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The Line of the Dead

AU where everyone dies.

~

The boy stands in front of him, all ragged hair and open wounds and blood dripping down his face. He stands like a dueller, one foot forward, wand at his side, his face utterly emotionless.

He reminds him of someone; the same haughty arrogance, the mix of rage and desperation on his face. He looks at his hand, the pale white skin; hundreds of Death Eaters, dozens of them dead and he can’t remember who the boy resembles. 

The Dark Lord merely sits back on his throne, carved out of dark stone and tipped in steel. He was interested, he’ll admit, when the boy showed up at the entrance of the cave, utterly alone and unarmed besides his wand. He was interested to see how far the boy would get, how skilled he was. 

He underestimated him. The boy fought like a demon, shredding through the guards on duty, turning them all into ash and mist and dust. The Dark Lord isn’t sure if he’s ever seen anyone fight like him, like he had nothing to lose in the dark and twisting caverns of stone. 

The boy stares him down now. There’s nothing in his eyes - no fear or terror or even pain. Just a mindless, endless void of rage. 

The Dark Lord raises his hand. Nagini lies curled around his throne and he allows her to slip through his fingers, cool scales against his skin. He’s not afraid of this boy - Dumbledore himself couldn’t mark him and he sees no reason as to why this boy could. He tilts his head, studying the boy. 

“So. You’re the one who so brutally murdered my spy.”

The boy goes still. 

“Yes. I saw it. You left his body in pieces on the street, ripped him apart with your bare hands. I never imagined you could be so cruel to someone you once loved.”

The boy’s breathing hitches, his face going white. 

“Of course. Dumbledore watches from the safety of his high tower, watches as he sends his last against me. Knowing that I have won, that no one on this earth can stop me now. And he will not save you, boy. He will not show you mercy and neither will I.”

The boy merely raises his wand. There is still no fear there, fear of the death that was sure to come. Nothing but rage, so boiling and unending that it reminds him of his own rage. 

“His name,” the boy says, “was James.”

The Dark Lord stills. “What?”

“His name was James. He was 21 years old. He had a wife, Lily Evans, who was the most beautiful girl he had ever lain eyes on. He wanted to marry her in his first year, but she said no. He was brave and loyal and reckless and you killed him when he was protecting his son, while he screamed for Lily to take him and go. He wanted to be a Quidditch Player when he grew up. He never got the chance to.”

“How - “

“Lily Evans-Potter,” the boy spat, “Muggle Born. Every year James asked her out and every year she said no until she was 17, fighting in a war that would eventually kill her. She was going to be a lawyer, someone who bridged the gap between wizards and muggles. She was fiery and headstrong, the smartest girl in Hogwarts and you murdered her as she stood over her son’s body.”

“Silence - “

“Marlene McKinnon. Blond hair and green eyes and a sense of humour so sharp you could cut yourself on it. She was the best dueller in our year and she could never back down from a challenge. You killed her, her mother, her father, her youngest sister and her girlfriend. Her name was Dorcas Meadowes, the best beater that Hogwarts has seen in years. She and Marlene got together in their 6th year, when they were 16. They had three years together before you murdered them both.”

The Dark Lord tightens his grasp on his wand. The boy shows no sign of stopping, the names pouring out from his lips, a symphony of the dead. 

“Fabian and Gideon Prewett. They were twins - they never were without each other. It took 5 Death Eaters to finally take them down. Gideon died first, and for those brief seconds Fabian had to live in a world without his twin.

“Benjy Fenwick. He was American - from Ilvermorny, one of the best Quidditch Players of all time. He wasn’t even supposed to be fighting in this war - he was drafted into an English Team. When he knew he was about to die, he blocked himself in an alley. Blew up the street, as well as the 7 Death Eaters who follwed him. We never found his body.

“Caradoc Dearborn. Benjy’s boyfriend, and the best spy we ever had. When you found him, you tortured him for weeks, days on end, trying to find out where our base was, who the Order was. He never told you. When we found his body, we didn’t know who it was. He wanted to become a baker, wanted to open up his own shop in Hogsmeade.”

The Dark Lord rises to his feet in one solid motion, his hand brushing over his wand. The boy doesn’t even flinch, just continues listing the names, his voice calm and steady despite the agony in his eyes. 

“Mary Macdonald. She was in the year below us. She wanted to be a healer at St Mungos, wanted to do some good in the world. You killed her 2 days before her 18th birthday. She wasn’t even in the Order yet - she was too young by our standards. You killed her before she got the chance.”

He’s growing impatient now, this list of people he doesn’t even remember. He aims a spell at the boy; he deflects it easily with a wave of his wand. 

“Reg - “ The boy’s voice finally cracks. The Dark Lord savours it, the utter pain and defeat in his voice. “He was one of yours. A Death Eater. I hated him for that, hated him with every bone in my body. I protected him from our Mother, took all of her anger and tried to raise him right. When he joined the Death Eaters, I cried because I thought I would have to kill him. He died trying to take you down.”

“He failed,” the Dark Lord says. “I’ve seen his desiccated body. He died painfully, screaming for a brother he never had. I threw his body to the crows.” 

“Remus Lupin,” the boy says quietly. He’s crying now, tears running down his face. “Remus John Lupin. He was 21 years old. I always thought he’d be the last one to die. He was a werewolf, a member of the Order and I loved him. I loved him and you took him from me.”

The Dark Lord tilts his head. There are too many bodies for him to remember, a mess of blood and tears and shards of bone. “What do I care for some werewolf brat?”

“He died saving me. On a battlefield. You were there and he shoved me out of the way. He died never knowing a world at piece. You took him from me. And I am going to kill you for that.”

The Dark Lord shrugs, lifting his wand in one motion. Nagini slithers around his feet in tight, lethal circles; he sends her away, suddenly wanting to kill this arrogant boy himself. “You can try. All have failed.”

The boy gives him a cold grin, and the Dark Lord can see himself in the boy’s eyes; the thrill of battle, the fire of war, all the brutal, vicious cunning that shone through. He was a warrior, this boy, forged in fire and blood and loss and the Dark Lord almost regrets having to kill him as he launches himself forward.

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Owlery Exchange Masterlist [2019]

The Owlery Exchange debuted in 2019 as an exchange fest that connected two writers and got them to correspond anonymously as Harry and Draco. We had a wide variety of tropes and themes and so many amazing, wonderful writers. 

We want to thank each and every writer who participated in the exchange. Please check out their hard work below and leave comments and kudos!

The 2019 Owlery Exchange Masterlist - Below the cut! 

You may also view them in the [ AO3 Collection ]  

Keep reading

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Ajfdjsjajks PLEASE bestow this marvelous fic on me

au in which it isn’t the weasley family walking up to the platform at the same time as harry but the malfoys

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People who are low income don't have to explain their purchases to you.

They don’t have to justify having kids, they don’t have to justify the tv they bought with their tax return, and they don’t have to feel guilty about getting a tattoo.

Low income people deserve to splurge sometimes too, get over it.

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the inherent horor of being trans is knowing you are the single touchstone a cis person will probably ever have

im reminded of when i went to sit my philosophy exam and had an ex-officer as an invidulator. he asked me if i was trans, something i had no obligation to answer. but if i didnt, i would be cagey. i would now paint an image of all trans people being rude in his mind, so i said yes

that invidulator asked me why, as a trans student, i should have my rights respected if there are so few of us

and instead of rightfully getting pissed off, i had to remember that i am currently representing a community of millions to a single man in a room with just the two of us in it. i could be the deciding factor on how he conducts behaviour with trans people in the future. what if he gets called to invidulate again in 20 years time and has another trans student? what if he remembers the one he met before, and instantly assumes he knows our community?

so i explained to him why i should have rights. and i used my words carefully, because if i slip up even once i have now put a trans person in danger, because he has made a choice based on me

trans people dont get to be angry. cis people always joke about how we demand a space, or we demand the right name, or we demand they bow down to us

think very carefully, did that trans woman demand that you use the right name, or did she correct you? did that trans man hold you at gunpoint, demanding you let him piss in public, or did he look like he wanted to use the disabled toilet to avoid bothering you all together. did the nonbinary trans person have you on your knees begging for forgiveness, or did they ask nicely for you to be mindful of their pronouns?

the transphobic narrative is one of victimhood, meanwhile if i even use the wrong tone cis people will act as a child does, and they will demand that the next trans person they meet apologise

every trans person you meet is aware of this too. we're all very tuned into the fact that we are ambassadors, and that we never asked to be that. i dont want to have to very carefully consider 'will a curt answer mean someome later dies', but every day of my life i do

and cis people need to know that. to be trans is to literally walk on constant eggshells of cis fragility. its why when we see a new trans celebrity we have to desperately hope they dont do stupid fucking shit like caitlyn jenner did. because now everyone thinks trans women are like her. because now negotiations for our right to exist unmolested have gone back another 20 years

and tbh, cis people are pathetically weak. a trans person asked you to use the right name? that did not happen in a vacuum. that trans person has met 50-60 cis people today who refused

and guess what? we get tired too

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Do you think the peacocks from the Manor would like Harry?

I was gonna say yes, but... Imagine if they didn't 😂 that would honestly be hilarious. “I didn't defeat a Dark Lord to be relentlessly chased by that feathered ball of pure rage! Nope. We're having Christmas Dinner at the Burrow.”

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A Very Drarry Valentine’s Exchange [ Info + Schedule ]

💖 A Very Drarry Valentine’s Day Exchange: an Epistolary-Inspired Gift Exchange 💖

Love is all around! Erm–generally speaking. From every angsty slow burn to every fluffy one-shot, Drarry is love and we love Drarry.

Oblivious idiots? Frenemies to Lovers? Auror Partners? We enjoy so many tropes and we absolutely love seeing our two favourite wizards fall in love. Every. Single. Time. To celebrate that love, The Owlery Exchange is hosting a special Valentine’s Day gift exchange!

💖 THE SCHEDULE 💖

Dec 15  -  Sign Ups Open  Dec 24  -  Sign Ups Close Dec 25  -  Assignments go out Jan 10  -  Check-in #1  Jan 25  -  Check-in #2 Jan 28  -  Pinch Hitters  Feb 10  -  Assignments due Feb 14  -  Gifts are delivered/posted

💖 THE EXCHANGE  💖

Signups will be quite detailed to ensure that each participant gets matched accordingly. Person A will gift to Person D, but Person D might be more suited to gift to Person C, etc. It is not necessarily an exchange between two partners/participants. 

💖 GIFT DETAILS & REQUIREMENTS  💖

Minimum Word Count: 2000 words 

Maximum Word Count: While there is no maximum set, 10k is a good cap for our quaint little exchange. If you absolutely must go over, by all means, do it!

Requirements: The biggest part of the Owlery Exchange is having an epistolary element. This exchange is a one-time gift and not the epistolary pen pal exchange that the Owlery normally runs. But in the spirit of that exchange: 

We would like all gifts to have AT LEAST one-quarter of their content in epistolary format. 

This could be the beginning of each section or a large alternate Point of View. It’s up to the author to decide how to incorporate the epistolary aspect of the story.

What does Epistolary entail? 

Letters, diary entries, newspaper articles, editorials, gossip columns, Dear So-and-Sos, Radio/Wireless Broadcasts, Mission Reports, etc.  

Interested? 💖 Click here 💖 to sign up for an email reminder when the exchange signups open and don’t forget to follow us @owleryx​ for updates! 

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I love this campaign. All members of the LGBT community deserve to feel safe and that includes senior citizens

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Art by Fedor Barkhatov

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So, soft. Precious boys. I literally and absolutely MELTED at big or little spoon. Imma go do this with my partner the first chance is get 😍😭😍😭😍😭

Drabble | Drarry

Prompt from @gnarf

This was unbeta’d so like sorry heh 😂❤️❤️❤️

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tug at his stomach and the whirling colours around him faded as he popped into their flat in Muggle London. He had quite the scolding from Robards and was ready for a good nights sleep.

Draco stormed towards him and shoved him, hard. Harry hadn’t seen him this angry in awhile. Pale skin had turned red and blotchy in the face, eyes dark, brows gathered in an furious scowl. He was shaking with rage and Harry absolutely did not find it hot. Not at all.

“You’re a fucking imbecile, Potter!”

“Oh it’s Potter now is it?” Harry chuckled but immediately regretted that when he saw Draco’s eyes blaze.

“How can you possibly be that moronic, do you not think with that obviously minuscule brain of yours before you bloody well do anything?”

Harry really tried not to smirk, tried to keep the amused adoration off his face as he let Draco rant. He knew he didn’t do the best job, but he could hope. Harry shrugged at Dracos rhetorical question, making Draco even angrier. Harry wandered toward their bedroom to remove his dirty robes and Draco followed after him still visibly hysterical.

“Do you seriously have a death wish? You have such a saviour complex you don’t bloody think before you run into the fray without looking at what the fuck is going on?” Draco all but screamed at him pulling off his own robes and throwing it at the hamper. Harry raised a brow, he could see Draco was even more distressed than normal when he threw his clothing about ’like a neanderthal, Potter, really.’

The Harry of five years ago would have taken all Draco’s words to heart, would have threw insults back. And he did, when Draco and Harry had become Auror partners right out of training seven years ago. Their first two years were difficult, Harry often threw himself into a mission the way he always had where Draco likes to be more careful, tactical, have a plan.

‘You can’t plan these things, you need to go with the flow!” Harry would argue.

‘No you need a proper plan one that accounts for what could go wrong so no one is facing one or more dark wizards alone, Potter. We all know have a hero complex but I don’t exactly look forward to being blamed for your inevitable demise.’

Things would always go back and forth in that manner until they finally found a way to combine both their methods and they actually made a brilliant team. When Harry would actually, you know, make a plan before he jumped in. Over time Harry slowly peeled back Draco’s layers, revealing the true meanings behind his harsh words and attitudes.

Harry smiled softly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“Hmph” Draco’s anger visibly fizzled, but it lay beneath his calm voice as he spoke. “It’s fine.”

Harry slipped into the shower, and when he returned he pulled on his loose cotton pajama bottoms and sat beside Draco on the bed. Merlin, Draco was sexy sitting their in only his briefs, Harry still was in awe that Draco chose him. Still scowling Draco slammed the book he was reading closed, tossed it and his glasses on the bedside table muttering under his breath.

“Can’t believe I married...” Harry thought he heard Draco mutter as he slipped under the covers.

“I’m still bloody pissed at you, Potter!” He snapped and crossed his arms over his chest petulantly. “Big or little spoon?”

Harry grinned.

“Little, please.”

Draco sniffed and raised his chin as he settled on his side, waiting. Harry settled down, snuggling his back comfortably against Draco’s bare chest. He sighed happily, he loved his husband. All his sides; prickly, cuddly and everything inbetween.

“I’m so mad.” He scowled. “Are you comfortable?”

“Mmm” Harry mumbled sleepily pulling the covers up to his chin and snuggling impossibly closer to Draco.

“Goodnight.” Draco whispered softly wrapping his arm around Harry tight, like Harry night slip away at any moment.

“Goodnight, love.”

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There's a difference between "if you can't afford the vet don't get pets" (which is true unfortunately) and like, someone starting a gofundme/donation post bc their pet has some sort of crazy unforeseen illness that was impossible to predict...dont be mean to ppl ebegging for their pets bc they budgeted $250 for shots and worm medicine and don't have $2,000 laying around for feline MRI scans

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This is potentially life saving information everyone should know.

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I will absolutely do anything to read a 200k+ slow burn, political drama fic of this 😭😭😭😭

Prompt idea

Draco writes a book about his experiences during the war. It's a hit, and makes him go into investigating journalism. The things he learned during his time as Death Eater, his upbringing and skills in potions mean he can easily disguise himself. He infiltrates muggle trafficking rings, potion and creature smuggle organisations, illegal brothels etc.

Each time he has enough dirt on something he goes to the Aurors, telling them they have 2 days before he publishes his article for the public. It's usually Harry Potter leading the case (and getting no where bc he has to work by the book) and he gets more and more frustrated as Draco solves half of his cases.

But then Draco starts to take more risks (or Harry just pays more attention) and dissapears for longer. Harry gets worried. He misses the idiot. After months of stress, Draco shows up again, more dead than alive, his plan to infiltrate his next target crime ring as a victim horribly backfired.

Harry takes him in without even considering anything else, nursing Draco back to health while cursing him on the daily for being a reckless idiot ("that's your title Potter." "Not if you nearly sacrifice your life for a dumb story you arsehole." "It's not some dumb story. People are dying. Those criminals treat them worse than dirt. Someone has to tell their story." "Yeah well it won't be you if this is the result. I won't allow it.")

Harry can't stop him from leaving though, mostly bc Draco doesn't ask for permission, he just leaves. Three months and 5839 grey hairs later, The Daily Prophet publishes a special edition, naming and shaming the biggest criminal organisation yet; The Ministry Of Magic itself.

Harry quits the Aurors the moment he is tasked to arrest Draco. The next years are an absolute disaster as Magical Britain finally fights to build up a fair, by the book government. Harry fights alongside Hermione to make everything transparant and reasonable. In all those years he never stops missing Draco. He regrets more than anything that he never took a chance while he still had one. It's what he tells people on the night the first democratic election is announced.

Someone is missing here today, who risked his life for us without anyone asking him to. I never got to tell him how proud I am of him, how much respect I have for what he's done. In all likeliness he's no longer with us, but his fight for all voices to be heard so no one will ever grow up as sheltered and prejudiced as he did still lives on today. We owe it to him, to future generations, to every victim of our past, corrupted government, to not fuck up this time. The universe won't grant us a second Draco Malfoy.

But when Harry wants to collapse into bed later that night, he finds it already occupied.

"You're dead." Harry said resolutely, as if saying it would make the man in his bedroom dissapear.

"I left." Draco clarified, getting up from the bed. "I had to. You make me want things I shouldn't have. I was needed."

"No one needs you more than I do." Harry only realised how true those words were when they left his lips.

"That's a bit big headed, don't you think?" Draco cocked his head, and for a moment it felt like the git had never left, as if they were back at Hogwarts throwing taunts at each other. "There are a lot of horrible people in this world, Harry. And a lot of governments unwilling to get their hands dirty."

"You kept writing?"

"Under a pen name."

"You could have told me, you bastard." Anger welled up inside him, piping hot and under a lot of pressure. All those years of fearing the worst only to have the theatrical git turn up now. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought it was better that way." Draco cast his eyes down, and suddenly his self confidence seemed to have melted. Harry had never seen him like that before. Not even when he'd been at the door of death in his arms. "I wanted to forget you. Turns out I can't."

"Well tough luck Draco." Harry bridged the gap between them, pulling him to his chest. It was only now that he truely saw how skinny and battered Draco was, how worn from fighting. "Because I can't forget your stupid pointy face either."

Draco shook slightly. "I'm sorry."

"I love you." Harry bit the words at him, but still meant them. "If you leave again I will hunt you down and kill you."

"I won't." Draco shook his head. "I won't leave. I'm so tired, Harry. I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're a class A git." Harry replied, pulling him even closer. "And I love you, you fucking tosser."

Draco smiled. He might be a tosser, but after all these years, he was Harry's tosser. Harry's retired journalist tosser. It sounded like the best title in the world.

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I wanna sleep but i need to study and now im sad

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“I hope you live without the need to dominate, and without the need to be dominated. I hope you are never victims, but I hope you have no power over other people. And when you fail, and are defeated, and in pain, and in the dark, then I hope you will remember that darkness is your country, where you live, where no wars are fought and no wars are won, but where the future is. Our roots are in the dark; the earth is our country. Why did we look up for blessing — instead of around, and down? What hope we have lies there. Not in the sky full of orbiting spy-eyes and weaponry, but in the earth we have looked down upon. Not from above, but from below. Not in the light that blinds, but in the dark that nourishes, where human beings grow human souls.”

—

Ursula K. Le Guin, “A Left-Handed Commencement Address” (Mills College, 1983)

this passage planted itself in my consciousness when i was 24, and 10 years later, it informs so much of my approach to living, thinking, creating.

(via quantumcorean)

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please do not force an lgbt label onto anne frank. she died before she had the chance to explore her sexuality and if you need to think of her as lgbt to have empathy for her you need to reconsider how you think of holocaust victims. please do not vilify her father, a man who lost his entire family in the holocaust, for censoring the parts in anne’s diary where she expresses attraction for women. it was 1947. jewish girls were already seen as hypersexual. he was protecting her legacy as best he could, and you have no right to call him a villain for wanting what was period-typical best for his late daughter.