summary: After the Scriptorium/2nd trial

Floriography: Life & Death

Full Chapter: [AO3]//6.9k words

Excerpt below:

The last of the leaves barely clung to the tree branches just outside Professor Fig’s office windows.

“Artemis, are you sure that you are alright?”

Artemis nodded. Cotton was sandpaper and the chill resembled a ravenous bite. But these were exaggerations on what was normal; two weeks in the Hospital Wing was enough.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, for your patience.”

“Don’t thank me, Artemis,” said Professor Fig as his eyebrows furrowed. “Frankly I’d prefer we delay this until the new year, but I’m afraid the Keepers were right. That castle is swarming with Rookwood and Ranrok’s lot, and waiting longer could mean more trouble. Not the friendliest of alliances, but still. Come. Let’s head to the nearest spot to apparate.”

The moment the two of them reached beyond the anti-apparition perimeter, they disillusioned themselves – and she casted a pre-emptive Sensory Balancing Charm – before Professor Fig apparated them both to what appeared to be right inside the castle walls just behind a set of tents.

It appeared to be the edges of a courtyard, and in prime seating a heated conversation between Rookwood and Ranrok. The top hat wearing man paced back and forth, gesticulating as Ranrok remained stern. His armour looked… even more entrenched in the red globular magic.

“If I’d known your plan was to dig up half the country- “

“I wouldn’t have to dig if you could simply manage to bring me that snow-haired child you disgustingly call a rabbit,” growled Ranrok.

Rookwood spat. “We wouldn’t need her if you hadn’t sent a dragon retrieve the container, I spent months and countless Ministry favours tracking.”

“You let them board the carriage.” Ranrok jabbed his finger.

“Have you not acquired enough power here?” Rookwood gestured around himself. “I allowed you to tunnel under my family home – “

“ALLOWED ME?” Ranrok bellowed. “You are here only because you are descended from a Keeper and may at some point inadvertently become valuable. We have an agreement. I will share with you the power that I discovered if you locate the stores of magic that are yet to be found.”

Ranrok’s shoulder pads and gauntlets glowered like heated iron or lava. Yet from his chest Artemis could see the faint waves of something red and black. Her skin prickled as the hairs on her arm stood.

“So, unless you want another demonstration of my power – a power that you one day hope to wield – bring her to me.”

With the final word – and glare – exchanged, Rookwood apparated away as Ranrok marched into the castle itself.

A few minutes passed before they broke their silence.

“So that’s why they’re digging under Isidora’s house,” whispered Artemis.

“It seems that way. It’s also clear they both know about the Keepers. Highly disconcerting,” whispered Professor Fig. “Follow me; with all of the damage this castle’s weathered, there’s bound to be an entrance through the battlements.”

The familiar scent of chai guided Artemis near her mentor through the battlements of the castle, and sure enough a bricked wall had weathered away into the upper levels of a severely beaten down central hall. Professor Fig held her hand as they apparated down to the lower level.

“Professor, those buttons.”

“Hm? You mean those bronze things? Wait, that symbol…”

“Yes, I recognise it from the library. Let me just –” Artemis started as she sent off some basic casts toward the bronze buttons. The large door beyond the staircase glowed the typical ancient magic blue before it unlocked and opened forward.

“Incredible,” breathed Professor Fig. “This is different from the first trial entrance. Though I’m surprised it appears nobody used the door.”

“Professor Rackham mentioned my regular magic already imbues ancient magic,” explained Artemis as she followed Professor Fig’s footfall into what seemed to be a cellar. “Perhaps the symbol only reacts to my casts? Or, touch.”

“Perhaps. Though that leaves the question of how – oh.” Professor Fig paused as they entered the main part of the cellar. “I suppose that gaping hole explains how they got in. Drills.”

Dim sunlight poured into the dark cellar from a gargantuan hole in the ceiling. Bricks were strewn about haphazardly, clear that anything that had existed inside this portion of the cellar had been plundered.

“Professor?”

“Yes?”

“It’s… something’s glowing red down to our left,” whispered Artemis. “The same glow as Ranrok’s armour.”

“And that’s where the goblin tracks lead. Stay close.”

Only the sounds of their feet reverberated against the stone walls as they walked further down. In front of them opened a large, spherical cavern that seemed to have exploded. The earth was cracked as they reached closer to the source of red, and the hairs on the back of Artemis’ neck stood as her skin burned.

“This must be the store of magic that they were arguing about; it looks empty,” remarked Professor Fig.

Before them was a gargantuan silver object split open. Red veins pumped in the earth around it – ancient magic.

“Professor Rookwood mentioned that created ancient magic can be manipulated,” said Artemis as she ignored the pain. “Why would they store ancient magic like this?”

“I’m not sure, perhaps they believed a Keeper’s home was the safest location,” mused Professor Fig. “You said it is glowing red. Is the ancient magic still there?”

Artemis narrowed her eyes at the broken object in front of them as she ignored the way her skin cried for something to cool down.

“Not exactly. The magic itself seems to have been completely removed. It – it’s hard to explain. Um… it’s more like the fire kept in the hearth during the winter night.”

“Hm. Perhaps they need this so that the magic in their armour can continue to be used? I’ll dig through Miriam’s notes some more when we get back. For right now, let’s move. I’d rather not have another surprise run-in with Ranrok or Rookwood.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, where is that portrait… ah, perhaps that way,” said Professor Fig.

The pair followed through the hall and down the stairs; goblins and human tracks were both present. Her skin cooled the further they got from that object.

“Hello?”

Professor Rookwood’s voice rang from the empty frame.

“Professor Rookwood?” Artemis asked.

Professor Fig and Artemis both dropped their disillusionment as the stout man appeared in the frame.

“Oh thank Merlin. Artemis, we heard from Professor Fig. Are you alright?”

“I’m better, sir.”

She wasn’t alright, but she’d live.

“Sir, the ancient magic you had stored in in that odd silver container – it been taken by Ranrok and his Loyalists.”

“No! Things are more dire than I could have imagined. I still don’t understand how this Ranrok could’ve known- it cannot be.”

“Professor,” cut in Professor Fig. “If Artemis is to complete the trial now and not after the New Year like I’d requested, I suggest we hurry so she can come back earlier and rest.”

Artemis blinked twice but smiled at the kindness Professor Fig offered. Professor Rookwood cleared his throat.

“Right. My apologies. This trial will ensure that you understand the power that you wield. Power without knowledge is dangerous indeed. In the wrong hands –“

Artemis bit her inner cheek to hold back from interjecting that it was already in the wrong hands.

“– We will simply have to outwit Ranrok – and my unfortunate namesake.”

Professor Rookwood waved his hand in the portrait; licks of ancient magic fluttered along her ankles before she revealed the hidden door. The ancient magic felt cooler as it erupted – a reprieve.

“I suppose this is where I must depart,” sighed Professor Fig. “Artemis. I know you are more than capable; I’ll be waiting in the Map Chamber for you. But please, please be careful. Take as much time as you need.”

Artemis gave a final nod to her mentor before she stepped through the doors.

It was gaudier than the first trial, with notes of bright gold cracked through the walls and blue-green hues reflected on every surface. The floors of the high ceiling cavern were akin to stained glass; the interior seemed of a pristine castle meant for some sort of royalty.

<<Was this really necessary…>> mumbled Artemis as she continued forward.

Her legside bag had been replenished with healing potions, and she still had a few Flaming Frenzies. Spending two weeks in the Hospital bed had not been the plan, and it showed with her severe depletion of offence potions.

She did not run up the stairs or hurry on the path as she had last time. No, if this trial was anything like the first one, she needed to save her energy for the moving statues… and probably a gargantuan one at the end on the platform.

Admittedly, she appreciated the new puzzles with the hidden pillars; it meant that she could hide things using ancient magic itself. Or even hide entire spaces – was that the logic that Isidora used when she built the Undercroft?

She hadn’t bothered to pull out her throwing knife as she continued, fully expecting statues to come attack. Instead, she swallowed an improved Thunderbrew and pulled out a few of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage seeds, ready to toss and grow. She was right.

“Herbivicus.”

Nurse Blainey had warned her that too many spells so soon after recovery – despite her physical injuries being healed – could lead to backlash. The Python Curse had coiled around her magical channels and constricted them, and there were some residual effects. With the way her skin reacted at just the proximity of the red ancient magic, she didn’t want to risk being inoperable.

Surprisingly, the cabbages took care of the statues as the teeth seemingly sunk into stone. As if their fangs oozed of acid. They even took care of the invisible statues as some rolled beyond the awkward archway in the middle of the room.

Many short breaks, statues and puzzles later, she was faced with the unpleasant familiarity of the ground shaking, and a platform standing in the centre of the caverns. The only difference was that now it contained an archway– presumably for hidden spaces and the accompanying hidden statues.

<<Great. This is, great.>>

She pulled out her first Flaming Frenzy and pocketed it whilst knocking back another Thunderbrew and her Edurus. Her skin became black diamond itself, and the ever-pervasive pain numbed. Her wand was gripped tightly as the little plant seeds came out once more. She’d conserve her magic until the big one when she couldn’t avoid it. She could do this. She was going to make it.

The Chinese Chomping Cabbages were unleased to reign chaos as she dodged the axes and swords swung by the statues, many of whom exploded from the storm that encircled her. A Sticky Solution was thrown to entrap a few as she flicked her arm, sending the gaudy Faberge egg objects to smash them into smithereens. The roots of harvested Devil’s Snare were unleashed as they strangled the stone off the ledges.

As the final statue crumbled, the platform shook violently. The centre of the platform bubbled as something in a gaudy gold and blue-green arose.

<<Why couldn’t I be wrong?>> She muttered to herself as she threw the Flaming Frenzy right onto the fifteen-foot Pensieve Guardian.

Its ancient-magic cape lit ablaze momentarily as it was swallowed by the flaming tornado. She might not be at her best state spell-casting wise, but she’d done this before. She would not break bones this time.

“Reducto. Glacius. Diffindo. Confringo.”

One after another she casted her spells, each time feeling like her stomach twisted. An uncomfortable itch existed just under her skin as bile rose to her throat. Her veins sung as she reigned a tempest down upon the statue as it dropped to its knee.

It was only when the statue brought out the military flail when she swore.

“Mother of Christ,” she sputtered as she just barely dodged its reverberating smash upon the ground. “Evanesco.”

The flail vanished momentarily, and as the statue remained confused, she pulled out her second to last Flaming Frenzy and flung it. The tornado inferno spun its dance of glory as magical shards shot out at her; she deflected each with a Protego toward the guardian that stood within the centre of the blaze.

As the statue melted into the ground with the dying flames, her lungs heaved, and her body folded as her stomach emptied its contents. Her skin was on fire and her body shook violently despite no chill in the air. Backlash.

Breathe in. Two. Three. Four.

Out. Two. Three. Four.

She managed a wiggenweld down her throat, the cool minty taste a soothing balm despite the way her hand shook. It was a full hour that she remained folded on her knees, unable to leave the ground as her body wracked of magical backlash. Slowly, she stood and made her way across the newly floating bridge, her footing steady out of willpower alone.

The giant statue of Rookwood loomed over, his hands on the floor in stoned, complicated swirls above the pensieve. A single, silvery tear fell from his eye and formulated the artefact once more.

<<Mine now,>> she whispered as she touched her wand.

The artefact became the size of a marble before being slipped into her legside bag, and she placed her face into the basin.

The memory was a direct continuation of Professor Rackham’s memories, only this time she saw from Professor Rookwood’s eyes. The Keepers had arrived to Isidora’s home in Feldcroft and were led into her home. It was a simple, lovely home. Even through Professor Rookwood’s gaze, Artemis appreciated the apothecary cabinet, the hanging dried plants, and the myriads of ingredients in the clear jars.

Artemis recognised a few of the ingredients as specialised components for advanced Healing potions – Isidora must’ve been a Healer before becoming a professor.

“We’re ready,” called out Isidora as Professor Rookwood sat. “I’ve something to show you.”

A man came out of the back room, and even through Professor Rookwood’s eyes, she gasped sharply. It was the man in the first memory, the one that had supported the little boy. It must be her father, but his shoulders carried a heavy weight.

“Father hasn’t spoken since my brother died. On my travels, I confirmed that which I’ve always believed: that we have the power to take away pain,” stated Isidora.

Artemis watched in a mixture of horror and intrigue as Isidora pointed her wand at her father’s chest. The man gasped as if he’d not had a single breath in years, and when her wand pointed back into that strange jar in her hand, she could see something in the jar. A red and black something. Globular.

Just like Ranrok’s armour.

“This is uncharted magic, Isidora,” started Professor Rackham as he stood.

It was clear that the bearded professor was shocked, horrified even. Professor Fitzgerald appeared neutral, but Professor Bakar looked… intrigued. Professor Rookwood’s own thoughts were in that it was something unknown, so many unknown variables.

“You can only see what has been sealed in the jar – and we do not know what power that may hold. But the traces of that magic are different from what I’ve seen before.”

The memory concluded with the father, who had not spoken since Isidora’s brother’s death, uttered two words.

“Thank you.”

Artemis gasped as she lifted her head back up. Why wasn’t that memory from Professor Rackham’s view?!

There must’ve been something other than just the red, floating magic that he could see, but Professor Rookwood wouldn’t have been able to… no matter. She found the crystallised wall, now familiar, that would lead her back to the Map Chamber.

She added the crystallised wall, as well as forming invisible interdimensional spaces, onto the list of things she ‘knew’ about to be taught by the Keepers as she stepped through.

“Artemis!” Professor Fig exclaimed as his shoulders slumped and a smile spread across his features. “Welcome back. Are you alright?”

“It was better than last time, sir,” she explained simply. Which was true, she didn’t break any bones or get burned. Just, was very ill.

“Well, that is good. You do look a bit pale.”

“I’ll be fine, sir. I just – there’s a lot of questions I have after this time.”

“Right. Well, the professors are here as always. Come, hopefully they’ll give you the simple answers so you can hurry and rest,” said Professor Fig.

As they approached, the portraits looked up from their positions.

“You’re back!” Professor Rackham exclaimed softly. “Good. When Professor Fig told us of your unfortunate run-in with the Python Curse, we were incredibly concerned.”

“And we are glad you made it back to us in one piece,” added Professor Rookwood. “It is most fortunate that someone so competent is following this path.”

“I – right. I’ll keep the second artefact safe as you’ve advised.”

“Good. Are you ready to move on?”

“That memory – I only saw the red ebb of magic that appeared in the jar,” said Artemis as she looked toward Professor Rackham. “I imagine you saw more than that to horrify you so.”

The bearded portrait sighed. “Indeed. When Isidora pulled out the –”

“– pain – “cut in Professor Rookwood.

“– The pain, yes,” continued Professor Rackham. “I saw a strand of blue, red and black connected between Isidora’s father’s chest and the magic on the tip of her wand.”

“But her father wasn’t in any phys –.” Artemis’ eyes widened. “She pulled out his grief?”

“What?” Professor Fig asked incredulously.

Her thumb rubbed against the glamoured scar on her palm.

“But that doesn’t make sense. Emotions aren’t solid, and not –”

“– Artemis,” cut off Professor Rookwood. “It shall be explained in due time.”

A wizened hand touched her arm; she bit her tongue and nodded.

Professor Rackham cleared his throat. “For now, allow me to introduce former Hogwarts headmistress, Niamh Fitzgerald.”

To Professor Rookwood’s left, a woman appeared in academic regalia with her crowned, braided auburn hair. Her spine was completely straight as she looked down with kindly eyes.

“How do you do? It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Artemis Loreley.”

Professor Fitzgerald spoke with a heavy Scottish accent; her voice exuded wisdom.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Professor.”

“Excellent. Considering you’ve already completed two trials, I am certain you are more than capable of completing mine,” said Professor Fitzgerald. “However, I must first – how shall I say – ‘prepare’ the location of your next trial.”

Artemis and Professor Fig looked to each other. Didn’t they have everything prepared?

Professor Rackham cleared his throat. “We trust your judgment, Professor Fitzgerald. You should know better than anyone how to manage the inconvenience of, well – “

“- a vainglorious and exasperating headmaster? Indeed I should.”

“Headmaster Black?” Artemis asked aloud. Where could the trial be to warrant something – “His office?”

Professor Fitzgerald’s oil-painted eyes lit up.

“Charles was right – you are bright. Yes, well. I will see to it that the location is prepared.”

“Professor Fitzgerald will require some time to clear the way forward. I suppose in the meantime, we shall resume our training now that you are fully healed?”

“Actually,” Professor Fig started, “the school’s term exams are coming up next week, and Artemis did only just recover from the harrowing ordeal. I’d like to suggest that the trial be done, no matter how early, to be after the holidays. This applies to the ancient magic training as well.”

The oil-painted professors all hummed.

“We agree,” said Professor Rackham. “But if you hear anything about Ranrok or this Victor Rookwood’s movements, please let us know. Until then, Professor Fig. Artemis.”

Artemis mutely nodded before she followed Professor Fig up to his office. The warm chai seemed slightly too hot between her palms as she sunk into ‘her’ armchair.

“Have you heard from Lodgok? About the helmet?” Professor Fig asked as he sat across from her.

“Not yet, sir. Though I don’t imagine it would be a simple walk into Ranrok’s territory, especially since it seems like he defected,” said Artemis.

She was still stuck on the memory she’d seen. Isidora had pulled grief from her father’s chest. Was that what she meant in the note when she said there were other way to help people? To heal people? To take away their grief?

“Artemis, you mentioned that Isidora pulled out grief out of her father?”

“Yes. That’s the only thing I could imagine – Professor, how is that even possible?”

Professor Fig hummed into his cup as he fiddled with his scarf.

“Magic is very complex, and there’s so much that we don’t know.” Professor Fig placed his cup down and folded his hands together. “I believe we discussed that emotion is a powerful magic on its own. I imagine… if Isidora figured out a way to have certain emotions attach to latent magic itself, then it is possible. However unbelievable it may seem.”

Artemis sipped her chai; the spices warmed her throat.

“But grief can be attached to so many different things. Memories of happier times. Sadness. Anger. It’s…” she trailed off.

She didn’t know where she wanted to go with this. Professor Fig shook his head.

“I don’t know, Artemis. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t find out. Hopefully, there will be other memories or research to clarify this.”

Artemis nodded. She needed to tackle that triptych after exams.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #a bouquet of new beginnings #eleazar fig #artemis loreley #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #aesop sharp

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polarisgreenley · 2 months

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Please take me to the masquerade 💃💃

So I did a thing...

#garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy garreth #garreth weasley imagine #Weasley Wednesday #It's Wednesday Somewhere OK

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polarisgreenley · 2 months

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A Bouquet of New Beginnings: Chapter 25 "Purple Vervain"

Summary: The Scriptorium (Before & During)

Floriography: I weep for you

Full Chapter: [AO3]//7.2k words

Trigger Warnings: Endangerment of a minor, pureblood supremacist times, past abuse mentions, suicide.

The below excerpt does not contain the above trigger warning items.

Excerpt below:

Artie,

Ominis accepted my apology, but he still won’t discuss the Scriptorium with me.

Could you try and talk to him?

Also on your other mystery – I think I got it. I’ll give my guess soon.

Sebastian

The Undercroft wafted of crushed alihotsy and peppermint as Artemis watched the liquid change from a murky pink to blue.

“Bind now.”

Ominis nodded as he performed the binding spell, sealing the potion’s properties into the Invigoration Draught as Artemis jotted down the brew time. The cauldron fire was quelled as Ominis silently poured the potion into vials.

A droplet landed on the testing strip – purple vervain appeared as the purple hued into blue vapours. Success.

Artemis smiled. “You did good, Ominis.”

The blond gave a small smile as he touched the vial. “Thank you. Never thought I’d ever be told I did good on a potion.”

“It’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you about the quality of a potion,” said Artemis. “Besides, these potion instructions don’t exactly help. ‘Dissolve alihotsy leaves when potion is orange.’ Really.”

“Shame, orange is such a lovely colour,” said Ominis sarcastically.

Artemis chuckled softly. “As long as you can time between each step and have the ingredients prepared beforehand, I don’t see why you couldn’t score high on the O.W.L.s.”

“Now you’re just buttering me up.”

“Just an observation. We’ll keep practising; repetition is key. But I think we had enough for tonight – three hours on an invigoration draught is a long time.”

“I agree.”

They started to clean up the makeshift preparation station, carefully transferring the remaining crushed ingredients into their respective containers. All the while, the letter from Sebastian burned a figurative hole through her legside bag.

She did say that she would talk to Ominis about it after he apologised, though she herself wasn’t wholly convinced. There could be something in the Scriptorium to help Anne or Henry, but it wasn’t a guarantee, and Ominis didn’t seem the type to withhold information without reason.

“I’m sorry.”

Ominis’ hands stopped as he lifted his head. “Whatever for?” He moved his wand from right to left as if to scan the Undercroft. “Did you two make some weird alcove on accident again?”

Artemis blinked twice before she shook her head.

“No, nothing of the sort,” said Artemis. “Though, I am sorry about that as well. I meant about… well, the Scriptorium.”

Ominis’ shoulders stiffened. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Still.”

Ominis sighed. “Is this because of what happened at the Bickle’s?”

“Did Sebastian tell you?”

“He didn’t give me specifics, but he mentioned you four were instrumental in preventing a child from being kidnapped and said child not becoming fatherless.”

“We were lucky,” muttered Artemis.

“It seems the Bickles were the lucky ones.”

Artemis didn’t respond. Mr. Bickle was stable, but he had been placed into a coma to recover from the blade’s curse according to Mrs. Bickle’s latest letter. The relief she’d felt initially fizzled away; if she knew how to break curses, if she knew –

“Artemis?”

“Hm?” She lifted her head as her thumb let go of the pressure against her scarred palm. “Sorry, I was just, thinking.”

“I see.”

“How’s the view?”

Ominis laughed once. “Not bad, actually.”

The tip of his wand blinked its usual red. Curiosity got the better of her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you see when your wand blinks? Or… pulses, rather.”

Ominis’ eyes widened slightly as his fingers smoothed over his wand.

“I don’t mind. But…” Ominis shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, I can answer that for you, though I’d be borrowing some of Aunt Noctua’s words.”

Artemis leaned against the now cleared up desk as Ominis started.

“Without my wand, I don’t see anything. Aunt Noctua said it’s like you’re in total darkness. But with my wand, I can ‘see’ the outlines of magic against objects or people. When you say my wand ‘pulses,’ that’s when my wand is communicating to me.”

“I can imagine the first time must’ve been a shock.”

“It was.” Ominis’ smile softened. “Aunt Noctua took me to Ollivander’s, and when I held my wand, it was like a whole world opened. I knew how tall Aunt Noctua was from approximately where her voice was, but it was the first time I could see her outline and exactly where she was. There were so many wand boxes on the shelves, I could see how many fingers I held up…”

“So, the pulses bounce out, hit the latent magic on objects and creatures, and then come back to translate through your wand to you,” summarised Artemis.

It sounded vaguely like how ancient magic existed latently before mixing with her active spellcasting.

“Exactly,” continued Ominis. “It’s not a spell, but it took quite a while to understand what my wand was communicating.”

“Is there a limitation to what you can see?”

“To a degree. For one, I don’t see colours. Sebastian and Anne suggested our first year that I stick my wand inside an Antidote to Common Poisons to see if I can ‘sense teal’.”

“Did you? ‘Sense teal’?”

“All I got was a wet wand for my troubles.” Ominis huffed slightly. “And like I mentioned earlier, I can only see the outlines. I can’t see paintings, nor can I see anyone’s features. Not unless someone decides to, effectively, glow with magic from the inside.”

Artemis hummed. No wonder he never asked about the painting in front of the Undercroft or about the triptych canvas. Rather, he was understandably distracted with the sheer fact an alcove with a triptych had appeared suddenly. Sebastian was rather smooth in convincing him they had stepped on some unknown magical switch while practising spells and it suddenly appeared.

“Ms. Noctua sounded like a lovely woman.”

“She was,” agreed Ominis readily. “She was different than the rest of my family. She thought like I do. Didn’t agree on the family’s use of Dark Magic.”

The blond gently bit his lower lip as he furrowed his eyebrows. Artemis waited patiently as Ominis shifted his weight on his feet.

“Aunt Noctua was a magical researcher. I – when I went back to the manor this summer, I looked for any of her research that could help Anne. Though it’s not like my family would let me take anything. Even her research was mostly hidden away.”

“The meeting last month –”

“– I managed to convince Mimsy, Aunt Noctua’s favourite house-elf that was always kind to me, to continue in my stead. To the degree that she wouldn’t get in trouble with Father. What she delivered to me was the copy of the journal about the Scriptorium and copies of letters Aunt Noctua wrote to my father. Aunt Noctua wanted to convince the rest of my family that there was more to my unfortunate ancestor than just worshipping pureblood status. She even found the entrance in the school but…suddenly she vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Yes. The last one she wrote said that she was going to try and enter the Scriptorium and would bring back what she found.”

She blanched as a pit dropped into her stomach; the image of Dad’s gravestone without the death date flitted across her mind. Richard’s bones in that cave, abandoned for forty years.

She swallowed silently. “I’m not sure how to say this but, how did your family know Ms. Noctua passed away?”

“Family tree.”

“Family tree?”

“Yes. Many pureblood families have their family tree painted magically upon their ancestral home’s walls or inside their family grimoires. The Gaunt family tree is in a grimoire, represented by coloured portraits. The day she died, my brother so kindly informed me her portrait lost its colour.”

The way his eyes flashed as they stared just slightly toward the ground was proof enough it was anything but kind. But beyond that...

“Ominis.”

“Yes?”

“I think we should go to the Scriptorium.”

Ominis whipped his head up. “Absolutely not! Weren’t you listening to what I just said?!”

“Yes.”

“Then why?! My aunt died going there and –”

“– that’s why, Ominis,” interrupted Artemis as she walked around the table. His shoulders tensed as she came closer. “If Ms. Noctua died within the Scriptorium, then she deserves more than being trapped alone. If she died beyond there, then there’d be clues as to where she is. She should be found and buried where she could be visited by her favourite nephew.”

Ominis’ eyes widened a fraction.

“I won’t force you to go,” continued Artemis. “You’re clearly, and understandably, uncomfortable about the Scriptorium. But let me do this for you, Ominis. Give you closure.”

“You don’t think there’s anything in there that could help Anne,” said Ominis simply.

Artemis shook her head. “I don’t know, there might be. But that’s not a certainty. But what we do know is Ms. Noctua went down there. Sebastian would go for Anne, and I can go for you.”

Ominis’ fist pulsed gently against his side as his eyebrows furrowed and he remained silent.

“No.”

Artemis opened her mouth before he continued.

“We will go for Aunt Noctua,” clarified Ominis as he sighed. “I’m not going to let you two just go down somewhere concocted by Slytherin by yourselves. And if there is something … I’d like to see through her work.”

Artemis blinked twice before she smiled. “Alright. Though, I think we should do it tomorrow.”

“I agree; if we tell Sebastian now he’d want to go right after.”

“Right. Plus I’d like to ask him about the shed. It’s… concerning.”

Ominis hummed. “Of course. It might be prudent if I don’t partake in that conversation.”

“Why? You’re just as concerned.”

“Because he might be more forthcoming if it was just you, and you’d tell me.” Ominis gestured toward the gate. “We should get back; it’s almost curfew.”

“Right,” said Artemis even though she wasn’t exactly satisfied with the answer. She instinctively reached for his robe as she took another Calming Draught. He allowed it as he stood in front of the lifting gate, though he didn’t move.

“Ominis?”

“I am sorry, for not coming back last time.”

She shrugged. “It’s alright. You were upset and, frankly, I don’t fault you. I managed to take another Calming Draught without him noticing.”

“It’s no excuse. I gave you my word I’d come with you every time until you’re fine – that meant I would leave with you.”

“I – oh.” She gripped his robe slightly tighter. “Thank you.”

The corner of Ominis’ lips lifted. “See. You’re consistent.”

“Are you going to ever clarify that?” Artemis asked.

Ominis chuckled.

“No.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #a bouquet of new beginnings #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #artemis loreley

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