#Thicknesse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sheeple · 5 months

Text

Miracles don't exist | 32: Love

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Talk about death [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You place a hand over the empty and cold spot on the bed next to you. A sigh escapes you as you go sit upright. Ever since Theo left with the other Death Eaters you haven't slept a wink. Terrible what-ifs running through your mind.

Deciding that you can no longer stay in bed, you make your way down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

As you stand in the dark heating up water, you notice someone entering the kitchen with the point of their wand light up. It's your aunt.

"Do you want to join me?", you ask, your head turned towards her. You see her not from the corner of your eyes and you fill two glasses with boiling water and tea leaves.

The two of you take place at the breakfast table and sit in silence. Narcissa lights a small candle and places it on the table. You trace the rim of your glass, eyes trained on the dark liquid. The air is tense. Narcissa opens her mouth before closing it quickly. She does this a couple of times, not knowing what to say.

Your head twitches. It has been doing that all night. You rub over your neck as the twitching has been hurting it.

"Since when have you been doing that", asks your aunt, eyeing you warilly.

You shrug, glancing up at her. "Don't know. A while now. It comes and goes."

There is silence between the two of you again. You never were one to talk to her about your problems. It's not something you did. not like she truly cared about you. She only took care of you because you are family and because she feels like it is her duty to the Dark Lord.

"Were you... were you always engaged to Lucius?", you ask, glancing up at her.

Your aunt looks surprised at your question. The two of you never really... talked.

At her silence, you look fully at her. She has an unreadable look on her face, one you've seen a lot lately. "No", she says curtly, "at first it was my sister Andromea who was intended to marry into the Malfoy family."

Andromea? Tonk's mother? "Isn't she married to Ted Tonks?"

Narcissa nods. "Yes. She fell in love with him and ran away from home. Seeing that Bella was already set on marrying Rudolfus, it was my duty to marry Lucius."

"Did you love him when you got married?" Your question is very childlike but brings a smile to the older woman's face.

"I used to have the biggest schoolgirl crush on Lucius at school. He was two years above me. We learned to love each other during our marriage." She has a fond look on her face as she recalls the memories.

The topic of love makes your stomach curl and a lump forms in your throat. Your mouth feels dry and as you go to take a sip, you realise you've already finished your tea. As you look at your cup, your question surprises even you. "The wedding will be soon, right?"

Unable to look your aunt in the face, you focus instead on her hands. Her well-manicured hands tense up before gripping the cup tightly. She stays silent, seeming deep in thought. "It... yes. The Lord has decided that your wedding will be held after Pius Thicknesse is estated as Minister for Magic."

You lean back in your chair, lips pressed firmly together. "And when will that be?"

"The first of August. The Lord has expressed his... expectations of you to be there in his name when the new Minister addressed the people, in the name of the Lord. Two days after that, you and Theodore will be wed."

You're numb. Absolutely numb. They are going to play the fall of the Ministry off as another Tuesday. And now you're supposed to be there to support him. Next to the numbness, a festering sickness bubbles up inside you.

Standing up, you dig your nails into your palm. "I'm going to try to sleep again. Good night." You turn around and begin to make your way towards the stairs when noise comes from the entrance hall. That can only mean one thing.

You rush towards the entrance hall, your eyes wildly searching around. Fewer Death Eaters came back than left. Some are bleeding the others just stand around, helping each other. The Dark Lord is nowhere to be seen. Bellatrix brushes past you, an unhappy look on her face.

The air you subconsciously held in escapes your lungs once you spot the only person you care about. You rush towards him, throwing your arms over Theo's shoulders and hugging him tightly. Theo returns the gesture, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug.

"Are you okay?", you whisper, taking a good look at his face. A gasp exits your lips as Theo's face spots a few gashes and cuts, blood smeared all over. You take him by the hand and lead him away, towards your room.

There you make him sit on the bed and scramble around the room for your wand. You cast a few quick healing spells and watch how the blood seeps back into his skin and the cuts clear up.

Theo's hands are on your middle, gazing up at you as you fuss about. He rubs circles with his thumb before pulling you towards him. He presses his head against your chest as his hands take a good hold of you with no intention of letting you go. You lace your fingers into his hair, running your nails over his scalp.

He pulls you down with him and wiggles around until the both of you are under the covers. His eyes flicker over every detail of your face as if he's memorising them. All this time he has said nothing.

The two of you stare at each other in the dark, not saying anything.

"Professor Moody is dead", he croaks suddenly, his face twisted in anguish. "One of the Weasley twins is also injured. I tried not to hurt anyone, just fly with them. I tried to stop them from hurting them." He lets out a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips. You cradle him against your body, pressing kisses on the crown of his head. "I know", you whisper, "I know, Teddy. It's not your fault."

You stay like this, comforting Theo with your presence and watching over him. As his breathing slows down and his iron grip on you somewhat relaxes, you look down at him. His eyes are closed but he has still his eyebrows knitted together, a restless look on his face.

"I love you", you whisper after you're sure he's dead asleep. "I wanted to tell you then, but I was scared. Nobody ever loved me, and that spooked me. But the thought of losing you scares me more than anything else." You gaze at him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. You nuzzle against him and close your eyes. "I love you, Theodore Nott. And nothing is going to stop me from getting us out here alive."

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver

170 notes · View notes

life-imitates-art-far-more · 1 year

Text

Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788) "Portrait of Ann Ford (later Mrs. Philip Thicknesse)" (1760) Oil on canvas Located in the Cincinnati Art Museum, Cincinnati, Ohio, United States Ann Ford a well-known beauty and amateur musician, her public musical performances were quite notorious in the polite world of Georgian England, leading to a pamphlet war between her supporters and her critics. As Gainsborough himself would later put it: “[She was] partly admired and partly laugh’d at at every Tea Table.”

212 notes · View notes

the-great-wisdom · 10 months

Text

#rufus scrimgeour #cornelius fudge #Pius Thicknesse

0 notes

training4theapocalypse · 2 months

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 19. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+ (no smut in this particular chapter)

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Graphic violence (not canon-typical)

Summary: An unwelcome newcomer makes an appearance as you hold off the Death Eaters. McLaggen races against time to work out how to enchant the bludgers.

A/N: omgggg can you believe there's finally a chapter called 'quidditch'?!?! And not a quaffle or a snitch in sight… maybe a few bludgers though. alexa, play holding out for a hero by bonnie tyler

Masterlist

Chapter 19: Quidditch

If this is the way you die. What a way to go.

You laugh. Actually laugh as you speed around the pitch, weaving between the stands and drawing the remaining three Death Eaters away from each other, scattering their attacking formation.

Your friends are nowhere to be seen. They’ve taken heed of your instructions and gone back to the castle. And thank god, because it means all you need to worry about is your own path weaving through the spells being hurled from the pitch.

The Death Eaters’ furious spell casting gets even more erratic as you frustrate them, dodging them on the battered old Cleensweep Seven you borrowed from Madam Hooch’s office. Despite the mortal peril, you feel alive. So much for only being able to buy McLaggen ten minutes of time while he works out how to enchant the bludgers to attack the Death Eaters. Even on this old broom, you could do this all day -

“You can’t fly away forever - Mudblood,” shrieks a woman’s voice.

You pivot on your broom and rise high out of spell-casting range to see the voice that ignites a flicker of realisation.

As she pulls back her hood her companion mimics her movement.

Cerys Thicknesse accompanied by Marcus Flint.

As they stride across the scorched earth of the Quidditch pitch below you, Cerys’ eyes are alight with a cold fire. At the same time, you both break eye contact and see yours and McLaggen’s brooms lying abandoned, silent witnesses to the chaos that has unfolded. When she hands her companion McLaggen’s broom and picks yours up from the pitch, indignation ignites inside you that she’d dare to even touch them.

“You might be able to outfly them but you can’t outfly us,” says Cerys.

You laugh derisively, masking the jolt of fear that courses through you. You’re confident you could fly rings around Flint - but Cerys? She was good enough to make it to the Holyhead Harpies. You remember her well from tryouts - even if that day feels like centuries ago now.

When she mounts your broom your eyes narrow. Your companion through countless flights, hundreds of training sessions with McLaggen at Hogwarts and several hundred more at Seafarer’s Beacon with the rest of your friends. Your broom was the thing that first made you feel like you had a place in the magical community. A real connection between your love of muggle sport and the wizarding world. Something your parents were able to understand - they might not have been able to wrap their heads around transfiguring buttons to button mushrooms but they understood saving goals. It was even the common ground between you and McLaggen when you first started talking to each other in Potions.

The anguish you felt when you found out Cerys has convinced her father to send you to Azkaban pales in comparison to how you feel now seeing her on that thin piece of wood that’s been your anchor for the past seven years. Unfortunately for Cerys, you're not the same scared girl you were when you were carted off to Azkaban. Deep down, you’ve always known your prickly assertiveness was a defensive mask for your lack of real courage. But your time at Seafarer’s Beacon has changed you.

You’ve always been a leader but now you’re a fighter.

With something worth fighting for.

“What’s wrong, Cerys? Didn’t your Death Eater pals teach you how to fly without a broom?” you jeer as she and Flint kick off.

“Oh, they’ve taught me more than that,” says Cerys, raising her wand as she flies towards you. “Avada Kedavra!”

Before the words leave her lips, you react - diving on your broom out of the way of the jet of green light. Your heart rate shoots up, shocked that Cerys’ first attack is aiming to kill.

Fuck.

No sooner do you dive than Cerys and Flint surge forward, their brooms cutting a direct path through the air towards you.

A red jet of light whizzes past your ear and you narrowly avoid the stunning spell.

You focus your breathing as you push the battered Cleansweep Seven to its limits. Cerys isn’t the only one who has learned a few things since you last met.

You aim your broom handle towards the three Death Eaters on the burning pitch. Fast. Furious. Direct. Thinking only of Viktor Krum’s signature move.

“Marcus! Stop!” Cerys’s distant voice tells you that she’s pulled back, realising what you’re about to do but you hope that Flint hasn’t.

The hot, burning world below becomes a fiery blur that makes you screw up your face as you fly towards them, Flint hot on your heels. Wind screams in your ears as the figures of the Death Eaters on the ground chaotically try to take aim at your speeding figure. The three of them push each other out of the way of your deadly path and at the very last second, just as it looks like you’re about to crash headfirst into the pitch, you execute the Wronski Feint and pull up with all your might.

Gravity tugs at every muscle in your body. And just as you knew he wouldn’t, Flint doesn’t react in time. With a satisfying, bone-crunching crash and a scream of pain, he slams into the ground, the sound of the impact echoing across the pitch. One of the Death Eaters, caught completely off-guard by Flint's unexpected descent, is taken out in the crash, crumpling onto Flint in a tangled, bloody heap.

You don’t have time to look back before hearing Cerys’ horrified cry followed by more spells narrowly missing you. You need to keep going. This close to the pitch, the hazardous maze of burning debris makes your throat dry and your t-shirt soak with sweat.

You need to get into the open air again but your broom seems to be fighting against you. It’s hot. Swelteringly hot. Come on, you think, urging your broom upwards. But it’s dragging. Why is it dragging? You check over your shoulder and see that the tail of your broom is set alight.

Double fuck.

Whether it’s by Cerys’ hand or from flying too close to the burning stands on the pitch you’re not sure. Either way, you point your wand over your shoulder. “Aguamenti!”. It’s no good. It’s so hot down here that the stream of water from the tip of your wand turns to vapour before it can extinguish the flames.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There’s nothing else for it - you look for a patch of scorched grass amidst the flame and throw yourself from the broom. As the burning broom leaves a streak of white light in the air before crashing down into a pile of embers, your body slams and rolls onto the firmly solid ground, an entirely new sensation compared with the freedom of the air. Your right arm bears the brunt of your fall. Pain explodes as you roll awkwardly onto your back and your arm feels out of place - either broken, dislocated or both, you’re not sure.

Before you can fully register the vulnerability of your situation or gather your wits, a shadow falls over you. You try to wrench McLaggen’s dad’s wand from your pocket but it’s not there. It must have fallen out as you tumbled from the sky.

Cerys aims her wand directly at you. “Crucio!”

The incantation cuts through the din of burning chaos around you and the curse hits a thousand times worse than a physical blow. The throbbing, useless dead weight of your arm becomes a drop in the ocean as pain like you’ve never experienced before pulls at your every nerve - like every fibre of your being is being torn apart inch by inch. You’re only vaguely aware of the noises you’re making - so raw and so desperate that you don’t even recognise your voice. Even your teeth feel like they’re being pulled from your gums by pliers as you scream. It's only the absence of blood in your mouth that convinces you they’re still intact as you stop screaming to clench your jaw against the unimaginable pain.

She keeps her wand on you as you arch your body in agony and think only of the sweet release of death.

Then it stops suddenly. With immense effort you open your eyes to see Cerys admiring her handiwork, her face twisted in a sadistic grin. She raises her wand once more and you almost hope she ends it rather than putting you through the pain again. But you have to know why she’s getting so much pleasure from targeting you specifically.

“Cerys - wait -” You pant, lifting your head and pushing yourself up on your left elbow as your right pulses in agony. “All this because of what happened last summer? When McLaggen punched Flint?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” she huffs. “This is nothing to do with Marcus.”

“Then what? Cerys I don’t understand what I could have -“

“I told you in the Black Dragon. I left Hogwarts five years before you did. I’ve been trying out for professional Quidditch teams every summer and winter transfer window since. Five years of rejections. Five years playing in the amateur league and working stupid temp jobs in my father’s department at the Ministry. Five years working for that arrogant, blood traitor Gregor McLaggen.”

She walks towards you pointing her wand and you scramble backwards with your good arm. You daren’t take your eyes off her as your fingers search the dry grass for the missing wand.

“But Cerys you - you made it. You got into the Holyhead Harpies… we both did.” The last three words are a plea, trying to appeal to some sense of reason within her, reminding her you were once teammates. For a brief, beautiful few hours after your tryouts together, you thought Cerys might have made a good friend. Until it all went so horribly wrong and she showed you who she really was.

“And do you have any idea how many tryouts I had to endure before I did? Then, when I finally get my shot, who else should swan into their first tryout and get signed? Not even as a Reserve Keeper. And you nearly took it from me. You almost saved every shot but I got two past you -“

“That’s my job! You think I’m not going to save something to make someone else look good at tryouts?”

“There’s an etiquette to these things. Something Mudbloods like you wouldn’t understand. It makes you look arrogant. Like your idiot boyfriend and his traitor father.”

“He’s not an idiot! And they’re not arrogant -“

She slashes her wand downwards and you twist to avoid it but her spell grazes your leg. You wince, feeling it leaving a fresh cut in your calf. You feel something hard sticking into your back.

McLaggen’s dad’s wand.

“Over Quidditch, Cerys? You’d actually kill me over Quidditch?” A minute ago you were ready to die at her hand - to end the pain from the Cruciatus curse. But you’re not dying for this. Quidditch tryouts. Your lifelong dream feels childish as Cerys stands here and declares she’s ready to kill you over it. You slip your hand behind your back and wrap your fingers around your wand.

“This is about more than Quidditch,” Cerys retorts, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Being pure-blooded used to mean something. Connections. Opportunities. Marrying into a pure bloodline. And now you’ve been handed everything that should have been mine and you’re not even grateful for it.”

“Marriage?” Your disdainful laugh is involuntary but you’re pleased to see that it’s wounded her. “This isn’t about McLaggen, is it?”

“McLaggen. Listen to yourself, calling him by his last name. You talk about him like he’s your pal rather than your boyfriend... Where is he, anyway?” Cerys glances over her shoulder, still keeping her wand pointed at you.

“He’s not here,” you make up wildly. “He’s still locked up under the Imperius curse.”

“The Daily Prophet might have bought Gregor McLaggen’s bullshit story but I saw you two in the Black Dragon and he wasn’t Imperiused. So where is he?”

“He’s not here!” you lie again, your heart thudding so frantically you’re sure she must actually see it betraying you, beating against your ribs.

“Liar. Crucio!”

Your whole body jerks again as the brutal curse takes over your senses once more, your wand jabbing uselessly into your back as you lose control of your fingers. With everything you have, you force yourself to think of Cormac. He must not have been able to crack the enchantment for the bludgers. But at least you’ve bought him enough time to get back to the castle.

“Where is he?!” Her question breaks the curse as your mind swims.

“Why - why do you care?” You ask and it’s only the taste of iron in your lips that makes you register that your face is bleeding.

“The Dark Lord has promised he’ll reward those who are loyal to him. With the Mudbloods out of the way, we can return to the rightful order.” Cerys’s gaze is sharp. “I told you last summer, there are no decent men from pure-blood families left. So I’ve decided that when I’ve gotten rid of you, Cormac McLaggen will suffice.”

“He’d rather die,” you spit back, defiance burning through the pain.

Cerys smirks, her wand steady. “Maybe. But would he risk his family?” You blink up at her, trying to make sense of it all. “I can make sure the Dark Lord learns all about Gregor McLaggen's scheming to undermine him. Getting you out of Azkaban? Pretending his son was kidnapped and under the Imperius curse for all these months? Pure-blood or not, the McLaggens will be executed for being traitors. Unless I get what I want.” Cerys moves closer, amidst the chaos of the burning pitch, her silhouette outlined by the leaping flames that consume what remains of the once-pristine field. “So, where is your boyfriend? I’d hate for him to get hurt in the battle - I have plans for him.”

“Cerys?” bellows Flint’s voice from beyond the flames separating you and Cerys from the rest of the pitch. She ignores him - keeping her wand fixed on you.

“What about Flint? Why don’t the two of you go off and have Death Eater babies?” you snarl, grimacing against the dull pain in your shoulder.

She shrugs. “I like them pretty - Crucio,” she says, with an almost lazy flick of her wand.

With every cell of your being screaming under the curse, you force your mind to McLaggen and somehow it lessens to pain. Of the two of you sharing a blanket on a tiny island in the middle of the vast loch, watching blue flames twinkle in a jar. You think of Cho, your fingers braiding her hair as you both sit on the window seat at the top of the lighthouse. Of Marietta, carefully transfiguring the bunch of wildflowers she collected in the garden into a beautiful wreath of sweetpeas, violets and her favourite forget-me-nots. You think about playing Exploding Snap with Carmichael and him leaping onto his chair in an ungracious, goofy victory dance. You think about Leanne transfiguing Carmichael’s chair into a yoga ball, sending him tumbling and making you laugh until your sides hurt. You think about Krum in the kitchen showing you how to make Bulagarian bansita and Davies interrupting to wind him up by insisting that they’re basically pumpkin pasties with cheese. You think about singing Happy Birthday to Katie at a surprise picnic in the garden and her joy when she sees Wood, Angelina and Alicia there too.

You think about all of them. The memories help you endure, drawing out your own torture to keep Cerys occupied, to give them a fighting chance.

When the curse breaks again you squeeze your eyes shut tight, waiting for Cerys to cast the killing curse now she’s finished toying with you. You only dare to open your eyes when a scream is carried to you by the wind.

In the distance somewhere you can hear a man crying out in pain and you hope against hope it’s not any of the others getting themselves hurt in an attempt to rescue you. The thought tightens the vice around your heart, even as you gasp for the air that pain had stolen.

A silhouette rises above the burning sky on a broom and suddenly the atmosphere changes.

Cormac.

Cerys’s focus on you falters when there’s an almighty crunching of something smashing through wood. Her eyes widen as a bludger propels itself through the debris, flying directly towards the two of you. You grab McLaggen’s dad’s wand with your left hand and cast a shield charm around yourself but there’s no need. You’re not the target the bludger is looking for.

With a dull thud of metal meeting a fleshy target, the bludger collides with Cerys directly in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her and sending her off her feet. Another bludger flies downwards and Cerys rolls herself out of the way in just enough time so that it sinks into the ground instead of into her chest.

She gets to her feet and with all your might you push yourself up with your left arm, holding the wand in your practically useless right.

The bludger in the ground shakes and throws itself towards Cerys, sinking into her ribs with a brutal crunch. She doubles over coughing up blood. She looks at you helplessly, blood dripping out of her mouth and down the front of her Death Eater robes, deepening them a darker shade of night.

It’s awful.

You know you should be relieved to see her being bludgeoned to death after she just tortured you. But after spending so much time in Seafarer’s Beacon with McLaggen and those idiotically noble Gryffindors, your heart pleads with you to show her some compassion. To be the bigger person.

Wind rushes as you hear another bludger careering towards her.

“Protego!” you cry, pointing the shield between Cerys and the bludger, grimacing against the effort it’s causing you to even lift your broken arm.

And then a lot of things happen at once.

Cerys levels her wand at you.

You hear McLaggen shouting, “No!”

Your wand trembles under the strain of your pained grip.

She opens her mouth, “Avada Ke-”

McLaggen careers into you on his broom, knocking you aside and onto the ground.

Your broken arm screams as you hit the ground once more.

The shield charm you were casting falters.

The bludger, unyielding and precise, smashes straight into Cerys’s face. The unforgivable curse dies on her lips, unspoken, as silence - a heavy, definitive silence - falls over the scene, punctuated only by the crackling of the flames that have witnessed the turn of fate.

You and McLaggen sit in a heap on the ground. You don’t dare to bring yourself to look at the sickening sight only a few feet away.

You know without looking that Cerys is dead but for some reason - closure perhaps - you need to ask, “Is she…”

And as if for good measure another bludger plummets from the sky towards her as if from nowhere. You yelp and shield your eyes. A thunk of the bludger meeting its target. The sound of liquid on dry grass.

“Dead. Yeah.” McLaggen says in a cold voice but when he tears his gaze away from Cerys his eyes are full of concern for you. “Are you alright? I heard… I heard you screaming.”

You nod but you’re not sure that you are alright. Images of Cerys standing over you, using the Cruciatus Curse on you, streak behind your eyelids every time you blink. Like a camera flash burned onto your retinas. “You did it. You worked out how to enchant the bludgers,” you say, looking out at the burning pitch in front of you, hoping for a change of subject from your own wellbeing.

“I’m sorry - I tried to do it faster. But when I heard you screaming…” He drags a hand down his face, smudging the black soot. “I panicked. And I think I overdid it. I didn’t think the bludgers would - would kill. I thought they’d just rough the Death Eaters up a bit. Cause them enough trouble ‘til I could get you out of there. I mean, Flint, Cerys and those two other Death Eaters, they’re - fuck -” He swallows. “They’re dead. It was grim. And I - I killed them.”

“They would have killed you without a second thought.”

He nods, not able to pull his eyes away from the flaming pitch.

You press on. “Flint tried to kill me. And you saw Cerys trying again. And what’s worse -”

“The Cruciatus curse?”

“Well, yes but -”

McLaggen lets out a hollow sort of groan. “I’m sorry I wasn’t faster -”

“No, listen to me. Worse than the Cruciatus curse. After Cerys had killed me she was going to tell You-Know-Who she wanted to marry you after all of this was over.”

“That’s not worse than you enduring the Cruciatus curse,” says McLaggen. “Not to me.”

“I’d take a thousand Cruciatus curses than an entire lifetime spent in a forced marriage to a Death Eater.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” McLaggen trails off, utter disbelief etching his face.

“At first I thought she was just saying it to try and stick the knife in before she killed me. But then she started going on about pure bloodlines again like she did in the Black Dragon last year.”

McLaggen shakes his head. “She’s deluded... Was deluded.”

“Cormac -” Your left hand searches for his fingers and grips them tight. “I thought you’d be safe even if our side lost, because of your family name. But if what Cerys told me is true and we lose, the Muggleborns will be executed and the pure-bloods who resisted will be forced into Death Eater families.”

“Well, it’s like you said. We need to win or die trying.” McLaggen gets to his feet and extends his hand to lift you to yours. You take his with your left and wince as you get up. “Woah - what happened to your arm? Was that when I flew into you?”

“Well, it didn’t help.” You offer him a small smile despite the pulsing pain and inner turmoil. “But no - it was when I had to jump off my broom earlier.”

“Do you want me to fix it?”

“Can you?”

“I’ve never done it before. But I think if I can handle the bludgers, I can handle this. And I remember the spell from when you fixed my nose.”

You hesitate. Arms are trickier than noses. But if you go back to the castle with a broken wand arm then you’re worse than useless. “Yeah. Go on then.”

McLaggen places the tip of his wand against your upper arm. “Episkey.” You inhale sharply as you feel the bone snapping back into place. “You’ll probably need some Skele-gro after this is over,” he says, taking your arm in his hand to examine it. “Can you try using it?”

You flex your fingers, feeling the sensation returning to them and wave your borrowed wand again. “Thanks.”

You draw your gaze from your hand and up at McLaggen as you stand here, both covered in blood, soot and dirt. Even with his wild hair and his singed t-shirt, he’s a sight for sore eyes. In your darkest moments when Cerys was torturing you, even when you were facing death, all you could think about was him.

But now you need to return to the castle and rejoin the battle. Keep fighting. Face death who knows how many more times.

You both jump with a start when a voice rings through the air, as clearly as if the speaker were directly behind you.

“You have fought,” says the amplified high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”

Heavy losses. Dead. There are people in the castle who are dead.

You don’t want to think about who.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

“We’ve got to move,” says McLaggen, before the ringing has even stopped in your ear, as he marches over to pick up his broom.

“But he said we’ve got an hour?”

“Yeah, and in about five minutes a hundred Death Eaters will be coming past here on their way to the Forbidden Forest.”

“Fuck.”

“Let’s go,” he says, climbing onto his borrowed school broom.

You pick up your broom that Cerys had discarded. As you grip the familiar handle, your body breathes a sigh of relief. Like an extension of you had been temporarily missing. “I don’t know where yours is,” you say before kicking off into the air. “Maybe we could find it?” you suggest hopefully, peering down at the disastrous state of the pitch as the two of you ascend into the air.

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t have time,” says McLaggen. “And besides, it was already pretty burnt anyway,” he adds.

You smile weakly at his effort to bring some humour back to the situation but it’s short-lived.

As the two of you turn West and fly back towards the castle, your stomach churns in anticipation of what awaits you back at Hogwarts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 20: Avada Kedavra

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana, @evabellasworld, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @xyzstar, (let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

#cormac mclaggen x female reader #cormac mclaggen #cormac mclaggen x reader #ravenclaw #ravenclaw fanfiction #smut #fanfic #harry potter and the half blood prince #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #freddie stroma #deathly hallows #harry potter and the deathly hallows #cormac mclaggen fic #cormac mclaggen fanfic #mclaggen x reader #mclaggen x female reader

22 notes · View notes

whinlatter · 11 months

Note

Could you explain more what you mean by “shows how the wizarding world, which does not seem to be a representative democracy”? Like I feel I probably agree with you but I want to understand it more because like from what little we know of canon wizards do get a say in ministry (ex Fudge lied to public about Voldemort so the public wanted him out and chose Scrimgeour, etc) but cause we don’t see general elections but snap elections it’s unclear ?

The British wizarding world when asked to prove that it's a functioning democracy:

Would love to say a bit more about this (briefly mentioned in the author’s note for Beasts chapter six) 🤸‍♀️ It’s definitely true that the opinions of the wizarding public do hold large sway over the appointment of the Minister of Magic in canon in ways that could imply the existence of wizarding. democracy. But it just seems to me that if the wizarding world in Britain is a democracy, then it's so weak or partial a democracy that I don't think we can really call it one at all. I know that old Pottermore post insists Ministers for Magic are democratically elected, and, as you say, in canon, the Minister of Magic seems to be somehow answerable to public opinion and support in a way that implies some idea of popular self-government through some form of representative democracy. But my view is that, in canon, it's basically not a democracy, for reasons I've put below the cut. (Thank you for letting me waffle on about this!)

The reason I think the wizarding world basically doesn’t seem to function as a representative democracy:

None of the four Ministers of Magic in post in the core timeline of the series participate in (or win) a free and fair election during the canon timeline, and most well-informed characters refer to the post as one filled by appointment (possibly by the Wizengamot). In OotP, Arthur gives a bit of insight on the process of appointment when he's talking about Fudge and Dumbledore's rivalry: '[Dumbledore] never wanted the Minister’s job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he’s never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job.” 'Applied for the job' would be a strange way of describing running for elected office, and Bagnold having 'retired' again doesn't imply an election was held. At the start of HBP, Fudge says he's been 'sacked', and while he says that the public were calling for his resignation, there’s no mention of a snap election. You’re completely right that there could have been one, but to me this sounds more like Scrimgeour is an internal emergency appointment (that he's an Auror suggests to me that it's a bit like bringing in the military, along the lines of a state of emergency provision). That Fudge can stay on 'in an advisory capacity' as a Ministry employee also suggests there are other governmental actors who have the power to 'keep on' outgoing Ministers, suggesting again that the Minister of Magic is usually an appointed rather than elected office. Obviously, Thicknesse becomes Minister in... not very democratic circumstances. And then Kingsley gets 'named temporary Minister for Magic' in a decision made by who bloody knows at the end of DH, which again suggests the existence of an unelected body called upon to appoint Ministers, at the very least, in times of emergency.

Even if we buy the idea that the Minister of Magic is elected sometimes, the Wizengamot doesn't ever seem to be, and it seems likely they're body with the power to appoint or dismiss the Minister of Magic without an election. Even if you take the Pottermore post on its own terms, it seems the wizarding community only get to elect the office of the Minister for Magic and not any representatives of an elected chamber who would legislate on their behalf, and who might sit in an assembly like MPs in a parliament or congressmen or senators from different regions. There also doesn’t seem to be a system where the proportion of votes corresponds with the number of representatives and therefore majority/minority control of an elected chamber, either with or without a party-political system. In canon, the Wizengamot really doesn't seem to be a body of elected representatives. They seem to be much more like an unelected legislative body of grandees, some with inherited titles, some appointed as an honours system, like the House of Lords in the UK, but also with the power to hold court trials. (There's a great meta on this that I really enjoyed - it's a bit ahistorical, but it's super rich and fun exploration of different models for the Wizengamot's strange blend of executive and legislative power in the British political tradition).

Popular opinion can matter in non-democracies, and popular opinion and support for political figures seems to matter a lot in the wizarding world. In GoF, Sirius gives us an insight, admittedly that of an outsider, of the process of ministerial appointments when he talks about Barty Crouch Sr. Sirius says Crouch was 'tipped for the next Minister of Magic' and had 'his supporters': 'Plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamouring for him to take over as Minister of Magic.' This sounds like strong popular support, likely communicated through wizarding media, but also just through hearsay and gossip through Ministry and adjacent circles. But what Sirius describes doesn't sound like a support base of voters, and certainly Crouch doesn't seem to have run against Fudge in an election.

Everyone seems to think of the Ministry as holding a broadly technocratic role in wizarding life (even though it's actually extremely political and also functions as the justice system). The Ministry of Magic seems to exist to both shield Muggles from knowledge of magic, to make and enforce law, and to function as a bureaucracy overseeing and ensuring the smooth running of education, trade, communication, transport etc. It doesn't seem to function as a social democracy in the sense of having any kind of welfare state. But this (false) idea of the Ministry as having a fundamentally apolitical social role lends itself to this idea of the wizarding world being a tepid democracy, with a populace broadly happy to give up certain democratic freedoms if it's in the public interest, trading off elements of self-government in exchange for greater efficiency or seeming sense of safety.

It seems possible, even likely, that Kingsley, as a progressive, would try to make his appointment as Minister official and legitimate through a free and fair election after the war (Lee Jordan says Kingsley's “got his vote” if he runs for office after the war - it's extremely funny to me that the only character to talk about voting in the entire series is the deeply unserious Lee Jordan in a jokey radio segment). We don't know that for sure, though, and when the series ends, it is with an unelected Shacklebolt caretaker government. The goodies might win, but democracy continues to elude the wizarding world as the series concludes.

...Basically, you know that scene in OotP when they're at the Hog's Head planning the DA? It's sort of a perfect illustration of the wizarding world's approach to democracy lol. Hermione is one of the nuisance progressives trying to do something mad like 'hold an election', Cho is the voice of the Wizengamot:

“Well, I’ve been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and — er —” He noticed a raised hand. “What, Hermione?” “I think we ought to elect a leader,” said Hermione. “Harry’s leader,” said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad, and Harry’s stomach did yet another back flip. “Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,” said Hermione, unperturbed. “It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So — everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?” Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very halfheartedly. “Er — right, thanks,” said Harry, who could feel his face burning.

#meta #beasts #shoutout lee jordan the only man who mentions voting in all seven hp books #wizarding politics #wizarding world #ministry of magic #i loved answering this tysm #i just love that sassy gambon dumbledore gif so much

82 notes · View notes

tragediambulante · 4 days

Text

Ann Ford (later Mrs. Philip Thicknesse), Thomas Gainsborough, 1760

#ann ford #thomas gainsborough #18th century #cincinnati art museum #art history #art #british art #aesthethic #painting #fashion history

13 notes · View notes

hollowed-theory-hall · 4 months

Text

How the Trace in Harry Potter Works Because it Bothered Me

So, this fandom likes to talk about how contradictory the Trace in the books is. The Trace, as in the Ministry’s tool to locate and track underage magic.

Like with Horcuxes, I've seen theories about how the Trace works, but none of them really covered everything or made magical sense to me (when broken down into Alchemical components).

So, I'm here again to explain how spells work in Harry Potter because someone has to.

Let's Cover What We Know:

1. The Trace is defined as a "Charm" that detects magical activity around underage wizards:

“Second problem. You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you.” “I don’t—” “The Trace, the Trace!” said Mad-Eye impatiently. “The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters. “We can’t wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you’ll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short: Pius Thicknesse thinks he’s got you cornered good and proper.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 46)

2. The Trace instantly alerts the ministry when magic is cast.

“Harry, you don’t understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they’ll know already, you mark my words —”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 22)

3. The Trace automatically broke upon a wizard or witch's seventeenth birthday; Remus Lupin and Ron Weasley both claimed it was impossible for the Trace to continue to affect a person over the age of seventeen and that it could not be placed on an adult.

“But how did they find us?” Hermione asked, looking from one inert man to the other. “How did they know where we were?” She turned to Harry. “You—you don’t think you’ve still got your Trace on you, do you, Harry?” “He can’t have,” said Ron. “The Trace breaks at seventeen, that’s Wizarding law, you can’t put it on an adult.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 147)

“We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?” “Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 178)

4. Students can use magic freely in Hogwarts and on the Hogwarts Express as we see many times in the books.

5. The Ministry trusted magical parents to properly discipline their children if they performed magic, due to the fact that the parents' own magic would constantly interfere with the Trace.

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron’s elder twin brothers, had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 68) — example of Fred and George apparating (doing magic) inside Grimmuld Place before they are seventeen and the Trace not activating.

6. Children who grew up in the Muggle world, such as Harry Potter, are more closely monitored — any magic performed at or near 4 Privet Drive was assumed to have been caused by him because he was the only known magical person living in his neighborhood (Both with Dobby in CS and the Patronus Charm in OOP).

Dear Mr. Potter, We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C). We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy. Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE Ministry of Magic

(Chamber of Secrets, page 27)

Dear Mr. Potter, We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle. The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 26)

“We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging other than Harry Potter,” said Madam Bones at once.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 143)

6. Hagrid used magic around Harry before his first year, with no ministry warning letter.

He [Hagrid] brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig’s tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 45)

7. Similarly, Hermione has said she successfully tried out "a few simple spells" before her first year. No ministry warning was issued for her either because she hasn't arrived at Hogwarts yet

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard -- I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough -- I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you.

(Sorcerer's Stone, page 105)

8. Childhood accidental magic isn't picked up by the Trace.

Snape had removed his coat now; his odd smock looked less peculiar in the half light. “. . . and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school, you get letters.” “But I have done magic outside school!” “We’re all right. We haven’t got wands yet. They let you off when you’re a kid and you can’t help it. But once you’re eleven,” he nodded importantly, “and they start training you, then you’ve got to go careful.”

(Deathly Hallows, page 666)

9. When Arthur Weasley used magic around Harry to pick him up in 1994, no ministry warning arrived.

“Boys, boys . . .” said Mr. Weasley vaguely. “I’m trying to think what to do. . . . Yes . . . only way . . . Stand back, Harry.” Harry retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward. “Wait a moment!” he bellowed at the fire. “What exactly are you going to —” BANG. The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings.

(Goblet of Fire, page 44)

10. The Order used magic when picking up Harry in 1995 after he was already set for a hearing for the Patronus charm. No warning came from the ministry for the magic of the Order members.

“Don’t be stupid, it’ll be much quicker if I — pack!” cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor. Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 53)

“How’re we getting — wherever we’re going?” Harry asked. “Brooms,” said Lupin. “Only way. You’re too young to Apparate, they’ll be watching the Floo Network, and it’s more than our life’s worth to set up an unauthorized Portkey.”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 51)

11. The Trace didn't pick up the magic on the magic in the graveyard during Voldemort's resurrection.

12. Neither did it pick up on Tom when he murdered the Riddle family in the summer between his fifth and sixth year (He was sixteen at the time, and therefore still underage)

“But how come the Ministry didn’t realize that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?” Harry asked angrily. “He was underage at the time, wasn’t he? I thought they could detect underage magic!” “You are quite right — they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: You will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by —” “Dobby,” growled Harry; this injustice still rankled. “So if you’re underage and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard’s house, the Ministry won’t know?” “They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly at the look of great indignation on Harry’s face. “They rely on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring’s obedience while within their walls.” “Well, that’s rubbish,” snapped Harry. “Look what happened here, look what happened to Morfin!”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 368)

13. Harry and Hermione hang out in the burrow in summer where magic is constantly cast around them, yet, no warnings of Underage Sorcery are issued.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes.

(Goblet of Fire, page 58) — example of Molly casting magic at The Burrow near Harry and her kids.

So, How Does it Work?

The Trace isn't placed on wizards and witches but on locations. In both occurrences, Harry received a warning for Underage Magic mentioning his documented place of residence. It is also repeated again and again, the Trace can't pick up who cast the magic, just where.

So, my conclusions are that the Trace is old magic, probably older than the ministry and no one really knows how it was cast or how it works anymore. But the Ministry knows how to use it.

They keep the knowledge very secret and don't share it with almost anyone. We can see that by the way Lupin and Ron talk about the trace in completely different terminology than the likes of Dumbledore or Madam Bones. They also say it's illegal and impossible to cast the Trace on an adult wizard. I think they're right because the trace is never cast on wizards and witches at all.

I believe the Trace is a charm cast on the entirety of Britain and Ireland and picks up all magic cast in there. When magic is cast, the ministry gets a notice that describes what was cast and where.

The ministry office that receives the notice then looks over the documentation of wizard residences. If an adult wizard lives in the location where the magic was cast, they are assumed to have cast the magic. If no wizard lives in the area, it is assumed to have been cast by an adult wizard passing by.

With muggleborn and muggle-raised wizards and witches, they only have their place of residence updated in the ministry documentation once they start Hogwarts, hence why childhood accidental magic isn't traced.

In the case of the Riddle's murder, Morfin was the only wizard documented to be living in the area, therefore all the magic traced in Little Hangelton was assumed to be done by him.

And no wizards were documented to be living in Little Hangleton during Voldemort's resurrection, hence no trace.

Arthur had to inform the ministry of the floo connection in the summer of 1994 because there was an office regulating the floo network. Therefore, they knew he'd be there so the magic was attributed to him. The same goes with the Order since Shacklebolt was a ministry official when the ministry was still under Fudge.

For fanfic purposes, it means that no one could trace Harry's magic to him the moment he's far enough away from Private Drive.

#harry potter #harry potter theory #harry potter thoughts #hollowedtheory #hp theory #overthinking #wizarding world #ministry of magic #the trace #hogwarts #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter analysis

24 notes · View notes