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uncertainwallflower · 2 months

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ATLAS For @jilymicrofics March 2024 (because Gryffindor will win the House Cup, as we win everything). Prompts: troubled, joy. Words: 749. Trigger warnings: mild panic attack.

In Greek mythology, the Titan Atlas was responsible for bearing the weight of the heavens on his shoulders. (World History Encyclopedia)

James frowned as he looked down at Lily. Huddled by the fire, legs drawn up to her chest, chin dropped upon her knees, glazed eyes betraying her far-off thoughts.

Around them, the common room was its usual boisterous self. Laughter and chatter and the odd boom of exploding snap. Outside the world was a virgin white fleece, the castle, the grounds, the forest and mountains beyond all buried in coarse snow. But inside was warm and bright and joyous. Except for Lily.

The boys were probably already up in the dormitory, wondering when and where they'd lost him. James could already picture Peter's head poking out from the stairwell, peering around in search of him. Then he'd shout something crude in the hopes of hurrying the straggler along. James shook away the thought.

He dropped into the space beside her. "Alright, Evans?"

She started, apparently having not noticed the shift in the cushions and his presence beside her. He could feel hers. Feel the heat emanating from her as it emanated from the roaring churning. But with it was a heaviness. He could almost see it weighing on her, baring down on her neck and shoulders, forcing her to fold, to grow smaller, smaller.

She offered him a weak smile. A flimsy Trojan horse of a mask with gaping holes for eyes that let him sink into the depths of her soul and feel the cold sadness seeping through her.

He frowned further, voice lowering as he asked again: "What's up?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing."

A soft snort. "Yeah, okay." He said nothing else, hoping she would fill the void with a real answer but the silence only stretched. So, in the tenderest voice he could summon, he pushed on. "Evans, really, are you alright? You seem..." Here he made an awkward unsure motion with his hands. "Troubled."

Still she said nothing.

He nudged her with his shoulder. "Come on, you can talk to me. We're supposed to be a team, remember? How 'bout it, Head Girl?"

Reluctantly—forehead creasing as she brought her auburn brows together, lips twisting as she too twisted about—she drew a copy of the Daily Prophet from the crevice down between the couch cushion and the armrest.

MUGGLE FAMILY FOUND MURDERED IN THEIR BEDS: AURORS SUSPECT MAGICAL INVOLVEMENT.

James withered. "It's horrible." But, beyond the tragedy of the murdered family, he frowned and checked the date. The paper was two days old. "Did...did you know them?"

She shook her head, whisps of hair falling over her eyes, which swum with silky tears.

"Lily, hey, it's going to be okay. You know that, right? They'll catch whoever did this."

When she looked at him, and when he looked beyond the swell of tears, anger shone out—not sadness but anger, rage. "It's the third murder this month. And look." She snatched the newspaper back from him, tearing through the papers until she came across a small continuation printed under an advertisement for Broom Extensions: Fit the Whole Family! "Their daughter was a witch. Confirmed by the Ministry Book of Records. And they're not the only ones, I have the other articles in my dorm, I could show you, they-they're being targetted James; Muggleborns and their families are being hunted down—" she took a ragged, wobbly breath "—and killed, like-like—"

"Okay, Lily, take a breath, yeah? Breathe. You're gonna scare the first years."

She glanced around the common room, wide-eyed, noticing the lull that had come over the space as their Head Girl had closed in on hyperventilation. "I..."

"It's alright." He placed a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth in a way he hoped was comforting. "How 'bout we go up to your dorm? You can show me those clippings, maybe talk through all these thoughts rattling around your head?"

"Er—yeah, okay." And wiping away the hot, angry tears that had spilled forth with a rough hand, Lily rose from the couch, James following closely behind her as they picked their way through the curious common room.

As they neared the girls' staircase, Peter's fated head appeared and, quickly catching sight of James, he shouted: "Oi, Potter, what's taking you so long?"

"Rack off, Pete!" was James's reply—releasing the common room of their fascination and returning them to their own conversations—and the mousy boy vanished with a shrug, while the Head Boy and Girl disappeared up the stairwell without another glance spared for the rest of the world.

AO3

#jilymicrofics #bella's microfics #jily #prompted writing #hogwarts era #the first wizarding war #james potter #lily evans #peter pettigrew #microfic #uncertainwallflower

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robinjamievk · 10 months

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just a little reminder that:

regulus became inferi at 18

evan was killed at 20 (moody)

peter betrayed all his friends at 21

dorcas was killed at 21 (voldy)

marlene was killed at 21 (de)

james was also killed at 21 (voldy)

lily sacrificed herself for harry at 21

mary lost memory at 21, forgetting most of her hogwarts years, her friends, her partners

alice and frank were tortured so much they ended up at st. mungo's, also at 21 (de)

pandora died during her experiment at 29

barty had his soul sucked out of him by dementors at 33, leaving his body empty, but not killing him

sirius was killed at 35 (bella) and fell into the curtain, meaning he was trapped there

peter's silver hand choked him to death at 38

remus was killed at the battle of hogwarts at 38

meaning that the only four people that lived, couldn't live fully

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jamesisasimp · 1 year

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Hey, so remember this?

Yeah, well I wrote it. Here it is. It's called In The Woods ♡ enjoy

You know how, partway through to the achievement of a goal, the journey gets sort of stagnant? Something shifts from fighting to drifting, waiting, for something, anything to progress. It's at this point that people are usually searching for something to break the pattern, to reignite the flame, to push them on.

Regulus has been drifting for months, and this, he thinks, is his break in the routine.

Admittedly, he's not too sure what this is, but he takes his wand out of the sheath in his sleeve and ventures out of his tent.

It's late October, possibly early November. He hasn't been too capable of keeping track in the middle of the woods, and the trees here don't change color or lose their leaves. But it's cold now that he's out of his heating charm's reach, and the air smells of that crisp, freshness that only winter brings. He pulls his cloak tighter around himself and presses on.

His camp is small, set up within the constraint of a circle no wider than six meters across. The idea was to put up a dome of protection charms, and the smaller the dome the less of a magical footprint it leaves - harder to find. It's practical, safe, but it means every time he steps outside of range he's exposed. It makes every venture, including this one, nerve wracking.

At least all of the other times he was heading out with a purpose. Not that chasing the sound of a whining, wounded animal through the dark, cold woods in the middle of the night isn't a purpose. It's just not a very good one and yet. Here he is.

"Lumos," he murmurs, and his magic hums to life through the tip of his wand, illuminating him and the trees nearest. Now that there's light he can see his own breath.

He should've known because he was nearly blind before, but he glances up through the branches to get a glimpse at the moon and finds it unfull. Barely a sliver. No wonder it was so dark. But that means the culprit of the noise isn't a werewolf that Regulus is heading right towards to get mauled.

There's no wind tonight, so the trees don't sway and their needles don't rustle and fall. In fact, the forest is oddly still. No critters scampering about and causing a fuss or birds calling. Maybe they're asleep. It's quiet. Too quiet.

All Regulus can hear are the deep animalistic groans in the distance, his footsteps, and something ringing in his ears.

So he goes, pinching the neck of his cloak together rather than pulling up the hood, and hoping the cover of darkness will keep him protected. Even though the silence makes him afraid to breathe and get caught out of bed when he shouldn't be.

Noting this, he should be scared, and yet he realizes he's not.

There's an odd, serene calm about all of this. He feels frozen in time, like this isn't really happening for the rest of the world, just him. Maybe it's the stillness or not knowing the day or the time, or maybe it's that Regulus is about to interact with a living - and likely dying, by the sound of it - thing for the first time in... in a while.

He feels untouchable as he weaves around trees and climbs up over rocky inclines. The sound gets louder and the ringing does too, and Regulus faintly regrets not adventuring in the woods as much as Sirius when he was a kid. Maybe then he'd know what animal is making the sound before he sees it.

It's a rather dreadful sight.

The deer- no, there's antlers. Stag. It's crumpled over on it's side, sprawled out in the middle of a small clearing where the frost has begun to build up on the grass. There's blood. From this distance Regulus can't see from where, but, if he had to guess, the pink and jagged tears over the animal's ribs is likely the source.

It's in obvious pain, kicking weakly in distress and moaning visibly into the air. The only odd part is... there's no culprit. No muggle hunter with a gun, though there shouldn't be in these woods anyway. No wolf or bear. Do they have bears in Scotland? Regulus hasn't a clue, but if they did he doesn't imagine they're the rare type of bears that just wound a stag for fun and leave it to bleed out rather than finishing it off.

His heart aches to see a creature in such pain. He knows this deer isn't the only one out there withering tonight, but it's the one he can actually reach. He can help. And maybe he should just leave it here because it'll take uncomfortably too long to heal it, but he can help.

That's why he's out here in the first place, isn't it? To help. He's not, but right now he can, and that's what matters.

And he didn't come all the way out here for nothing.

If he had been on more of those woodland adventures when he was younger, he might know better than to creep up on an injured animal. The goal isn't to spook it. If possible, Regulus would like to mend it's wounds and send it on it's way. It's probably got a family to get back to by now.

But he hadn't, so he doesn't know, and so when his boot lands on the frozen grass with a crunch and announces his presence, he isn't expecting the hoof he gets to the chest.

It knocks the air right out of his lungs and sends him tumbling back with the force, tripping over his own feet until he's falling. When he hits the ground he's gasping for air.

It comes to him. One terrifying beat late.

He breathes.

Right then. Probably shouldn't have snuck up on it like that.

The stag is in near hysterics and Regulus pushes himself up onto his elbows. It's thrashing out, and this time he knows well enough to stay out of range when he climbs back to his feet, inwardly accepting the bruise that it's undoubtedly going to leave.

"Alright," he's trying to talk to it before he can stop himself. A deer. He's talking to a deer. Well, at least it can't talk back and let him know how rotten he is at conversation. "Alright, it's okay. I'm not here to hurt you."

If the stag understands him, which it presumably does not, it doesn't care.

"Please, would, you just-" Regulus was trying to get closer again and had to jump back to avoid his legs being knocked out from beneath him by another swiping hoof. "Yes, I know how strong and scary you are, you haven't got to show me again. Let me- hey!"

The stag tipped its head forward enough to get one of its antlers caught the end of Regulus's cloak. It's instantly tangled in the material, and when he tries to tug it off the stag outright screams and yanks in his own direction, which makes Regulus stumble closer to the stomping hooves of death.

"Okay! Okay, you want the cloak?" he asks, not expecting an answer and not getting one as he shrugs off his other sleeve and tosses it onto the ground. "There, you can have it."

The stag is still panting but, without the tension to fight, it's head just flops over onto the heap of the cloak. It let's out a heavy sigh through its nose, one Regulus can only imagine is of pain, and his heart clenches.

"That hurt you, didn't it?"

The stag is still watching him as he carefully lowers himself to his knees. He's proper cold now, goosebumps trailing all up his arms, but that's not his biggest concern. If the deer wants his cloak to stay calm then he can have it. Anything to keep those hooves on the ground.

He doesn't have to get any closer to see the severity of the major wound on the animal's ribs. A whole chunk of flesh is missing, like someone took a spoon and just scooped it out, and the surrounding fur is matted in blood that shines in the light of his wand. The good thing, he supposes, is that he can't see bone, so the wound can't be too terribly deep. The ribs are sort of right under the surface, aren't they? He's a bit shit at first aid on people, let alone animals...

"Right. Well I can mend that a bit, replenish the skin and get you some bandages," he tells the deer, who only huffs in response. "But this wouldn't have hurt your head..."

He has to inch closer to get a better look at the deer's neck, which makes the animal rigged, tense and ready for a fight.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he reminds it. "I just want to help. Can I...?"

He points towards the stag's neck, and, for a long moment, it just stares at him. Then, eventually, it lays its head back down, seemingly granting him willing access.

Maybe, somehow, it can understand him.

"Thank you."

He settles on his hip with his legs bent, following the curve of the deer's outstretched front legs. The ground is hard and freezing, but he doesn't care.

There's no surface level damage that he can see, so Regulus suspects it's a sprained muscle of some sort, under the skin. Carefully, slowly, and with an eye on the deer's face to make sure it doesn't suddenly lose its mind again, he presses his hand to the animal's neck. The fur is surprisingly soft for a woodland creature, but he's not feeling for that, far more interested in the skin underneath.

He was expecting a knot of muscle, like you get in your shoulders when you overuse them in an odd position. Massage it and it disappears, but that's not what he finds. It's a bump, a bit of uneven, raised skin. It's a-

"Scar," he whispers. "Now where'd you get that?"

The stag makes a rumbly noise that Regulus can feel under his fingers. Which doesn't clear anything up, by the way, but he appreciates the effort.

Still, it seems fresh. Maybe it's pressing on something that agitates the stag, he doesn't know. He's not well versed in the anatomy of deer.

Either way, it's nothing that requires his attention too drastically.

The stag is still looking at him with wide, dark brown eyes, and Regulus continues to gently stroke his neck until he feels some tension leave the poor animal.

"What did this to you?" he whispers, searching the deer's gaze.

There's still no answer.

"Right. Well. Some dittany will fix you right up. Hopefully the silver won't mess it up..." he musses to himself and retrieves the bottle from his pocket. It's homemade, which does air a bit of caution, but Regulus needed something out here to protect him in case he did run into a werewolf.

Besides, he was great at potions. Hasn't properly brewed one in two years, but that's alright.

And, you know, if it doesn't work, at least then he'll know so he doesn't use it on himself.

He doesn't know why he keeps talking to the deer, but he hopes it's comforting it a little, if only just another sound for the animal. "It's going to sting," he warns, and the stag makes a sound of indignation that almost makes Regulus smile. Somehow it sounded... exasperated? "Well I'm sorry, do you want this wound to close or not?"

Another huff.

"That's what I thought."

He clamps the cap for the bottle in his fist to make sure he doesn't lose it and carefully tips the mouth over the wound. Just a few drops slide out and fall onto the gash, and the stag is instantly in motion, seizing and thrashing and trying to get away from the pain Regulus had warned about.

He ducks down and throws himself against the stag's belly, pressing his body close to avoid the hooves.

"Alright, okay," he tries to soothe the spooked creature, smothering a cough in its fur as he accidentally breathes in the thin green smoke coming from where the potion met the wound. "Alright. It's okay. Just a little sting, like we talked about."

The stag barely settles, but that's enough for Regulus to lift the bottle again, because the wound was big enough to need more.

There was no warning before he tipped it in, and that ended up being a mistake because the animal positively screamed. It lashed out so swiftly Regulus's arm jerked and spilled more of the potion than he meant to, but he capped it quickly and curled himself up into the stag's chest and just waited it out this time.

And this time, because he got enough of the potion on there, it actually started to heal instead of just hurting. He got too much, the bitter thought comes as Regulus pushes the now half empty bottle back into his pocket. I can always make more, he reminds himself.

It takes a while, but, eventually, the stag settles, slumping right against the ground like all of its strings got clipped.

When Regulus crawls out from beneath one of it's legs and into the light, there's blood on his hands.

But a quick survey of the wound let's him know it worked. It doesn't look good, because Regulus is an amateur and the circumstances were rather worse for the wear, but it's done. The green sheen is dissipating and reveals a smooth red scar. It's sunken in as deep as the gash was, so not a smooth transition by any means. At least it's not bleeding.

"There," he finally let's himself breathe. "Told you I'd fix you right up. Now you've got a nice battle scar to bring back to your family."

The stag let's out a miserable sound, one that pierces right into Regulus's chests and makes him wonder if, possibly, this deer is just as lonely as he is.

Not that there's anything to be done about that.

It's still using his cloak as a pillow, so he doesn't try to take it back. He pushes himself up and gathers his wand from the grass so he can mutter a bandaging incantation. That handiwork turns out much more successful, the smooth and clean bandages wrapping around the deer's torso to secure the wound. Ideally, it'll keep it somewhat clean and protect it from the elements until it's fully healed.

Ideally.

He casts a quick diagnostic charm for good measure, just to be sure there's nothing more he can do for the creature, and that's when his blood turns as cold as his skin.

"You- you've been crucioed."

He'd recognize the symptoms anywhere, and the scar- scar of impact. It only occurs when the spell is particularly targeted and strong. He knows because Sirius has a few, but...

But if this deer had the cruciatus curse put on it...

"Where's it's caster?"

In an instant the world shifts. Time is no longer frozen, the woods are no longer still, the wind has shifted and Regulus can feel deep within that he is no longer the hunter. No, he is the prey.

"Nox."

He snatches up his wand and climbs to his feet in an instant, eyes on the surrounding trees. He paid no mind to them before, but now the silent darkness has him on edge.

It's so empty that it can't be natural. Anyone could be there hiding behind the branches, any shadow could be ready to pounce, and Regulus knows he needs to act first or he'll be taken by surprise.

And he has come way too far, spent way too long, to lose it all like this.

But it's hard to hit what you can't see.

Magical energy is crackling in the air that wasn't before, frying the freshness right out of it.

It was a trick.

This was all a trick, betting on his empathy that Regulus had spent years trying to squash. Unsuccessfully. And he fell for it, right into the center of the trap, painted a bright red bull's eye with this deer's blood, just waiting for the arrow.

A trick.

A trick a trick a trick.

Stupid stupid stupid.

He's out in the open, unprepared, half blind in the dark.

Alright then, he wants to say, come out and get me. Stop hiding and finish the damn job.

But, before he can ever open his mouth, another voice reaches his ears.

"Regulus..."

He spins around and focuses his wand in an instant, curse on the tip of his tongue, and the only reason he doesn't let his magic out is because of what he finds there.

There's no wounded stag slumped over in the grass.

No, there's a man.

A stark naked man barely covered with Regulus's cloak, blood smudged over his sickly skin.

A man Regulus would know anywhere.

"James?" he breathes. "James Potter?"

#ah yes my favorite genre #romance between two people hiding away in the midst of a war trying to figure out how to stop it #the clost quarters and shared sense of importance and responsibility #i'm here to end this war #they say #knowing full well they're actually here to be gay #anyways #jegulus #starchaser #james potter #regulus black #the first wizarding war

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thatshakespeareanfool · 7 months

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I really wish the Harry Potter books were more for adult audience because from the things I find the most fascinating we get so little.

I would love to read more about the political system, how the wizengemot works in practice in daily basis or the clashed between the inherited and elected seat owners.

We know so little of the purebloods lifestyle except that it's more similar to what we may call english victorian aristocraticy. Also so many fans forget that while blood purity is important to most of the families, classism is very much there as well. Pureblood or not there are many families at the bottom of the food chain purely based on the fact that they don't rotate the money or political scene.

The allure of the Black family was always their own supposed self importance and ten generations of traditions were for me. I don't want to see Narcissa running around in muggle attire in fanfic because that ice queen who kills you with her gaze and elegant silence would never do that. Her imagine is just as much her weapon as her wand.

I wish we have gotten more of Dumbledore's and Voldemort's political chess play. Rather than only obscure notes from the first wizarding war. I want to believe that these two people are important to their followers not because the book said so but because they are indeed strategic geniuses.

I want to see the light and dark side blurred into grey, certainly more than "good" and "bad" people. I don't the author to tell me whom should I judge just write them as humans, someone being a blood purist doesn't mean they are rotten 24/7 they can have families, hobbies just as someone who doesn't believe in blood purity can be a nasty price of work in other parts of their lives. I want to see the consequences of war on both sides, because there are no winners in wars only survivors.

#harry potter #the noble house of black #the first wizarding war #wizengamot #professor dumbledore #albus dumbledore #voldemort #tom riddle #the order of the phoenix #death eaters #the black sisters #marauders #narcissa black

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here-for-a-good-time-hopefully · 1 year

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Imagine Dorcas and Regulus, two very close friends since first year imagine tiny Dorcas sticking up for the strange Black boy because something in her tells her that he can be worth defending

Imagine Regulus at first being annoyed with the girl who refused to leave him friendless but finding comfort in her companionship even if it consists mainly of sitting in silence doing work

Imagine Dorcas and Regulus growing closer than ever and although it was hard to catch sometimes you would just know upon looking at them that these two would burn the world should things happen to anyone they care about

Imagine one year that changes the two once friends since the start of school now cold and bitter angrily parting ways when regulus is announced as a death eater and Dorcas refuses to submit to those intent on keeping prejudice alive

Imagine them seeing one another on the battlefield forever apart, forever stuck watching the other grow from behind different front lines

Imagine regulus hearing about the death of Marlene, imagine that is the final straw because regardless of the past Reg and Dorcas had he knew she would love Marlene for eternity for Marlene was her sun like regulus was once her star

Imagine regulus in the cave surrounded by nothing not a friend in sight thinking back on his friendship with Dorcas and the others imagine his last breath being a memory of them all in the common room laughing (the last place he felt truly at home)

Imagine Dorcas waking up to a feeling of truly unimaginable grief and in that moment she knew a friend she’s known for years is gone

Imagine Dorcas on a quest to avenge not only the one person she has ever loved in a romantic sense but a friend who may not have been the man she’d wanted him to be but someone who nonetheless would always deserve better

Imagine Dorcas facing down Voldemort himself (the only one with the power to end the life of one of the most magically strong witches of her era) and imagine Dorcas not going down without a fight because she has fought too long and hard to be defeated with ease

Imagine at the end of it Dorcas is finally able to reunite with her sun and star to hope for a better future for those fighting on and to eventually rejoice in the defeat of the one who had once taken it all from her

#dorcas meadows #regulus black #marauders #harry potter #marauders era #hp marauders #dorlene #marlene mckinnon #slytherin dorcas #marauders headcanon #slytherin skittles #regulus and dorcas #regulus deserved better #angst #dorcas x marlene #the first wizarding war

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herlittlel0ve · 8 months

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i hate angst but here it is.

When James and Regulus were together in Regs 6th year. Sirius had a tattoo gun. When James and him were alone in the dorm they thought it was a good idea to tattoo and little "J" and "R" on each others hips bc no matter what happened they would always at least be friends.

After 5 years they meet again. The war is over and the wizarding world is safe (no help from dumblewhore). Regulus and Sirius reunite and fix they're relationship reconnecting James with Regulus again. Regulus is in a shorter shirt that's tight around is torso and ends at the middle of his belly button showing off the beginning of his v line and his hips. The singular "J" is no longer there but is replaced with "JFP" directly on Regulus hip bone. Which causes James to forget how to breathe and completely stare unashamedly because not only did Regulus not cover up the little part of him that was left after they're split. He added onto it making it undeniably obvious that him as a whole belongs to James and always will no matter what side of war was chosen or how long the split lasted.

#regulus black #james potter #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #gay regulus black #pansexual james potter #james x regulus #regulus x james #marauders era #dead gay wizards #the first wizarding war

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stabyomates · 9 months

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when i think abt snupin i always think abt them getting together in school (maybe secret relationship? maybe remus leaving the marauders after the prank? love both tropes) and breaking up when snape gets the dark mark because of, well, the war BUT both still have feeling for eachother (a bit of co-dependency and obsession just for spice).

i like to think that they find eachother when the war is over, a few years after not hogwarts golden trio era, (tbh remus looks for snape, snape is too ashamed of his role in the war to think that he might be wanted) and get back together to grive over all of it and maybe heal a bit.

#are there fics like this?#i have yet to find something #they give me a bit of a dangerously yours vibes #a bit meaning everytime i hear a sound from it i think of them #anyways #snupin #moonprince #severus snape x remus lupin #remus lupin x severus snape #severus snape #remus lupin #the first wizarding war #marauder era

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nikolai-alexi · 11 months

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hey so I’ve had a horrific awful heartbreaking thought about barty crouch jr after watching GoF again and I need all of you to suffer with me through this strange almost fic/HC/character analysis thing don’t judge me it’s 0300 and I haven’t slept in like 32 hours, thanks

Has anyone ever thought about the fact that Barty may have been Imperioused to torture the Longbottoms?

Like, think about it for a minute.

(TW: this whole thing is sad and fucked up be prepared)

Karkaroff names Barty Crouch Jr during his own interrogation to try and lighten his own sentence, and Barty is immediately apprehended by Moody and the other stationed Aurors as he tries to escape (or attack Karkaroff, which I think is more likely at that point). Barty obviously doesn’t deny his involvement in the torture, but he doesn’t admit to it either, which strikes me as strange.

Everything we know about Barty Crouch Jr’s character, canonically anyways, says that he wouldn’t be the type to allow others to take credit for his crimes, not out of any misplaced loyalty of course, but because he wants the credit for them. If you recall his reaction to Dumbledore instructing Snape to call the Aurors in GoF, he’s almost excited to go back, and says “they’ll welcome me as a hero” or some such. Especially in the lead up to being given the Dementor’s Kiss, he acts proud of the crimes he committed. So that poses a question in my head. Why on Earth would Barty not admit to it right then and there? He’s already going to Azkaban purely on Karkaroff’s word, and his father is right there. It’s the perfect opportunity to destroy Crouch Sr’s career, to force him to look at the shell of his son and see what his own casual cruelty has done, and it’s the perfect opportunity for Barty to cement himself as a devout follower for the other Death Eater sympathisers in the Ministry. With a crime of torturing one of the most promising and outspoken Aurors on the force and his wife to insanity, what better way to do all of that and then some?

So…why didn’t he?

We know Evan has only recently been killed at the time of Karkaroff’s interrogation. And likely, Barty is out of his mind with grief. Regulus is missing, if not already declared dead, Evan is dead, Dorcas is dead, and Pandora may not be dead yet but she certainly would have cut all contact to Barty by this point. Barty Crouch Jr is completely and utterly alone. He has no one to comfort him, no one to keep him from letting the grief consume him. He’s missing the very people who used to keep his inherit craziness in check. It only makes sense that in that grief-filled haze of anger and crippling sadness, that he might not be all there, really.

So, he gets sent to ambush the Longbottoms with Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphous by the Dark Lord. He goes, because he’s been told to and no one defies the Dark Lord. He gets there. He fights. He goes through the motions like he’s supposed to do. He enjoys the adrenaline rush from a fight, it’s the first thing he’s felt since that neon jet of light hit Evan’s chest from Alastor Moody’s wand. He expects things to end as they usually do, with bodies on the ground and their orders completed. But nothing really goes to plan when Bellatrix Black is involved, does it?

Perhaps he’s aware, perhaps not, but one minute they’re fighting four on two, and the next, Frank and Alice Longbottom are on the ground, stunned, not dead like they should be, and Barty’s being snatched up side-along by Rabastan as they apparate away. He has no idea where they are, he doesn’t have any time to try and figure it out either, because the room is already filled with tortured screaming and maniacal laughter. He’s disoriented, his brain is fogged, he’s wholly and completely lost.

And perhaps Rabastan Lestrange looks over at Barty Crouch Jr, a boy not much out of school, a boy who’d lost everything, a boy who certainly was a little mad, but a boy who he knows doesn’t quite have the merciless capability of violence that his brother and his insane fiancé do. And perhaps, in what he thinks may be a mercy, he whispers the imperious curse underneath the screams of the Longbottoms, and instructs Barty on what to do.

So Barty doesn’t admit to it in that court room. Not because he didn’t do it, but because he knows his father. Knows that no matter how much he’ll proclaim to the jury that Barty is no son of his, that he has to know the truth. He knows Crouch Sr will come and question him personally. So he says nothing. He has every opportunity to ruin his father once and for all, every opportunity to cement himself as a loyalist, every opportunity to take credit for a monumental tragedy, but he admits nothing.

His father comes to the dark, damp holding cells and he tells him then. Tells him, yes! I was there! But it wasn’t me. It wasn’t. I was imperioused. I swear to you. Father, please. He begs. Barty Crouch Jr begs. Please, believe me, please.

And Barty Crouch Sr laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until tears roll down his cheeks.

Perhaps it’s that very moment when the last strand of Barty’s real sense of humanity snaps. Long before he ever suffers under the captivity of the Dementors, his father severs that last thread with a brutal swipe of his hand across a track of mirthful tears. And he leaves the hollowed out shell of his son behind with a chuckle. Leaves him to spend yet another night awake, replaying the horror of having his will stripped from him, of being completely aware of his actions, and being unable to do anything to stop them. Leaves him to his gut wrenching sobs and desperate gasps for air. Leaves him to the rare moments of fitful sleep, where he calls out for his mother, for his dead lover, for his dead friends, and for his father. He leaves his son, who calls for anyone to help him, to save him, to hold him. None of them respond.

Barty Crouch Jr is a shell of a human being long before he ever gets his first glimpse of the sea-surrounded prison.

He spends a year nearly motionless. He eats when he is forced by the Auror guards. He sleeps when his body can no longer stand to be awake. He moves cells when he is forced to. He speaks rarely, and usually only to one person who bears a frightening resemblance to one of his frequent hallucinated visitors. But mostly, he just stares at the grey bricked wall in front of him, eyes unseeing, unaware of time passing, and hardly even affected by the Dementor’s presence as empty as he is.

He doesn’t react at all when his mother and father appear in front of his cell. He isn’t even aware of them, really. They’re common enough hallucinations for him, but they’ve never appeared on the outside of his cell before, which is strange, but he hasn’t eaten in Merlin only knows how long, so it takes far too much energy to question it. It isn’t until his cell door swings open and his mother’s bony hand runs across his gaunt face that he sort of begins to comprehend that they’re real this time. He’s still trying to wrap his brain around that fact when a horrid tasting potion is forced down his throat and he feels his body being morphed by magic into something - no, someone - else. He’s so far behind what’s happening, he doesn’t understand the words being spoken to him, he’s lost again, doggy paddling against the roaring waves of grief and pain and madness in his mind. If he had been a second’s breath faster, he would have comprehended the terror his body felt at the spell that falls from his father’s lips, but he knows nothing as the spell takes hold and his will is ripped away from him once more.

He spends eleven years just the same. Eating when instructed. Bathing as instructed. Sitting, sleeping, waking, walking, and dressing as instructed and only when instructed by his captor. He knows nothing under the spell. His own awareness is trapped so far within himself, he knows nothing except for what he’s told and he does his instructed tasks with robotic motions. He does not speak.

It should be surprising, what wakes his conscience, but it isn’t. Not really. He is instructed by his captor to leave his cell and walk downstairs to the parlour. He rises and does as he is told. He walks into the parlour and stands motionless just inside the door. He has not been given more directions than this. He does not move a muscle. There are voices around him, their words are meaningless to him. He understands nothing. He is instructed to come forward, to sit on the sofa, to look his captor’s guest in the eye. He does as he is told.

He does as he is told and pure, unbearable fury engulfs him.

He looks into the eye of his captor’s guest and all he sees is the light draining from Evan’s unmistakable eyes and feels the weight of his grief and anger and loneliness break through the emptiness that has been his protection underneath the chains of the spell. It doesn’t break the spell itself, but it releases him from the confines of himself. He is aware again. He understands again. He feels again. The only one who notices his re-emergence is the house-elf who wrings her hands nervously in the corner of the room. She can feel the fury-filled flare of his magic. She knows he’s been awoken. She feels the spell’s hold falter for a moment and knows it won’t be long before he breaks free from it.

She’s right.

He breaks through the spell not half a year later. He has to unravel it slowly. It’s been so long since he’s felt his own magic that he can barely tell the difference between his own and his father’s. He was a deft hand at wandless magic back in school, but he doesn’t recall his own birthday, let alone how to coax his magic into his hands and bend it gently around his wishes. He has to make sure his father is none the wiser, else the sick bastard may renew the spell again and render him a puppet once more.

He starts to remember some things as he unwinds the foreign magic surrounding him. He remembers his name again. It’s Barty. Barty Crouch Jr. He remembers his birthday is the seventh of August 1962. He remembers he was officially sorted into Ravenclaw in school, but by the end of his schooling, he lived in the Slytherin dorms. He doesn’t remember why. He remembers Evan, remembers loving him and remembers the pain when he loses him, and remembers another boy who fades away from his discombobulated memories. He doesn’t remember the other boy’s name, but he remembers him being pale, with icy blue eyes, and dark curls. He remembers he used to annoy that boy endlessly by tugging on those curls and teasing him fondly. He remembers the feeling of agony when that boy faded away. He remembers two girls, one with shockingly blonde hair and serene eyes, and the other with dark skin and long braids. He doesn’t remember their names either. He feels like he should.

He gains more and more awareness the more he chips away at the spell. Soon enough, he’s ready to sever it once and for all. He waits patiently at the floo for his father to come home from work. He has not been instructed to do this.

Barty Crouch Sr steps through the floo to his home, and knows immediately that he is in immediate danger. He is pinned to the wall behind him by his throat before he can even think to slip his wand from its holster. He understands very suddenly what his son has felt the last twelve years as he fall victim to the Imperious Curse. He might’ve felt guilty if he could’ve felt anything at all.

Barty’s plans have always been half-cocked at best, he’d always had Evan and Regulus, who he remembers now, to fix his mad schemes. He feels like getting into Hogwarts disguised as the most recognisable Auror on the force, who he currently has trapped in a chest and was also ridiculously easy to capture, should be much harder than it was. He hadn’t expected the gaps in his own memory to be his worst enemy on this mission. Often, he struggled to remember that it was 1994, not 1974, and that the students sitting in front of them were not their parents.

He struggled to remember that Luna Lovegood wasn’t Pandora Rosier. Or that Harry Potter wasn’t James Potter. Or that Draco Malfoy wasn’t Lucius Malfoy. Or that Hermione Granger wasn’t Mary MacDonald. Or that Susan Bones wasn’t Imogen MacMillan.

Or that Neville wasn’t Frank Longbottom.

Everything else was far too easy.

Keeping his father under his control even from far away? It was nothing with all the excess magic stored up over twelve years of imprisonment.

Brewing Polyjuice and stealing from Snape’s private stores? The most fun he’s had since his fifth year of school.

Keeping his constant hallucinations from breaking his cover? More difficult than he’d like to admit, but still nothing to break a sweat about.

Getting in contact with Pettigrew after the whispers of the Dark Lord gaining power once again? Too simple.

Entering Potter in the tournament? Like stealing candy from a firstie.

Weasling his way into Potter’s confidence? Pathetically simple, Dumbledore had manipulated the boy into a perfect pawn.

Setting the hints in motion to get Potter through the tournament alive so the Dark Lord could rise again? Please, he could do it in his sleep.

Creating the port key to the Little Hangleton graveyard? He’d been fucking with illegal port keys since he was fourteen years old, nothing stumped him there.

At least this time around, when he tortured and murdered someone in cold blood, he did it of his own freed will. The fact that it was his own father he did it to only made it that much sweeter.

Perhaps he could have planned his own escape better, but after thirteen years of emptiness, he didn’t quite know how to think for himself any longer. The Dark Lord hadn’t told him to save himself, so he didn’t. He let the Aurors drag him away, and stared at the grey bricks of a prison cell once more. He let the emptiness swallow him whole again, and let the gavel seal his fate without a word to his defense. He let the Dementor close in on him without a single reaction. If someone had looked closely enough, they may have seen a tear roll down his gaunt face, but no one did so they didn’t see anything.

But, as he felt his soul being ripped from his body, he finally heard the last words his father had said before he murdered him.

“My son,” Barty Crouch Sr had said, blood coming from his mouth and voice hoarse from hours of screaming, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I do, now,”

The last thing he thinks, is that living without a soul is rather familiar, after all, it’s all he’s done the last thirteen years. It feels like it should be painful, but the emptiness in his body is comfortable. He’s found protection in being a shell of a person since Rabastan Lestrange rendered him empty all those years ago. He only regrets they didn’t just kill him outright, he might have gotten to see Evan, and the others he’s forgotten again, on the other side if they had.

But that’s okay.

He’d never deserved a happy ending anyways.

The emptiness closes in around him again. In the space between one breath and the next, there is nothing left of Barty Crouch Jr besides a shell of a creature that certainly can’t be called a human. The creature knows nothing of life and death. Just that at some point, its body begins to shut down until its heart stops and nothing else.

There is no one to mourn, but the fish are grateful for the free meal.

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dreamingofmarauders · 3 days

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐲?

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚

James Potter x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Previous Part Series Masterlist

Summary: In which James gets to see your other side.

Warnings: Mentions of injury/death, crying, fluff (maybe…?)

───※ ·❆· ※───

James had woken up a few hours later, finding you still asleep. His stomach grumbled and he decided to get food for himself and you, for when you would wake.

He found the food prepared by Molly and headed back in only to find you standing, gazing outside through the window. James quickly set the food down.

“What in the world are you doing up!?”

You turned around and merely stared at him before saying, “Oh crap, how did I end up in hell!? I was supposed to be in heaven! Now you're going to annoy me for eternity.”

James narrowed his eyes, “You are not dead.” He answered before his eyes softened, “Please sit back down, you’re not supposed to be up and running just yet.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine.” You replied but James noticed how you winced with each step you took, as the effects of the wound were still very fresh. You let out a small cry of pain as you dropped back onto the bed as the healing skin stretched painfully.

James immediately began to fuss over you, “Shit, are you alright? Where does it hurt? Should I try to get someone? Or should-“

“Potter, relax.” You interrupted him. “I’m fine.”

He nodded before handing you a plate full of assorted foods.

“Molly threatened me that you better have eaten this before she comes back in the morning to check on you, or she'll have my head.”

A small smile crawled onto your lips, “That would have been an amusing sight, but remind me to thank Molly.”

James pouted but bit back the remark sitting upon his tongue. Instead he voiced the one thought that was haunting him.

“Why?”

You paused, raising an eyebrow in confusion, “Pardon?”

“Why? Why did you take my place? Why did you save me from the spell and took the hit yourself?”

You sighed, setting your plate to the side.

“It was better me than you.” You answered, staring off into the distance as your mind traveled elsewhere. “You have family and friends that would be devastated if anything happened to you. And me,” You let out a cold laugh, “My family would celebrate my death, plus I guess so I would deserve it.” You voice cracked near the end.

“No you don’t.” James immediately said, kneeling in front of you. “Why would you think that?”

Your eyes glossed over, “I had vowed to protect someone I considered a younger brother, a-and I left him there in that cruel world.”

“Who?” James questioned.

“Regulus.”

“Regulus?” James asked in confusion, “As in Sirius’ younger brother, Regulus?”

You nodded in confirmation. “I took him under my wing at Hogwarts and although he had a hard way of expressing it, I know he loved me a lot too. He was broken after Sirius ran away from home, and I know it must have hurt even more when I decided to escape that dark world. I tried to take him with me, begged him, but unfortunately a small part of him was influenced by his parents. Plus, he was too scared to go against his parents.” You explained, eyes welling up. “I left him there when I shouldn’t have, and perhaps all of this,” You gestured towards your injured body, “Is just the consequences of my actions.”

James was reeling in with shock. Sure he had seen you and Regulus a few times together at Hogwarts, but he never realized you were capable of loving someone this deeply and loyally, and that you both shared such a huge bond. James had always been at the receiving end of hate. You would laugh at him, mock him, poke fun at him, tease him, give him glares, sneers and what not, but apparently that was just for him, and Sirius too.

He had never gotten the chance to witness this soft, loving and caring side to you.

It suddenly came crashing down hard on James. Remus and Lily were right about you. James truly had been wrong about you this entire time.

Your sniffles brought him back and he cupped your face, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

“Y/n, listen, you are not at fault here. I’ll tell you what I told Sirius when he was in a similar state. You had given Regulus the option, the opportunity to start a fresh life. It was his choice to stay behind, no matter how hard you tried. You can’t blame yourself, because you are not at fault at all.” James said, reassuringly. It seemed to somewhat work but you began to hiccup instead and James mentally slapped himself.

“I just wish he had listened and come along. It scares me for what he has to do out there, and I have no idea if he’s safe or not.” You said, shaking your head slightly. “I hate the world, why can’t everyone just be kind and happy? Causing wars and violence does nothing but destroy lives.” You rambled, clearly upset about everything.

James nodded but began to panic when more tears welled up in your eyes, "Please, please, stop crying. You literally have no energy and this is not good for you, please, please stop!" He rambled.

You slowly began to calm down, feeling even more tired and exhausted, with your head throbbing even more. Afterwards, James urged you to eat some more before you were to sleep again. You shot him a tired yet amused smile.

"What?" He asked, feeling self conscious all of a sudden.

"You hate me, remember?"

James suddenly flushed a deep red, mumbling something incoherent.

"What was that?" You asked teasingly.

"I don't hate you."

You arched an eyebrow, "Really? Well you had an odd way of showing it."

He went even more red, if that was possible. "I just- I'm sorry, ok!?"

You smiled gently, "Just because of what happened earlier, doesn't mean you're obligated or owe me something, you know?"

James stuttered, "Why did you behave cold towards me at Hogwarts?" He asked out of the blue, making you narrow your eyes at him.

"Because you made me a target in one of your pranks against Slytherin."

James frowned. Sure he had tried to target you a few times throughout Hogwarts but you had always managed to evade them. Somehow.

"Yeah, obviously you don't remember." You said, your tone tinged with bitterness.

It was your fourth year at Hogwarts, nearing the end as summer break approached. You were already running late for your next class and as you rounded a corner, a huge explosion happened, throwing you against the wall. You cursed and made a move to get to your class but found you were stuck to the wall. You used all your strength but ended up only hitting your head hard on the wall.

"Shit!"

You yelped as something wet and gooey poured onto your head, covering you from head to toe with it.

"Ew, what is this?"

However, before you could get an answer for that, another explosion happened and a huge swamp appeared, going up to your chest. To top it all off, fireworks erupted in the corridor, which finally attracted a crowd as students of nearby classes rushed out.

Two boys led the crowd, their faces looking eager. Although their smiles slightly diminished the moment their eyes landed on you.

"Aw, damn, this is just one snake! The trap was for a bunch of snakes, not just one pathetic Slytherin!" Sirius exclaimed, pointing a finger accusingly in your direction.

James snorted, "But still! Look at her! Such a loser!" The whole crowd laughed. Tears burned your eyes as the laughter echoed off the walls, people pointing and snickering at you. You looked down, embarrassment flooding your whole being. You didn't realize when Professor McGonagall pushed her way through the crowd, nor were you aware of when the swamp vanished or when you were free from the wall. However, tears began to cascade down your face as a sob made its way out of your mouth, when your face broke into hives.

You heard the corridor erupt into shrieks of laughs, all related to your current state. You managed a look up and saw the two boys behind this fiasco, practically rolling around on the ground as they chuckled. You felt hatred for them both. How could they be so cruel? You spun on your heel as the crowd parted for you as you ran and ran until you entered the Slytherin common room. You could see Madam Pomfrey for the reaction to your face after, you just wanted to be alone.

Regulus, who had returned from his class some seconds before you, looked up from his place by the couch, his eyes going wide noticing your state. He stood up and grabbed you by the arm to stop you.

"What happened?" He asked in concern.

"Those stupid boys! I hate them! I hate Potter and Black, they're just plain cruel!"

Regulus' face dawned with realization as a fire burned in his eyes. How dare they hurt you like that?

You shrugged off his hold and ran upstairs to your dormitory, to let out all the pent up emotions. Meanwhile, Regulus' face hardened as he watched you go. He walked out of the common room with determination. No way was someone going to hurt his sister and get away with it.

"And then Regulus hexed us, and kept doing so until Minnie stepped in." James said, completing the story for you instead as the memory came rushing back to him.

"Yeah. The humiliation was horrible and over the summer, I decided to hold a grudge against you two, so began the good ol' rivalry. Later on, as you boys began to change your ways, I felt myself softened but the constant back and forth poking sort of just became our thing." You finished saying, shrugging your shoulders.

"And Remus?"

"What about him?"

"How come you were on good terms with him?"

"Because he was not in on that prank because it was orchestrated by you and your idiotic twin. He felt bad and came to visit me in the Hospital Wing the following day and I appreciated that he was apologizing on behalf of his friends. We became close after that. Oh also," You said, a smirk making its way onto your face, "I only managed to avoid all your pranks meant for me because Remus would tell me beforehand."

A scowl crossed James' face, "That traitor!" However, his expression softened when he heard a chuckle leave your lips.

"Leave poor Remus alone. You lot gave him loads of trouble at school as it was, no need for more."

James grinned mischievously at that before his expression faded into a guilty one.

"I am truly sorry for everything." He sincerely apologized.

You shot him a grateful smile, "Thank you."

James rubbed the back of his neck nervously before extending a hand out. "You want to start over?" He offered.

You looked at him and then his hand. This was an opportunity for the pair of you to forget old enmity and begin afresh. You smiled, clasping his hand.

"Hi, I'm Y/n L/n."

James' shoulders slumped with relief.

He flashed her a bright smile. "Hello, I'm James Potter."

You giggled, "Pleasure to meet you stranger."

"Same here, stranger." He answered, earning another giggle from you, making his heart warm up.

You two had a long way to go but this new opportunity for a better start was something you both would later on be very thankful for.

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A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you liked this chapter and see you in the next one! Take care! <33

Wizard Buddies (Taglist): @quack-quack-snacks @jamespottergf @themarauderswife7 @amethyistheart

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