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deadsetobsessions · 2 months

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Headmaster Dumbledore is sure that the ghosts of Hogwarts were hiding something. He’d be the first to admit that he’s nosy when it came to things like these, but he simply doesn’t have the time. Whatever that lingered these halls, he’s sure does not mean Hogwarts any harm. The ghosts would not protect it if it did.

Albus Dumbledore Hummer around a lemon drop as his quill scratched over endless parchment paper.

His wand glowed green for a brief second, an acknowledgement, and settled down into its current owner’s hold.

——

Danny Phantom hadn’t thought the castle he found during the summer months in this universe would be… so full of life. Not when there were ghosts, floating around like the castle were their own home.

Magic.

They were ghosts made of magic.

His core struggled, at first, to survive. Then, it took the magic and thrived.

He floated, invisible amongst the glittering candles beneath the imitated night sky, and watched students file in.

Quite different, from his own entrance.

He had floated into the tower, having felt a hint of resistance that he knew now were the castle wards. The ghosts, what he thought were ghosts before he realized ectoplasmic ghosts existed, stopped dead. Hah.

The shades dancing and whirling and conversing froze as he entered the tower. Life and death, and the beings that walked the line, stopped at the arrival of the One Who is the Line. The boy king wreathed in black and green glanced around.

“Hello. I’m Phantom.”

“The High King,” a ghost whispered. “Our king.”

“He’s an American?” Another one asked, scandalized. Danny, surrounded by those who he recognized as his, cracked the first smile he’s had in a while.

“Who cares? He’s…” The knight sunk to his knees, bowing with his ghostly sword in front of him.

The ghosts bowed. Danny floated in further. “Can you tell me where I am?”

“Of course.”

——

Now… he’s watching the children get Sorted. Weird, for a hat to decide your classmates, but whatever.

Harry Potter’s name is called, and the whispers broke out. He doesn’t know why, but Danny couldn’t ask the ghosts. They barely know the current headmaster, as the dead generally care only for their own times.

Danny decides to visit the lake octopus. Lake squid? Something like that. The mer people beneath the waters liked him, the last time he went. The Sorting is put out of Danny’s mind. He’s dead now, too. The only thing he cares about now is to explore the vast halls of Hogwarts and the occasional visit to the kitchen to steal some food for his living body.

(Thank the Ancients he found a house elf who knew what seasoning was.)

(Sometimes, Danny flew to where his home would have been and gets comfort food at the nearest town. He missed it, but he can’t go back.)

The ghosts know by now to call for Phantom should they need something (“I’m American,” he joked at the ghost. “We’re not big on kings. You can just call me Phantom.”)

——

The third year he’s there, Danny feels the effects of Clockwork’s power. When he investigates, it’s the red headed girl he once saw leaving the library, paper clutched in her hand.

She helped save one of his subjects, so he owes her. Plus, if she’s using Clockwork’s powers, this Hermione has potential.

And… she’s using it to study.

She reminds him of Jazz.

——

A wave of ice crackled and froze the fleeing rat and the feral wolf man.

“What?!” Harry screeched to a stop, eyes wide at the ghost child in front of him.

Danny turned, and landed gently on the ground. Snape snarled at him in suspicion. Danny allowed himself to become living again, black hair and blue eyes and tan skin replacing the white, green, black thing his dead form had.

“Who’re you?” The red-headed boy, Ron?, asked him through gritted teeth.

Danny smiled at them, dimples appearing. “A friend.”

Before the trio and co. could say anything, Danny whips his head around, palm coming up.

“Stop.” He orders. The creeping sense of cold and dread shuttered to a stop. “Go over there,” he said, and the dementors, hovering at the edge of his periphery obeyed. Danny turned back to the mildly terrified and flummoxed group.

“Let’s go. You’re all going to catch a cold, if you don’t move it. Especially you, scrawny and greasy.” He pointed at the godfather and Snape.

——

“Hey, Danny?”

“What, Harry?”

“Why’d you help us? I mean, you said you didn’t want to involve yourself in stuff like that.”

Danny hummed, wisped tail curling up against him as he soaked in the sun’s rays. “Because you reminded me of myself. And in the end, you died.”

“You literally brought me back,” Harry deadpanned, remembering the place between life and death, and how the angry Danny was when he stormed onto that train platform. The King had taken him by the scruff of his shirt collar like a particularly incensed mother cat, and dragged him off away from a puzzled Dumbledore.

“You were being stupid. You’re too young to die.”

“Like you?”

Danny snorted. “Nah. I didn’t have a choice.”

#danny phantom #harry potter #no I don’t like j.k. Rowling nor do I support her views #Danny is sad ghost boi in Hogwarts #he’s got a magical core now but through like adaptation and osmosis or some shit #magic simply doesn’t work on him bc he’s a ghost adjacent #Danny is the mom friend #you wouldn’t think so but he is #totally an enabler but also a mom #Hermione being Clockwork’s fav

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acewitch-writes · 4 months

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I love Canon Remus and all of his flaws. Enough of this "Casanova of Gryffindor Tower" BS, Remus is the cowardly lion of Gryffindor tower. He values bravery because it is something that he lacks and yet still strives to be. He has an ingrained sense of shame and self-loathing and an inferiority complex that stems from society's contempt and marginalization towards Lycanthropy, a condition he was cursed with from a very young age. He wasn't a leader, he was a follower. A blind follower who believed to his core that he was unworthy of love and respect because of what he was.

Which opens the door to what I believe to be Remus' greatest flaw: His unwavering, unquestioning devotion to Albus Dumbledore.

I think Remus saw Dumbledore as the perfect encapsulation of Good. He was everything that Remus desperately wanted to be, everything that society was determined to believe a werewolf could never be. And maybe, if Remus could earn (and cling to) Dumbledore's favor and make him proud, he would prove to the world and himself that he is Good, too, in spite of his lifelong curse.

Remus felt that he owed Dumbledore a debt he could never hope to repay for allowing this chronically ill little boy into his school when no werewolf before him had ever been given such an opportunity. So many of Remus' choices in canon stem directly from this imagined debt that he had dedicated his life to paying. Hell, he didn't even hold a grudge against Snape for OUTING HIM to the entire wizarding world simply because Dumbledore trusted him.

Remus trusted Dumbledore wholeheartedly. And Dumbledore personally saw to Harry's placement with the Dursleys. Why should Remus have considered, for even a moment, that Harry wasn't safe? Certainly far safer than he would have been with a monster in close proximity, as Remus believed himself to be. In his mind, staying away from Harry was what was best for Harry. Until Dumbledore needed a favor, that is.

It's reductive to suggest that Remus failed Harry (and by extension, James) for putting his trust in Dumbledore to do right by Harry. James and Sirius trusted Dumbledore, too. They all did. Stripping away all of the nuance and blaming the abuse Harry suffered on Remus is simply unfair. NO ONE helped Harry, not even those who were fully equipped to do so, and Remus was the farthest thing from being equipped to take that on, what with being an impoverished werewolf living in a society that reviles his very existence. The only person who could have saved Harry from the abuse was the very man that placed him in that home, the very man that Remus revered with blind conviction.

#canon Remus is so complex and interesting #he's spineless and soft and consumed by self-loathing and fear #I think he was drawn to Sirius and James and Gryffindor House in general for the same reasons he was devoted to Dumbledore #He was quick to believe that Sirius was guilty because he had no confidence in himself to make his own judgement #He considered himself to be an inherent monster battling endlessly to supress his evil nature #and therefore placed all of his faith in those he believed to be Wholly Good #Reducing his character to “selfish manipulative coward” is a disservice #Also erasing these flaws in favor of the Fanon cocky asshole alpha male wattpad werewolf Remus is a massive disservice #remus lupin #marauders #character study #Canon Remus Defense Squad #i could rattle on and on about this topic for hours

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olympip · 1 month

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The Sorting Hat // Peter Pettigrew & Neville Longbottom Being Foils *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Recently, I saw someone say they don't understand why Peter is a Gryffindor... and this made me want to talk about how the Sorting Hat possibly works. Harry tells Albus that the Sorting Hat takes "your choice into account", but I think the best descriptor is that the Sorting Hat takes what you value into account. For example, some people think Hermione should've been a Ravenclaw because she's intelligent and quick-thinking. But here's the thing- I think it'd be fair to say Hermione valued bravery over intelligence. She's passionate and outspoken with her beliefs and was determined to remain strong in the face of her adversaries. We see this in First Year and she only grows into these traits as she faces difficult situations. At her core, Hermione values traits like courage and determination, and happens to have a passion for learning and pursuing knowledge. And here's how Peter Pettigrew and Neville Longbottom play into this. Both were sorted into Gryffindor despite not really having been described as brave when they were 11 years old. However, I think it'd be fair to say that both valued bravery. We see Neville step out of his comfort zone and as the series continues, he grows more confident and (you guessed it) brave. He goes from being a nervous, shy 11 year old to being a leader in Dumbledore's Army while Hogwarts is under Death Eater reign. Peter, I imagine, had a similar start to his years at Hogwarts. He has these friends who are just so cool and do whatever they want and he loves that. He admires the courage they have to be able to do that. But, where he differs from the other Gryffindor students is that he never achieves that bravery himself. He remains a coward. He can't find it in himself to be brave and instead does what he thinks will keep him safe. That's what makes him a bit tragic, in my opinion. He never becomes what he values.

Just my thoughts on the matter, but I wanted to share because I like talking about this kind of stuff. I'd love to hear everyone else's thoughts or ideas :D i wrote this at like 1 am so sorry if it doesnt make much sense lmao

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metalomagnetic · 2 months

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What is Voldemort's favorite and least favorite thing about each of his partners?

Sirius: Voldemort would have a very hard time picking one favourite thing. He values Sirius' loyalty, his bravery, his wild nature; he is fascinated by the dual nature of Sirius, how he can be a perfect, well mannered, high society man, yet he can also be a cruel, vicious dog (and not just when he transforms into Padfoot). How Sirius can be kind and selfless one moment, and then turn around and bully someone just because he can. He likes Sirius' sense of humour, and he is blown away by how fearless he is, how reckless, even in the face of death, something Voldemort fears so much. Sirius is the type to live in the moment, make the most of it, something Voldemort never learned how to do. I think what gets to Voldemort the most is that Sirius is, at his core, a good man (at least by Voldemort's standards) but he's not 'stupidly' good or kind, he's not preachy about it, he's not self righteous. Voldemort can experience being around a good man, probably for the first time...ever, but not as 'good' as to hate Voldemort on principle alone. Voldemort is made of darkness, and he's attracted to Sirius' light, and yet he's also in understanding with Sirius' darker side, which allows them to at least have some morals, or lack of morals, in common, enough to have a foundation for a relationship.

His least favourite thing about Sirius is that he cares too much about people that aren't Voldemort, has strong, impossible to break bonds to so many other people.

Albus: Voldemort's favourite thing about Albus is his genius and nerdiness. He is not one to be easily impressed by intelligence, since Voldemort himself is a genius, but Albus is his equal in this regard. Same goes for his magical skill. They truly are equals, and no one else can match them. And they both experience a type of loneliness that only men like them would know, because they are so different from everyone around them, no one can possible relate to such---beings made of big brains and magic.

His least favourite thing about Albus is what he perceives as hypocrisy. That, and Albus' determination to do the right thing, to protect everyone he can.

Gellert: His ambition and willingness to do whatever it takes to get ahead. The 'eyes on the prize' mentality. He's also attracted by Gellert's power and understanding of dark magic.

His least favourite thing is the regret Gellert sometimes exhibits.

Abraxas: he's beautiful and rich, and a young Tom Riddle likes both those things. He's fascinated with Abraxas' inherited status, with the power and influence he carries just because he was born with the right name. Tom hates Abraxas for it, is deeply jealous, but at the same time, having Abraxas is like touching those things himself, in a way. He likes that Abraxas, who could have anyone, who could have a pureblood with a name as ancient as his own, wants no-one Tom Riddle, obsessively so.

He detests Abraxas' cowardice most of all.

Bella: While she's pretty much perfect all around, Voldemort values her unflinching loyalty, her complete devotion to him, her lack of fear and her extreme bravery.

He finds no fault in her.

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ashesandhackles · 5 months

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Harry and Dumbledore: Crisis of Faith

The Life and Lies of Dumbledore chapter from DH lives rent free in my head, and I would love to get on my soapbox about why. It's no secret that DH is an allegorical tale with Harry as Christ figure and Dumbledore positioned as God figure - often represented by the symbolism of the all-seeing eye. The eye in the mirror (which turns out to Aberforth, who sends Dobby to the rescue), the symbol of Deathly Hallows in Dumbledore's signature.

Eye symbolism:

A flash of brightest blue. Harry froze, his cut finger slipping on the jagged edge of the mirror again. He had imagined it, he must have done... If anything was certain, it was that the bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore would never pierce him again.

and

Above what Harry assumed was the title of the story (being unable to read runes, he could not be sure) , there was a picture of what looked like a triangular eye, its pupil crossed with a vertical line.

The Deathly Hallows or the Gifts of Death is marked by a triangular eye - and it is explicitly seen as God's eye in Christian art and iconography.

So now, back to the chapter, where Harry completely loses faith:

The sun was coming up: The pure, colorless vastness of the sky stretched over him, indifferent to him and his suffering. Harry sat down in the tent entrance and took a deep breath of clean air.

The chapter opens with the smallness of Harry against the vast sky, a bird's eye view shot to really highlight how vulnerable he feels. On the heels of the chapters where he sees himself and his family immortalised in statues and have their bombed home preserved as memorial - a site people take comfort from the legend of Harry, and Harry takes comfort from the graffiti they left behind - it feels especially isolated. The vulnerability is glaring: Harry has lost the protection of the twin cores. The church bells are distant.

His senses had been spiked by the calamity of losing his wand. He looked out over a valley blanketed in snow, distant church bells chiming through the glittering silence.

Harry does not deal with vulnerability, most specifically helplessness very well. As a child raised in an abusive environment - his savior complex is rooted in needing to have agency. We see him grappling with what he perceives as complete abandonment from Dumbledore: 'Dumbledore had left them to grope in the darkness, to wrestle with unknown and undreamed-of terrors, alone and unaided: Nothing was explained, nothing was given freely, they had no sword, and now, Harry had no wand.'

And then, Harry reads the chapter titled Greater Good from Rita Skeeter's book.

So what was Albus doing, if not comforting his wild young brother? The answer, it seems, is ensuring the continued imprisonment of his sister.

This is important, because Harry's feelings about this are made clear in earlier chapters:

Could Dumbledore have let such things happen? Had he been like Dudley, content to watch neglect and abuse as long as it did not affect him? Could he have turned his back on a sister who was being imprisoned and hidden?

Harry is projecting onto Ariana Dumbledore, specifically with his experience of the Dursleys. He had once raged at Dumbledore in OOTP: "People don't like being locked up! You did it to me last summer!"

Harry's grievance with Dumbledore is not just about this exchange, but a specific choice Dumbledore made for his physical safety with blood wards. The narrative comes close to acknowledging it, in OOTP:

“Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle’s doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.” He paused. Harry said nothing.

“She doesn’t love me,” said Harry at once. “She doesn’t give a damn — ” “But she took you,” Dumbledore cut across him. “She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother’s sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.”

He knew one thing, though: unhappy as he felt at the moment, he would greatly miss Hogwarts in a few days' time when he was back at number four, Privet Drive. Even though he now understood exactly why he had to return there every summer, he did not feel any better about it. Indeed, he had never dreaded his return more.

Harry understands it then, so it is striking that the only time he allows himself to get truly angry at the position Dumbledore put him in this chapter, through Ariana:

“I’m not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote,” said Hermione. “All that ‘right to rule’ rubbish, it’s ‘Magic Is Might’ all over again. But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house —” “Alone? He wasn’t alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up —”

“I don’t believe it,” said Hermione. She stood up too. “Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don’t think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we knew would never, ever have allowed —” “The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn’t want to conquer Muggles by force!” Harry shouted, his voice echoing across the empty hilltop, and several blackbirds rose into the air, squawking and spiraling against the pearly sky.

I am especially struck by the image of Harry's angry shouting making blackbirds fly into the pearly sky, and spiral over him. Blackbirds are associated with mystery, secrets and are seen as messengers to netherworld - this combined with the image of pearly white sky (heavens/God) seems intentional. It is carrying Harry's disillusionment to the heavens.

And then, the quote that pierces my soul, which is the heart of this chapter:

“Maybe I am!” Harry bellowed, and he flung his arms over his head, hardly knowing whether he was trying to hold in his anger or protect himself from the weight of his own disillusionment. “Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!”

It is reminiscent of Snape's "you have used me! I have spied for you, lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you" - basically, "why have you forsaken me?" moment.

He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose?

The chapter being set in whiteness and emptiness, reminiscent of King's Cross chapter where Harry does get his answers from Dumbledore.

And then Hermione, who has modified her parents memories, can confidently assert that "He loved you, I know he loved you", because her love for her parents, for Ron, can also be sacrificed at the altar of greater good, even if it means doing things that would hurt them (not choosing to go with Ron) and dismiss their agency (as is with her parents). It doesn't mean she doesn't love them.

“I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn’t love, the mess he’s left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me.”

Harry ends the chapter with seeking comfort from Hermione's touch, brushing his hair - wishing he could believe that Dumbledore really cared. (shoutout to @bluethepineapple meta here about this chapter)

And it is then where Dumbledore's gifts come in motion next chapter: his Deluminator lets Ron find his way back. Snape, effectively Dumbledore's man, sends the doe. Harry counts on what he learned from Dumbledore to destroy the Horcrux - he gives Ron the opportunity to wield the sword:

As certainly as he had known that the doe was benign, he knew that Ron had to be the one to wield the sword. Dumbledore had at least taught Harry something about certain kinds of magic, of the incalculable power of certain acts.

And then by Shell Cottage, Harry accepts Dumbledore's plan as is, and reaffirms his faith in Dumbledore's idea of Greater Good:

Dobby would never be able to tell them who had sent him to the cellar, but Harry knew what he had seen. A piercing blue eye had looked out of the mirror fragment, and then help had come. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.

And then Harry chooses to stay on path Dumbledore laid out for him, only wishing now that he simply understood the man:

When Harry had finished speaking (about Voldemort), Ron shook his head. “You really understand him.” “Bits of him,” said Harry. “Bits . . . I just wish I’d understood Dumbledore as much. But we’ll see. Come on — Ollivander now.”

And finally, he starts to understand Dumbledore - through his conversation with Aberforth:

"And Albus was free, wasn’t he? Free of the burden of his sister, free to become the greatest wizard of the —” “He was never free,” said Harry. “I beg your pardon?” said Aberforth. “Never,” said Harry. “The night that your brother died, he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone who wasn’t there. ‘Don’t hurt them, please . . . hurt me instead.’” “He thought he was back there with you and Grindelwald, I know he did,” said Harry, remembering Dumbledore whimpering, pleading. “He thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana. . . . It was torture to him, if you’d seen him then, you wouldn’t say he was free.”

Finally, he gets his chance to have a conversation with Dumbledore at the crossroads of life and death. TLDR: Deathly Hallows is an allegorical tale and it is best to treat it as such and roll with it, because otherwise it's deus ex machina galore.

#albus dumbledore #harry james potter #hp meta #deathly hallows

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rewritingcanon · 2 months

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next gen fav games:

albus: there’s two sides of him— dead by daylight (he forces scorpius to play just so he can bully the shit out of him and hear him scream on his mic when he gets jumpscared) or omori (someone check up on him maybe…)

scorpius: minecraft (he likes to be the housewife making his house look pretty whilst albus goes out and mines for their family of mushroom cows) and little misfortune (yeah he also needs a check up)

rose: sims 4 (how she deals with her god complex)

james: silent hill (says it’s because the protag is named after him but he’s actually very mentally ill and resonates with the manifestation of self-punishment)

lily: mortal kombat 11 (for the fatality, but mostly for mileena)

hugo: fortnite (bro is a toddler and likes to attend the concerts) and my singing monsters (bro was feeling… musical)

teddy: hades (local pansexual genderfluid sillyman lets himself get slain by the hot villains again) and baldurs gate 3 (for literally the same reasons except add character customisation)

victoire: cooking dash (she likes to feel stressed) and the witcher 3 (shes never played another witcher game)

lorcan: fnaf (he always thinks hes done with it and then a new game or dlc comes out) and it takes two (he forces lysander to play with him obvi)

lysander: little nightmares 2 (only game that had him shook)

fred: detroit: become human (loves story-based games and choose your own adventure) and batman: the telltale series (same reasons)

roxanne: telltale’s the walking dead (simply cant move on from any of the games except the third one)

dominique: the last of us (she’s an elitist and will yap about this game at any given chance)

louis: played doki doki literature club when he was 12 and that was it for bro (….core memories were made)

molly: resident evil 3 (she likes them all but is obsessed with jill) but also life is strange (she’s probably gay)

lucy: when asked will tell you its pathologic (which she still loves a lot and is an elitist about) but it’s secretly danganronpa (she likes feeling smart when she connects clues leave her alone)

yann: final fantasy 7 (hes obsessed with the world and its the only game he can play)

polly: amanda the adventurer (to no one’s surprise)

karl: roblox (he’s been banned on so many different servers for bullying little children and is one of the most infamous hated users in his continent)

craig: league of legends (he’s a bit of a loser) and injustice: gods among us (he needs to win the challenges and unlock the characters)

sophia: stardew valley (she wants to live in a world without conflict (she will get stressed over it anyway))

delphi: couldn’t play video games (she would’ve loved fran bow though)

alice: episode (she spends an embarrassing amount on gems)

frank: arkham knight (he’s literally batman guys) and what remains of edith finch (he has range guys)

auggie: project sekai (they need to go take a shower)

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gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley · 10 months

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i finally found you. [g.w. x reader]

Summary: When two young souls meet.

wc: 3.1k

a/n: this is actually my first time writing a soulmate au :O don't you guys just love the idea of the big mean-looking father being an absolute softie for his darling princess?

Y/ N was young, helpless, and unsuspecting the day she was found that autumn afternoon. At six years of age and all alone in a muggle park in the middle of Merlin-Knows-Where, she was all but crying; crying for her parents who had unknowingly left the little girl all alone sniffing petunias and lilies. She wailed to her little heart’s content, unsure of their return.

She was so distressed, so alone and afraid, her magic started to seep out defensively. She felt it flow through her core to the very edge of her fingertips. The sudden overwhelming surge of magic was so strong, it scared off the wildlife around her. Rabbits and birds and foxes scurried off, all whimpering in fear in the process.

Now, she was truly alone, except maybe for the abundance of flora that started to overgrow around her. Yet again, the thought of the creepy crawlies lurking neath the ground didn’t reassure her.

Just then, a freckled boy peeked his head out from behind a tree. “Um, why are you crying?”, he asked with innocent curiosity.

The girl’s head perked up, looking at him with big, glassy, red-rimmed eyes that housed all the emotional turmoil she’d been through for the past half or so hour, “I lost m’ parents. I can’t,” the girl sniffled and used her sleeve to wipe off the tears that stained her cheek, “I can’t find them.”

A brief expression of duty had flickered on the boy’s face before he turned his heel and strode off. The girl, taken aback, reached her hand out from the tall patch of grass she’d been reposed in, “Wait! Where are you going?!”

Then, loneliness befell her once again.

She accepted her fate; becoming one with the grass that shrouded her figure. She no longer paid any mind to the ants that crawled up her arms, around her shoulders, and down her still-magical fingertips. Even the company of mere ants would do. All she needed was some sort of presence, just a small sliver of hope that she wasn’t alone.

Barely ten minutes passed while she wallowed in her self-pity when a horde of redheads came trudging towards her. Behind them scurried the boy, and… another copy of the boy?

“Oh, darling! What are you doing out here all alone?!” The only lady amongst them cried out, hurriedly running towards her as fast as her stubby legs could. She had her arms wrapped around her, dusting all the ants and dirt off her. Then, she paused. She felt the little girl’s magic surge through her. A twinkle in her eyes, the girl noted.

“I lost my parents, and I don’t know my way home.” The girl said, her voice all nasally from the mucus that had been collecting in her sinuses.

Without wasting another second, the lady slipped her wand out of her holster, muttering a spell that sent– to the girl’s bewilderment– a brilliant dog flying out from the tip, and into the air, barking dutifully.

The lady smiled warmly at her, “Now, don’t you worry, dear. I just sent a patronus to your parents. They should be here any second now.”

And as the young Y/N thanked the lady profusely, she felt a pair of watchful eyes over her. Her head craned over in the direction of the boy who was standing behind who she presumed to be his older brother. She flashed him an award-winning toothy smile, and the boy swore he felt his dirt-covered cheeks flush at the gesture, nuzzling deeper into his brother’s side, flushed.

A loud crack was then heard from behind the little girl. A slim, alluring woman who barely looked beyond thirty, and a surprisingly surly-looking man with a beard almost thicker than Albus Dumbledore’s.

Before the lady could even process that she finally found her daughter, the brutish man quickly rushed over to her, picking up and lifting her up into the air. “My sweet little baby! Daddy’s so sorry he left you!” The man cried out in a crooning voice that broke at one point.

The girl’s mother quickly thanked the family for finding her, and before they knew it, Y/N’s family was ready to leave the park. But before they could, the girl stopped them.

“Wait! One last thing, please?” She shot her father puppy eyes that left him defenseless.

Her parents then nodded in agreement, curious as to what she was up to. Y/ N then quickly let go of their hands and headed straight for the boy, locking him in a rather strong embrace, definitely from her father and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you!” She said with that silly toothy grin again.

Amused, the people around them cooed at the adorable spectacle. Just two children being children, at first glance.

Nobody, not a single soul, around them had anticipated this gesture to alter the course of their lives for the years to come. Neither of the two children had flinched at the sudden itchy sensation or the newly-embedded “moles” that decorated their skin.

* * *

Y/N wasn’t sure why the heavenly beings had persecuted her for simply staying back after class to finish up her notes.

She keened over in pain, a sharp agonising sting had wedged itself into her thigh, then spread throughout her body like a wild flame. Her skin felt like it was ripping off, but it remained intact. All she could do was cry, howl, wail. She tried everything to distract her mind from the searing pain and the fever that was slowly gathering, she tried so hard– her voice turned hoarse; throat raspy and sore. Her flesh felt as though molten pins and needles were terrorising every crevice of it. Oh, the agony– and it was all because of this wretched once-harmless “mole” on her inner thigh.

Throughout the years that led up to this, she paid no mind to the peculiar mole that had etched itself onto her leg. It was strange– it curled at the end, and was almost hollow in the centre, almost as if it spelled the letter ‘G’. What was even stranger, was the fact that it itched, and occasionally stung. Still, she paid no mind to it. She swore she could feel magic spark out of it sometimes, but blamed the delusions on her lack of sleep. Until then, of course. It was causing her a great deal of pain.

“Dear! Come quick!” The girl’s mother chided, excitement lacing her mellow voice.

A tall, surly-looking, man came rushing into the room with a pink frilly apron around his big waist. A spatula was in his left hand, while his other hand held a spaghetti sauce-smeared pot lid tightly. “What’s wrong, love–?”The lady cut him off, still as excited as she would be on Christmas the following day, “Our darling Y/N has a connection with her soulmate! Isn’t this wonderful? Oh, I do hope he’s a wonderful man. Don’t you think so, too?”

The man was stunned. His beard-laden face housed an unreadable expression before it melted into one of relief and joy. His brutish voice echoed throughout the house, shaking the walls, and surely enough the neighbours could hear him too, “My little baby’s all grown up!”

He dropped the lid with a loud metallic ‘clang’, running up to her and seamlessly picking her up. The gesture was so abrupt, so sudden, she could merely let out a yelp as her father’s warm embrace tightened gently around her. The girl’s little giggles danced around the room as her parents celebrated her, spinning her around the room.

And that was the last time the unknowing Y/N had ever once felt good about the dreaded “mole” on her leg. The happiness on her parent's faces wasn’t enough as the pain continued to shoot through her, rudely snapping her back to the present.

As she tried her best to support herself, to bid herself to at least stand up, she felt her knees buckle underneath her weight, quivering with each attempted step she took. Sweat trickled down her flushed complexion, collecting between her knitted-together brows and in the wrinkles of her forehead as her face scrunched into a pained expression.

She sucked her breath in between her teeth, biting back the crude expression about to escape her lips, “Oh for fucks sake!”

It was never this bad, she thought in between the myriad of other thoughts that were screaming and hissing. She was only about to reach her tenth year of no contact. And for the love of Merlin and Morgana, who the hell was her soulmate and why was he making her life so fiendishly difficult? Couldn’t she bear the consequences later on? Why now? Why in the midst of preparing for OWLs? Why couldn’t it happen afterwards?

Unbeknownst to the girl as she battled with her internal monologue, a head had peeked into the room from behind the wall of the entrance.

A crooning voice, “‘S everything alright?”

It was a voice so soothing, so pleasant, it seemed to tame her pain receptors for a good moment, washing over her like rain after months of drought. Wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, she finally gathered the strength to sit up straight. Her face was still flushed, yet ashen, as it glistened with sweat. A tall boy had found his way over to her, towering over her with an extended hand, and for a moment, she saw the blurry face of that boy all those years ago.

She looked up at him with glassy eyes as wide as Saturn’s rings, red-rimmed as they brimmed with tears. He was just as taken aback. Who is this girl, and why does she feel so… familiar? The boy thought. And just then, before the girl could graciously accept his hand, a sharp stinging sensation had struck him in his lower spine. Rudely shocked, he let out a little yelp before quickly composing himself again.

Y/N watched as the mystery boy jolted, grabbing his lower back in the process. Then, she took note of his red and gold tie. Such Gryffindor heroism, she mused. The upper corners of her lips twitched upwards. She couldn’t help it; it was amusing.

And, without thinking, “Everything alright, Gramps?”

Her mirth-laced voice and amused expression had caught him off-guard once again. Why, isn’t she lovely?

“Aren’t you a lovely one?” The boy let out a hearty guffaw.

The girl smirked, “Why, of course.”

This time, a sort of coolness overcame his body as he felt a hand take his. He’d been so off-guard this time, his breath had hitched in his throat. Then, he felt his lower spine tingle, though it wasn’t the same as it always did. The anticipated scritches that felt like the claws of a lion digging into his skin instead felt like a feather tickling him. It was light, but not enough to elicit a little chuckle out of him, but it felt right.

He noticed as the girl seemed to shudder too.

* * *

Everything about her felt so familiar.

However, the poor familiarity fell victim to illness– bedridden and frail; surviving on a myriad of potions.

Although her hands seemed to be on the verge of withering away, her touch felt so right against his skin. Her glassy eyes felt like home; as if they were meant to stare at him and take in and drink every inch of his being. Despite it being nearly two months since they met in that empty classroom, her very presence still felt enigmatic to him. She was like a missing jigsaw piece; the final one before everything was complete and whole. Merlin, he thought, who exactly is she?

He sat down beside her sleeping form in the hospital wing, combing slender fingers through her hair. She looked as ghastly as she had been last month– a ghoulishly-white complexion, skin as thin as damp parchment, and lips as dry and rough as sandpaper. Madam Pomfrey worked tirelessly to try and stabilise Y/N’s condition but only managed to temporarily subdue her symptoms before she was bedridden again. The whole ordeal felt unreal to George.

“Unfortunately, Mr Weasley, Ms L/N is suffering from Unus-modo Amor. It seems that she has an established soulmate connection, but has been out of contact with them for a very, very long time.” Madam Pomfrey explained.

He saw the pity on her face, and he couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for her, too.

George asked, “What happens if… she doesn’t find her soulmate?”

A sullen expression had painted itself on the Mediwitch’s face, “She will enter a vegetative state, I’m afraid. It’s much like receiving a Dementor’s kiss,” she paused to rub her temples, “If she does not initiate contact with her soulmate by her birthday… The consequences are irreversible.”

George felt his heart shatter, the pieces scattering into the wind. He couldn’t lose her (he had just met her two months ago, but her presence in his life was like a turning page), he just couldn't. He hated that she was wrongly subjected to such torment and suffering– he wanted to scream at the universe at the top of his lungs for doing this to her; for stripping her of the joys of life and confining her to the cruelties of soulmate connections. He used to think that the concept of soulmates was “a whole load of bollocks”, but she proved him wrong.

However, deep inside his heart, he felt this nagging feeling that he couldn’t seem to shake off.

‘Lucky man,’ he thought bitterly, a scornful look threatening to show on his face, ‘very lucky man.’

‘Shame he isn’t here, by your side taking care of you.’ Ten points for George Weasley, he mentally rewarded himself.

Stupid Unus-modo Amor.

* * *

The susurrus of the wind-blown leaves outside rattled against the windowsill. The room was pin-drop silent, and only her ragged breathing could be heard. Then, amidst the susurration of leaves and breathing interspersed with the shivering of her chest, it dawned on him.

He’d lose her on the day she grew a year older, a year wonderful-er. He’d lose her, though not lose lose. She was going to be bedridden, void of life. She was going to lose the spark that he’d rekindled the day they met– she was going to lose that beautiful fire in her eyes that he, and he only, managed to fan.

George couldn’t believe it. He had thought out wonderful plans for her birthday. A tall, 5-layered cake, bacchanalia in the common room, leading a choir of drunken Gryffindors in singing her Happy Birthday. It was all too wonderful– a day to celebrate her. Why did it have to all go south?

Loss. George couldn’t bear the idea of loss– to lose someone you love– love?

I love her? He thought, shocked to the core.

His eyes darted over to the hand he’d been raking through her hair and suddenly started to count the days he’d spent with her in the hospital wing when none of her friends had once even thought to drop by and say hello. Then, he looked over at the tray of potions he’d been feeding her. Green potion for Monday, Purple one for Tuesday in small doses, he recalled. Merlin, he had all her prescriptions memorised at this point.

It all came crashing down on him– he loved her with every fibre of his being. He couldn’t help the bubbling bitterness that accompanied the sweetness of his revelation. He wasn’t her soulmate, or so he thought. He wasn’t her saving grace, the one who’d pull her out of her state of anguish with a kiss. But– something inside him was shouting at him beckoning him to do the unthinkable. Kiss her.

If she was going to go soon, he might as well profess his love. She wouldn’t feel it, she was asleep, after all.

George thought sorrowfully that he wasn’t ever going to fall in love again; not after she took his world by storm. Maybe in their next lives, they'd finally be tethered by faith- a bond so strong and beautiful it would bring kingdoms to their knees.

So, after retracting his hand from her hair, he leaned in. Tears welled up in his eyes as his lips quivered. His heart ached, raced, and thumped.

Then, their lips finally met.

For a moment, nothing happened. It merely felt like skin-on-skin; warm and slightly uncomfortable from her chapped lips. His eyes were closed, and the moment he opened them, her cavernous, dull eyes were staring straight into his.

Then, sparks.

It was so wonderful, she thought, having lips that melded beautifully and rightfully with hers. The everlasting numbness that had plagued her for months seemed to have dissipated and melted away. Her nerves felt hot, but it wasn’t scorching. It felt like a warm bath– it was… comfortable.

She felt life slowly seep back into her. She felt her magic bubble, as if her gears, after months of not working and rusting away, were finally turning. She felt whole.

It didn’t take long for it to hit her.

George’s lips were on hers, and it seemed to have this effect on her she hadn’t felt in almost a decade. Putting one and one together, she realised what all of it meant. Her arms shot out from underneath the cotton blankets and engulfed the nape of his neck. George’s eyes briefly widened but deepened into the kiss nevertheless.

A tingling sensation overcame her inner thigh. It felt as though the tip of a quill were engraving into her skin, slowly, but it still wasn’t painful.

“Wait!” She said, exasperated.

Surely enough, George pulled away, flushed and sweaty from the passion moments prior. He bemusedly watched as she swept the blanket off and pulled up her pyjama pants.

There it was, in golden scripture.

“George Fabian Weasley.”

A gasp left both of their lips. It couldn’t possibly be. How could it be?

“It can’t be…” said George, trailing off as he eyed the writing on her leg, but then quickly remembered the tingles on his vertebra, the way his skin felt like it stretched minutely with a little burn, “Wait, Y/N. I need you to check this.”

With her hum of agreement, the boy turned around and lifted his jumper, and lo and behold, on his pale skin inscribed her name elegantly in rose-golden ink.

Overwhelming relief crashed over her as she clasped him tightly. She was brought back to the past; to that little muggle park where little Y/N had been crying pitifully. She remembered then– that freckled boy who’d peeked behind the tree; the boy she had kissed on the cheek so innocently.

That very boy was in her arms, crooning, though she wasn’t sure if he was comforting her after her whole ordeal, or himself for being so daft. Still, she found it in herself to pull away and look him dead in the eyes– staring at him with those glassy red-rimmed eyes that he remembered dearly from when they were kids.

“I finally found you, you prat.”

a/n 2: OHH i really hope you guys caught on to the parallels between young and current-george peeking out from behind something:')))) this took me like almost a week and im terribly sorry it did

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #harry potter #harry potter oneshot #george weasley oneshot #harry potter imagine #george weasley fluff #george weasley imagine #soulmates #george weasley soulmate #daft george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you

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ggadtomarry · 6 months

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I really dislike the trope where Harry , disgusted, turns on "the light side" because he had to die for the horcrux to be destroyed (but if you love it that's very good! Read what you like!!).

Because it really makes a disservice to Harry's character. Harry isn't afraid of dying, Harry is ready to die to protect the people he loves. To save innocents from LV's killing spree and terror regime.

He was ready to die in the first book, when he chose, freely, to oppose LV instead of letting him have the stone. He was ready to risk his life to save Ginny in CoS. And so go on.

Like his parents, like Severus, like Regulus if you want, like everyone fighting against LV he knew he was risking his life and accepted it. Because the cause was more important. Defeating LV was more important than their own life. Everyone opposing LV thought so.

So yeah, Harry whining about being a weapon or a martyr really does a disservice to his character. Harry willing to self -sacrifice is one of the core traits of his character . Why taking it out?

(no mentioning that Albus knew Harry wouldn't die)

The basis of Lily's power protection is her sacrifice. Harry is strong as her, willing to die to protect other people.

Harry willing and nobly sacrificed himself to give others a chance against LV. Why destroying an element so important for the plot and the characterization?

No mentioning the delicious clash between self-sacrifice and self-conservation in Tomarry fics.

LV being all mocking of Albus' plans (and hating then) while Harry is like "yes, I would have died (killed by you btw) to stop you. Why is it a surprise?" .

#harry potter #harry james potter #tomarry #tomarrymort #being brave and tagging properly #anti anti albus dumbledore

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girlactionfigure · 1 month

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🔅Tuesday morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

🔻Air attacks on Israeli civilians…

Hamas rockets at Sderot, Ibim, Nir Am, Netiv HaAssara, Gavim, Sapir College

Hezbollah rockets at Betzet, Shlomi

.. SINCE the UN Resolution demanding an immediate ceasefire there have been 3 rocket launches out of Gaza.

.. The IDF says it struck a Hamas rocket launching position used in a barrage earlier today on Ashdod. The launchers were located adjacent to a civilian shelter in central Gaza's Deir al-Balah.

▪️CEASEFIRE.. following the UN Sec Council resolution of ceasefire, Hamas's appetite increases against the background of international developments: it rejected the American proposal for the hostage deal. An American delegation is still in Qatar to continue talks.

▪️US RECOMMENDS MAGIC? US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken emphasized in his meeting with Defense Minister Yoav Galant that there are alternatives to a ground operation in Rafah - ones that will better ensure Israel's security and also protect Palestinian citizens, according to the US State Department.

(( While the US has been repeatedly stating this, we have yet to hear a SINGLE suggestion on how. In the meantime, the hostages ROT. ))

▪️MAJOR ATTACK ON IRANIAN SITES IN SYRIA.. attack in the Syrian-Iraqi border town of Albu Kamal. According to the reports, senior members of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards have been eliminated.

Targets: Ayash warehouses in the western area of Deir Ezzor, warehouses for storing Iranian weapons. The headquarters of the Iranian militias in the villa neighborhood in Deir Ezor. Several sites near the El Hari crossing on the Syria-Iraq border. The headquarters on Al-Taz Hagana street in Albu Kamal city includes a security office in the area of Badar Hospital, which is itself an Iranian base. The headquarters of the Iranian militias in the El Tamo neighborhood in the city of Al Mayadin, east of Deir Ezzor. The communications headquarters of the Iranian militias and the Alawite security headquarters on the University's President Street in the city of Deir ez-Zor.

Unknown if the attack was by Israel or the U.S. Syria blames Israel.

🔸SUMMARY - Israel internal politics is reaching a crescendo due to the “Movement for Quality Govt”’s High Court case, in the midst of the war, over draft law and charedi low participation in the IDF.

On one hand the IDF is manpower stressed due to the war, on the other hand the IDF has taken only minor steps to accommodate this population segment and the political class has not pressed or improved the issue over the past 15 years. Sometimes the opposite, demonizing the charedim and driving them away.

The possibility of the war coalition dissolving over this issue is growing, while the core coalition is attempting to build a recruitment law with incentives and disincentives that the charedim can accept, the attorney general will defend, the High Court will not overturn, the IDF can actually implement, and secular society won’t protest… and do so within a month. The good news is Israel is a place of miracles. The bad news is they need it.

#Israel #October 7 #Hamas Massacre #Gaza #Israel/HamasWar #Real Time Updates

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beevean · 12 days

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@hypermascbishounen

Interesting how the concept of the gifted child and the consequences of being favored is at the core of all the major rivalries in CV.

Hugh seethed when his father gave the Hunter Whip to Nathan and not to him, which lead him to feel worthless, and Camilla used that jealousy to corrupt him.

Maxim wanted to become better than Juste, but for the sake of relieving him of his "cursed" fate, so he took it into his own hands... which lead to nothing but disaster. Of course, Evil Maxim implies that he was born also from Maxim's own resentment against Juste and the "wall" that had been erected between them once he got the Vampire Killer. I also find fascinating that the worst ending has Juste technically accomplishing his fate as a hunter, but utterly failing as a friend, cursed by Evil Maxim to hunt for the rest of his life because that's clearly the only thing he's good for.

Isaac was jealous of Hector being Dracula's favorite, but Hector himself hated being Dracula's favorite because it came at the price of his self. This jealousy is what makes him obsessed with Hector and wanting to defeat him, but there is also the irony of the favorite one being the one who threw everything away because being appreciated simply wasn't worth the turmoil, the guilt and the dehumanization.

And at first Albus is framed as being jealous that Shanoa got to be picked for the Dominus ritual over him, but in reality, he wanted to protect her from it - being Barlowe's chosen one meant that she was to be sacrificed. (I see the parallels with Dracula and the Forgemasters so clearly but I can't word...)

HoD as a prequel to RoB/SoTN shows well the cracks that were starting to form in the family. Juste's own theme is not called "Successor of Fate" for nothing. However, Maxim seems to be more concerned than Juste is: and while on the surface it might seem that the latter is not very fleshed out, to me he seems to be rather... hyperfocused at best, and in denial at worst. He wants to get the job done. He has no time for Maxim's doubts: they have to save Lydie. And after Lydie is saved, well, you don't want to trouble her, do you, Maxim? Let's leave all of this behind us :) it's all fine :) we won and now we're happy together :)

(which is why I find the worst ending fascinating, on top of it being utterly depressing. It's the only ending where Juste can't hide his own feelings: not only in the best ending he outright prevents Maxim from telling Lydie what happened, but in the "mid" ending, she convinces him that blaming himself is the same as blaming Maxim, so Juste can put on a mask for her sake. In the worst ending, it's only him, his guilt, and the rest of his life)

I'm not sure if Juste was deliberately meant to evoke Alucard as a character (Juste may look like Alucard 2.0 because that's Kojima's type lol, same with Hector being Masc Alucard), but Alucard himself was meant to echo the Belmont legacy and its issues, with Richter being the symbol of them - as I said, Alucard himself feels pressured to honor Lisa's wish, even if it causes him great pain. But while Richter eventually could not deny that his sense of self-worth is tied to his destiny to fight... Juste still has the chance to hide from what his name entails, and be nothing but the perfect Belmont successor.

#castlevania #akumajou dracula #harmony of dissonance #juste belmont #maxim kishine #i really like this game lol #i should talk more about it

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vashhanamichi · 7 months

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Lesser Evil - Omegaverse Remix

So @metalomagnetic wrote Lesser Evil, which I love and already wrote a fic of, and said that it could have been an omegaverse story. I'm an omegaverse fan so of course I agree and after the last chapter I had to write my own take on it even if it's rushed and bad (I usually write 300~500 words a day but I wrote 2000 in two days because the last chapter made me a bit insane. Anyway). This is also for @kazuza-art whose art makes feral for Dumbledore. Nonsensical, unbeta'd omegaverse feat. Omega Albus, Alpha Gellert and Alpha Tom under the cut:

It’s sudden: Tom bends, burying his face between Albus’ shoulder and neck, holding him by the waist with the familiar, possessive motion Albus has come to associate with the Alpha’s need for sex. His expression is sharp and his eyes are dark when he raises them. Half child, half untamed thing of unspekable hungers. Unreadable for now – Albus doesn’t like him like this. Blank, out of his reach, as he was during those first days of torture.

“You are an omega.” Tom says. He tilts his head a little. Dumbledore’s hand immediately covers the space, the gland against which Tom’s nose was burrowing just now. He thought he was done with the troublesome particularities of this body. Age, starvation and torture should have rid him of this one thing. But it’s there – fainter to him than it is to Tom, the honey of his own scent. He speaks aloud before he can’t stop himself, surprised, too:

“Gellert didn’t tell you.”

Tom’s expression hardens and so do his hands – around Albus’ wrist, around his waist.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I thought it wouldn’t be relevant. My heats had been sparse even before our meeting. I always used suppressors and the ordeal my body went through during our first months together made them unnecessary. I thought I’d come out almost a beta.”

“Almost a beta.” Tom mocks. “That’s not why you didn’t tell me.”

Albus licks his lips. Rarely he attempts to omit. He thought, perhaps, Tom would allow him this one grace. But he’s a greedy, cruel boy and Albus shouldn’t have expected differently.

“It’s not a favoured aspect of my life, Tom.”

How could it be? He always hid it, as many other omegas do, because he knew what it meant. There would be pressure for him to use his womb rather than his brain in service of the magical community. His secondary gender is rare and coveted because the wizarding elites are perpetually desirous of magical babies. He made a life for himself as an unremarkable standard man – a beta, as some still say. The only one alive who knows the truth is Gellert.

Well. Tom now, too.

It unsettles something in him to know that, for all he’s done, Gellert didn’t betray this one secret. Not even to his precious Schatz.

He kisses Tom’s forehead, his murmuring soft, maternal, pacifying:

“It doesn’t matter. I’m old. It will go away.”

-//-

It doesn’t.

The weeks pile on and so does Albus’ scent. How could Tom have missed this? He follows the curve of Albus’ hips, of his belly while he sleeps, it’s such a subtle thing, there’s so little in him that’s mellow, he’s wiry and bony, it’s so hard to imagine this as a body meant for harboring life – but what would Tom know? He, whose sexual experience before Albus amounted to bending over for another Alpha?

But he feels. The coil at a lower and ancient core within.

“Can you get pregnant?” He asks Albus one day. Sees, enjoys it perhaps, Albus wincing at the question. Serves him right for not telling him. Nothing of Albus should be barred from him. No secrets. No thoughts.

“It’s very unlikely,” the Omega answers softly. “I’m over sixty, Tom. Even for powerful wizards, that’s not young.”

Is he relieved? He doesn’t like the idea of sharing Albus with some runny brat, even if the brat looks like him. If Albus was to be tender with anyone else – god forbid, if he was to love anyone more than he loves Tom. He thinks he’d take the bairn and crash his head against a wall. Perhaps. He pictures it and it does scares him, which is good, isn’t it? He’s not all teeth. When he thinks of killing a baby, one he sired, there’s something in him that recoils. Wouldn’t Albus be proud? But still, Albus is his. He’d crawl inside his womb himself if he could. Odd thinking, but his head hasn’t been right for years now. And Albus’ scent is making him madder.

There’s too, in him, what rejoices at the thought. Get him pregnant. Change him. Watch him swell in a way Gellert never managed to do. He’s stirred and he can’t keep his hands off Albus and when they part there’s blood on the Omega’s lips and between his thighs.

Three weeks pass. It’s undeniable now, no matter how much Albus appeals to his age. He will go into heat and soon. And though it’s Albus who suffers it, moaning, whimpering, running a fever that rises as the night approaches, Tom feels the rawness of it in his own bones. Like an ache behind his teeth. His cock stays half hard throughout the day and his knot is a painful weight at its base. He never felt like this before.

Two days earlier he asked:

“Did he fuck you while you were in heat?”

Albus looked away. It was all the answer he needed. When the Omega asked him to bring suppressants Tom pretended not to hear. Gellert doesn’t get to taste something from which Tom doesn’t partake as well.

Albus cries, begs. Tom missed his tears and his pain. Is he a child wearing his Father’s clothes? When he covers Albus’ body with his own and licks the slick on his thigh, he’s half mad with rut himself. He doesn’t carry any unwanted name and he knows nothing of the world but his own right to claim that which lays open for him. His power so vast it’s a thrill in itself. Please, Albus calls, finally humbled, finally unmade, inside, inside, please! He mounts Albus and pulls his hair until he screams in pain and that scream he swallows with a bloody kiss. All of his body used to punish Albus and to mark him, too. He feels hale. This is what Gellert robbed him off, this is a testament of his might – he pulls Albus’ hips up and drives into him, again and again, as the Omega cries and begs him to go slower, to be gentler, even as he spills his barren seed across his belly. His cock doesn’t bother Tom as much now that he knows how nonthreatening it is. Tom’s mind only clears a little as the knot forms and Albus’ hole milks him, wanton, greedy. Bite marks all over Albus’ chest and shoulders and neck. Tom licks the blood and begins again.

It goes on for three days. He fucks Albus two dozen times in that period, stopping only to drink water, to eat something that isn’t Albus blood. Albus faints a few times but that doesn’t deter him. He grows warmer still, having him so prone.

When it ends he bathes Albus, cleans the blood from his body, washes away the sweat, the slick, the semen. Untangles and brushes his hair. The Omega hums, his head against Tom’s chest, submissive, half-awake.

-//-

A frown between those red eyebrows. It’s the fourth day, Albus’ blues eyes unclouded, Tom’s rut gone. He wants to tell Albus to cease whatever guilt is brewing – they’ll do this again. He can’t have Albus taking suppressants anymore. This is something he’s learned that belongs to him, untainted by Gellert. He knows, truly knows, what is like to be an Alpha now. It feels like an armour and a new name.

“I’m sorry,” Albus says again. Like after Tom first fucked him.

“Don’t be.” Tom presses the pad of his finger against the frown, eases it away. “I liked it. You did too.”

Albus closes his eyes. The tears there, once more. Now Tom is the one frowning.

“Say it.”

Albus bites his lip.

“I liked it.” He whispers.

--//--

How it shifts, unused, this axis in him. It doesn’t take the retching that morning, or the following one; forty years he’s spent trying to be mind alone but flesh takes its toll. He’s attuned to it now, and knows.

A fitting punishment for being weak, for desiring Tom, for allowing himself to be desired back. I liked it. In the mirror after the washes his mouth he sees, for the first time in ages, that beauty Tom alluded to: his skin is healthier, rosy even, his hair shinier. He remembers his mother looking prettier than ever when she carried Ariana. Perverted old man, he thinks, whore.

He doesn’t tell Tom, though his window of opportunity to do so is closing fast. Wonders (hopes?) his body, aged, thin, battered, will make the choice for him. But the days pass and it continues to germinate – it, because he can’t bring himself to call it anything else. Not yet.

--//--

After saying his piece, Gellert examines him. Snow has started to fall and it melts, tiny drops of it, on Albus’ hair. Albus wants, for a moment, to find the same relief Gellert did in confessing, in accusing, in sharing the grief of the years. They always understood each other perfectly, though coming from different mother tongues, as if they made their own, that summer. And it evolved to become a sharp, bitter dialect. Still, one that is familiar, one they speak fluently. They’re two old lions of the same pride, they have seen the same killing, they tasted the same meat. They were once cubs together, as it were.

Gellert’s eyes widen and he laughs.

“Oh, Albus. I’d pity you if I had it in me to pity.”

“I’ll take your scorn instead, old friend. Pity won’t do much good for either of us.”

“Not scorn. Bewilderment. Amusement. And curiosity too. How will you talk your way out of that one, I wonder.” he pauses, and his expression is almost clean of resentment. “How far along?”

“Nine weeks, give or take.”

“And yet you came expecting to duel me. Did you hope the strain of fighting would solve that growing problem of yours?”

“I considered it, to be honest. But no, I don’t think I would’ve let you make that decision for me, in the end. I was never one to shy away from my responsibilities.”

“When we were young, you used to drink that horrid potion every morning after I left your bed. Do you remember? I was glad for it, back then. I was sixteen, of course I didn’t want to be saddled with a child, being a child myself.” he looks away, his voice a tad softer now. “But over the years I did wonder. What would have happened if you hadn’t taken it so religiously. If you had forgotten, one day.”

Now they’re both imagining it. Useless experiment.

“Gellert I--” Albus approaches him. Kisses him, on the cheek. “You never told Tom. You never told anyone. Thank you for keeping my secret. And I’m sorry.”

The Alpha smiles and for a moment Albus thinks he’ll say he’s sorry too. But he only touches Albus’ cheek, gazes at his belly.

“You’re fucked, old friend. That viper in your bed won’t share, even with his own blood. You know that, don’t you? The way adolescent lions sometimes kill their own baby brothers.” he takes his hand away. His words have no bite left. “Pregnancy suits you, Albus. You look beautiful. I’m sure the child will be beautiful, too.”

--//--

Tom wakes up, still weak from the Horcrux. Albus dozes next to him but opens his eyes slowly, feeling the shift in the bed. They rearrange their bodies until Tom can lay his head against Albus’ navel. Tense flesh underneath. Fecund silence. Tom tries to discern movement under Albus’ skin. Some proof of life besides the change in his scent. But it’s still too early. If he pulls it out it will be a handful of blood, not even formed. He’d be doing it a favour too, sparing it from this world. But Albus would be sad. And if he was a baby he’d like to be born to be reared by Albus. To meet him and inherit his power.

He doesn’t know what he feels. With the Horcrux he’s rooted in life like he wasn’t before, where life could be taken from him like a stolen trinket. Is this a form of rooting, too? The poor man’s immortality. Any man can fuck a bitch and leave a trace of himself for posterity.

He closes his eyes. Albus gently caresses his hair. Maybe if the brat has Albus’ red hair he won’t hate it too much. Maybe if Albus is right and there’s in him that with which to make a father. He doubts it, but compared to the ones he knew he might not be so bad. Maybe.

Albus’ body makes him warm at last. All he knows is the hand caressing his hair, lulling him back to sleep.

#riddledore #metalomagnetic #my fic #lesser evil #if objectifying dumbledore is wrong then I don't wanna be right etc

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