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hp-12monthsofmagic · 5 months

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𝒱𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃

A/N: For @hp-12monthsofmagic’s December prompt (“Merry and Bright”). Made up of two short scenes. Note the discussions of Hanukkah and Judaism may not be the most accurate, so apologies for any missteps.

One: The O’Donnell-Lee Cottage, County Donegal, Ireland, December 25, 2006

Sara O’Donnell-Lee watched the gentle fall of snow, illuminated in the color of the charmed baubles that floated outside around their cottage. Her eldest son, aged 5, was fast asleep in her lap with her fingers carding through his short red hair. Her eldest daughter, aged 7, was asleep on the floor, clutching the plush moon calf that she had received earlier that day. Sara’s younger two children, aged 2 and 7 months, had been put to bed earlier. The floor was strewn with the remnants of gifts that had been received earlier in the day, the lights on their tree sparkling. A calloused hand ran gently over her shoulder, causing her to look up.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” her husband, Barnaby, said, leaning over to press a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Barn,” Sara replied, wrapping her hand tightly around his.

“Was this Christmas everything that you imagined?”

“Yeah, I think it was. Dora and Declan were so excited for everything. I don’t think we’ll ever get this Ireland quidditch sweater off Dec.”

Barnaby laughed, fondly looking down at their son. Sara’s brother, Conor, had gifted their eldest boy an Ireland quidditch sweater, which their boy had quickly fallen in love with. The boy had even put the sweater on over his pajamas.

“It was a good Christmas, Barnaby. Everything about it this year was good. Actually, I’m surprised at how smoothly this all went,” Sara said.

“Yeah. I thought it would be a lot more stressful with four. Brendan’s so laid back though,” Barnaby replied.

“I hope you liked your gifts.”

“Those gloves are absolutely incredible. They’ll be so helpful in the cold. I love them, Sara. I really do. What about you?”

“The necklace is beautiful, Barn. I don’t know where you thought of the idea, but I absolutely adore it. Same with the little ornament with all six of our names on them.”

Two: The O’Donnell-Lyman Home, December 24, 2016

“Momma, why do we light all these candles?” Naomi O’Donnell, aged 7, asked, leaning over the kitchen table, watching as Ruth worked on setting out on the different candles.

“The purple and pink candles are for advent. That’s for the lead-up to Christmas. Dad can explain those better than me. The blue ones and white one are for Hanukkah, which is what my family celebrates,” Ruth explained.

“I like Hanukkah. The food is so fun and good,” Naomi replied.

“Yeah, Hanukkah has good food. We celebrate that because I’m Jewish, just like we have other traditions and holidays than Dad.”

“What’s Daddy, then?”

“Dad’s Catholic, so he has different holidays than I do.”

“Why?”

“Well, we have different beliefs from religions. For Dad, his religion says that Jesus is the son of God and very important. My religion doesn’t believe that. Only God is important, while Jesus isn’t very important and can be seen as hard to understand.”

“What do I believe?” Naomi asked.

“You can believe whatever you want to, Naomi. Dad and I don’t have any one way we want you or your brothers to believe. That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas, Passover and Easter. We get to cover the important parts of each culture.”

“Oh. Is that why we eat certain things sometimes?”

“Yeah, that’s right kiddo.”

The door to the kitchen opened, bringing with it a burst of cold air. Stamping feet immediately followed as Ruth looked up to her husband and two sons. Snow clung to their hair and Conor had taken off his glasses to wipe away the fog.

“Got the potatoes you asked for,” Conor announced, lifting up a big bag.

“Conor, how many potatoes did you get?” Ruth asked.

A sheepish look appeared on Conor’s face. “Five pounds.”

#hp12mom

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 5 months

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I think that we can all agree on one thing: the Harry Potter fandom is full of the most incredible talent. Harry Potter: Twelve Months of Magic will be a year long event running throughout 2023 to give members of the fandom to inspire their fantastic creations and give them a chance to share their work with others.

So, how will it work? Well, on the first of each month, a new theme will be announced. Each theme will act as a prompt to inspire all kinds of creations - be they stories, digital and traditional art, video edits, gifsets or other things I’ve not even thought of. Contributions will be reblogged on this blog, and will be added to the blog’s site navigation to make it easy for others to find them. You can post your work throughout the month, and there is no obligation to take part in all (or even any!) months.

This project is open to all members of all areas of the HP fandom, whether you are a casual member, an established blog with many followers, or a total newbie, and all types of creations are welcome. This is intended to be a fun and positive and so will be very inclusive and relaxed, with very few rules and regulations. However, there are a small number of things you need to bear in mind…

Be kind and respectful to all other contributors.

Any work containing mature, sensitive, or potentially triggering topics MUST be appropriately tagged and need to have a cut (:readmore:) before the material.

No one at this blog can do Legilimency! If you want your work reblogged and included on site navigation, you have to tag this blog!

The other thing I would love for all contributors to do is attempt to engage with others’ work. The aim here is promote content and positive connections within the HP fandom through interactions. You never know, you might just find your new favourite author or artist!

TLDR: 12 Months, 12 Prompts, A Whole Lot of Talent.

I’m excited to see what all you amazing people come up with! Happy creating!

This month’s theme is: Merry and Bright

Previous months and submissions:

January - Anything’s Possible (If You’ve Got Enough Nerve)

February - All You Need Is Love

March - Life’s A Witch

April - I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

May - Victory!

June - Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests

July - Surprise…

August - School’s Out For Summer

September - Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

October - Something Wicked This Way Comes

November - Remember, Remember

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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A Christmas Moral - Masterpost

(Closed)

Find all chapters of my Christmas series "A Christmas Moral" here ✨

Chapter 1: Kindness

Chapter 2: Respect

Chapter 3: Thought

Chapter 4: Family

Chapter 5: Gratitude

#hp12mom #harry potter fanfic

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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Lots of Little Miracles

Written for @hp-12monthsofmagic’s December prompt, Merry and Bright. Christmas gets a lot of coverage at this time of year, but I’d like to wish a Happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate.

Warnings: This story features a small child who does not appreciate religion as much as she appreciates food.

The night was dark as pitch and cold as ice, with hail battering the walls and the winter wind rattling the windows as it blew in from the wave-crashed cliffs. Inside, however, it was warm, and the smell of frying oil was wafting through from the kitchen.

Artemis smiled as she turned her attention to the row of thin candles that had been placed on the windowsill, each of their little flickering flames reflecting on the dark glass behind. There were nine of them in total, one for each year of her age, all held by a candlestick with outstretched arms like the branches of a tree. She raised one forefinger and gently tapped the flames in turn, smiling as they bobbed away from her touch.

“Come away from there, Artemis.”

At the sound of her great-aunt’s voice, Artemis turned her back on the nine candles, but she did not move away from them.

“It’s fine, Aunt Tina. They don’t hurt,” she said. “They’re only teeny tiny fires.”

“I know, but I don’t want them getting put out accidentally,” Tina replied. “It’s the last night of Hanukkah, so it’s important that they all stay lit tonight.”

“Yeah, but if one goes out you can just set it on fire again.”

“That’s not really the point, honey.”

Artemis’ nose wrinkled. “Then what is the point?”

“Well, you know the story of Hanukkah, don’t you?” When Artemis shook her head, Aunt Tina frowned. “I assumed Sara would have told you.”

It had been a long time since Artemis’ mother Sara had been in a mood to tell stories. Maybe once upon a time, before her dad had died and her brother ran away from home, Artemis might have sat on her mother’s lap and been told the story of Hanukkah. If she had, she had since forgotten it.

Luckily for her, she still had Aunt Tina to tell her stories.

“A long time ago, there was a kingdom far away from here,” Tina began. Artemis listened carefully. All her favourite stories took place in far-off lands. “And in this kingdom, the king decided that he did not like people following different gods to his. So, he ordered his soldiers to take over all of the temples and stop people from going in, and get rid of all the oil they used to light candles.

“Now, the people who followed one god, the one me and my family follow, they weren’t happy about that at all. They fought back, and they managed to win back their temple. It was all in ruins, but they managed to piece it back together slowly. But, they didn’t have enough oil for their lights; they only had enough for one night.

“So, the people lit their candle, thinking it would only last that one night, but their god knew all about their struggles, and to thank them for having faith in him against all odds, he granted them a miracle. That little bit of oil, which should only have burned for one night, burned for eight whole nights.”

Aunt Tina smiled. Artemis did not.

“What, is that the end?” she asked, and her great-aunt nodded. “It’s not a very exciting story.”

“I think it’s a very exciting story.”

Old people had strange ideas about what was exciting. Artemis sighed heavily. “It’s about oil, Aunt Tina.”

“It’s not about the oil,” said Tina. “It’s about the miracle.”

Artemis was not as easily impressed as her great-aunt.

“It’s not much of a miracle,” she said. “Anyone can make a bit of oil last longer, you’d just need a spell or a potion. Or you could just make flames with magic, and you wouldn’t even need the oil at all. I don’t get why it is worth this big celebration every year.”

“But these people weren’t magical, honey. They were all Muggles.”

“They can’t have been. One of them must have been a witch or a wizard and lying about it. They were in disguise or something, I don’t know.”

It was at that moment that Artemis’ great-uncle Newt, Aunt Tina’s husband, came in. He settled himself on an armchair, around the back of which a Kneazle was sleeping. Artemis turned to him for support.

“You agree with me, don’t you, Uncle Newt? That thing with the oil isn’t a miracle, it’s just magic.”

Newt fixed Artemis with a peculiar expression. “Why can’t it be both?”

“Well, because,” Artemis said with a shrug, “miracles are miracles. Magic happens all the time.”

“So do miracles.” Uncle Newt was clearly wrong, and Artemis opened her mouth to tell him so, but he continued before she could speak, “Maybe not big miracles, but life is full of lots of little miracles. Last week, I visited an old friend and saw his phoenix burst into flames before my eyes and emerge reborn, young and new again.”

“That’s what phoenixes do, Uncle Newt.”

“If you or I were to do that, or Milly here” — Newt raised one hand to scratch the chin of the Kneazle behind him — “that would be a miracle, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Yesterday morning, you went down to the beach and you picked up a pebble and painted it for me. It’s on my desk now. Until yesterday, it was just one pebble among thousands of others, and you happened to pick that exact one to paint. Years ago, that pebble would have been part of the cliff, and it’s only because of the waves washing over it in different ways over the years that it’s become a pebble at all, let alone one that was picked out and is now painted and special to me.”

“I grew up all the way over the sea in America,” Aunt Tina added. “And one day, your Uncle just happened to travel there, and on that day the two of us happened to be in the same place at the same time. If that hadn’t happened, I might have met someone else and fallen in love with them. But I didn’t, I fell in love with him.” Her dark eyes sparkled as they met her husband’s. “And, out of all the millions of people in the world, he fell in love with me, too. The same thing happened when your parents met, and now all three of us are here together. I think that’s pretty darn miraculous.”

It was all very nice, what they were saying, but Artemis wasn’t sure that she really understood what they meant.

“But then, everything and everyone could be a miracle, if you go by what you’re saying,” she told them. It wasn’t a joke, but they both chuckled. “What?”

“Well, that’s what we are trying to tell you, honey. Everything can be a miracle, you just have to think it. To the people in the temple, the oil was a miracle. To some people, magic is a miracle. To us, you are a miracle.”

“That’s why we need to be kind to everyone and everything,” said Uncle Newt. “Because this whole world and everything in it is just as miraculous as we are.”

Aunt Tina placed one gentle hand on Artemis’ dark-haired head. “Now, don’t you think that is worth celebrating?”

“I guess so,” Artemis replied, though she was still a little confused.

“Great. So, let’s stop playing with the Menorah, and go and make some latkes.”

Artemis followed Tina into the kitchen without hesitation. She might not have fully grasped the point of Hanukkah, but she did know that she liked latkes. And, seeing as her great-aunt and uncle considered her to be a miracle, she was sure that she could persuade them to give her at least one extra portion.

#hp12mom

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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Remember, Remember…

Writing

To Remember (OC) by @ellie-e-marcovitz

Stars Above (OCs) by @lifeofkaze

He Isn’t Coming Back (OCs) by @unfortunate-arrow

Art

Charlie and Artemis’ Bonfire Night by @the-al-chemist

Witches’ New Year by @marmotish

Beneath A Rowan Tree by @the-al-chemist

#hp12mom #hp fandom #harry potter fan art #harry potter fanfiction

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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Something Wicked This Way Comes

Writing

A Bleak Beginning (OCs) by @unfortunate-arrow

Something Wicked This Way Comes (OCs) by @lifeofkaze

Halloween, 1890 (OCs) by @ellie-e-marcovitz

Return to Ithaca (HPHM Jacob and MC) by @the-al-chemist

#hp12mom #hp fandom #harry potter fan art #harry potter fanfiction

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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It’s the last one!!! Thank you to every single person who has contributed their work this year, it’s been a pleasure and a privilege to see your creations. We only have one last prompt for the year, so let’s make this one count!

Merry and Bright

This theme is open to your interpretation. Anyone is welcome to contribute work, and all kinds of creations are welcomed. Work does need to be appropriately tagged and have this blog tagged. All posts added before the end of the month will be added to the 12 Months of Magic Masterlist.

Happy creating!

#hp12mom #harry potter fan art #harry potter fanfiction

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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Hello dearest patrons! The barkeeps at The Three Broomsticks are delighted to announce the return of Yule Bash (with a twist)! This year the fest will take a slightly different form - The Twelve Days of Yule Bash! ❄️🎄🥂 Join us in celebrating the 2023 holiday season with 12 days of fanworks inspired by the Christmassy, wintry prompts listed below. You can use one (or three, or ten) to write fanfics, create fanart, post moodboards… the sky’s the limit here!

From December 11th through 22nd, we’ll reblog any works posted for The Twelve Days of Yule Bash. The rules are simple:

Use at least one (1) of the prompts in your submission. You’re more than welcome to use multiple prompts in a single submission.

Fanfic writers, we ask that your fics be a minimum of 300 words. No word limit for maximum word count. Note: fics must also be canon compliant as TTB is first and foremost a canon-compliant fanfic server.

Kindly only post your work between December 11th and 22nd. You do not need to submit them to our blog, however. Simply post them on your own blog and tag us!

Tag @thethreebroomsticksfic if you’re posting on Tumblr. You can also submit to our AO3 collection here.

If you have any questions about the fest, feel free to ask a question here, or message any of the mods! ( @hinnyfied @lanaturnergetup @solongdaisymayy @merlinsbudgiesmugglers @incalculablepower )

We look forward to seeing everyone’s work this festive season!

🎄Prompts

Mountains

Frozen

Fireplace

Cinnamon

Evergreen

First snow

Northern lights

Durmstrang

Snowed In

Weasley jumper

Hot cocoa

Holiday party

Ice skating/rink

Hogsmeade

Celestina Warbeck

Christmas crackers

Gingerbread

Tinsel

Christmas market

Mulled mead

Baubles

Mistletoe

Secret Santa

Socks

Family Dinner

Nightmare before Christmas

Blue Christmas

Auld Lang Syne

New Year’s Kiss

Fireworks

#ttb yule bash #signal boost!

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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𝓗𝓮 𝓘𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴

A/N: For @hp-12monthsofmagic’s November prompt (“Remember, Remember”). Set at Whitethorn Hall in April 1892. Involves discussions of death, grief, and funerals.

The day of the funeral dawned within the midst of a blustery storm. Rain blew sideways, splattering against the windows. Wind howled, as if embodying their pain. Edmund Kennedy, aged 11, had watched the storm roll in. The firelight flickered, illuminating the study. It had barely been touched in the three days since Ferdia Kennedy’s sudden death. The only thing that had been moved was the family’s ledger, which was meant to go to the family’s hastily hired estate manager. The ledger lay draped on Edmund’s chest, and that was how Alice Kennedy found her eldest child a few hours later.

“Neddy, Ned.” Alice gently shook the boy’s shoulder. Edmund jerked away, blinking rapidly.

“Mother,” he murmured.

“Why weren’t you in bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, Neddy.”

He fought the hug that came on next. He was the man of the house now. It was time that he acted like it. His mother had six other children to look after… and was expecting an eighth. She needn’t worry about him.

“I’m fine, Mother.”

“Edmund.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, forcefully.

“Okay.” Alice eyed her eldest warily. “Can I trouble you to check on Walter?”

“Yes. Shall I help him prepare for mourning?”

“That would be wonderful, darling.”

Edmund nodded, stretching as he stood up from the wingback study chair. His mother kissed his head and left the room. He set the ledger down on the desk, exactly where he had found it… in the last place his father had put it. He still couldn’t shake the image of his father’s last breath. His father’s words echoed his head with the promise he’d made to look after Ma and Minerva and the rest.

Meanwhile, in the window seat of the library, Minerva Kennedy, also aged eleven, sat watching the storm rage. Firelight flickered nearby, illuminating the small notebook and quill that lay, untouched, in her lap. Her muse had fizzled out around the time the storm had rolled in. She couldn’t make herself get up, though. The storm was captivating, in such the way that the gothic novels she pretended to hate were captivating. It did seem like the weather was reflecting the storm inside the house, though.

“Minerva?”

She startled at the voice of her mother, turning to face the woman. Her mother looked tired, the firelight seeming to reflect dark circles underneath her eyes.

“Mama, are you alright?” she asked.

Alice sighed, crossing the room and gently lowered herself down onto the window seat. “I’m doing alright, love. As well as can be expected. How are you doing?”

“I think I’m alright. Neddy’s the one that’s not alright.”

“Your brother is doing as well as he can be. It’s not your responsibility to worry about him, darling.”

“He’s my twin.”

“I know. He was very close with your father and it hurts.”

“Papa was the best. Do you remember how he used to play pranks during holiday and birthday dinners?”

Alice let out a laugh. “He did love to make us laugh.”

Minerva sighed softly. “I miss him. I keep thinking he’s gonna be in whatever room I enter or that he’s just hiding in his study but Ned’s the only one there.”

“I know. I keep expecting him to be there too.”

“Mama, are you sad that the baby’s not gonna know Papa?”

“Yes, I am Minerva. I keep thinking that maybe I’ll name this little one after him if this baby’s a boy. Ferdia might be in Ned’s name, but it’s only a middle name.”

“I hope the baby’s a girl. Because Walter and Ned can be very annoying.”

Alice laughed, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. “Your father thought that I was going to have another girl. I think he liked just having Ned, Walter, and all you girls.

“The funeral’s in a few hours, though. I need you to go get ready. Neddy said he’d help Walter. Can I trouble you to help out Eliza and Nan?”

“Sure, Mama. Just for today.”

“Of course, darling.”

In the hours leading up to and during the funeral, the storm had cleared up enough for a procession to be held as the Kennedy family led the mourners down to the family cemetery. Ferdia Kennedy was to be buried next to his grandfather, Nolan Kennedy.

Edmund led the procession, followed closely by his mother, sister, and brother. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, but letting her son lead the procession had been the right decision. Ned needed this more than any of her other children. He’d been so close to Ferdia, had been the only one there when Ferdia had drawn his last breath. It wouldn’t surprise Alice if her son could now see thestrals. Minerva had been close to being there too, but she had raced to the house to call for help. Alice herself had fainted when she’d heard the news. But here they were, burying the man who had been pretty much an equal partner in life. Burying her beloved husband and a beloved father of eight, although he’d only known seven of his children.

#hp12mom

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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Maybe just once a year… just for an hour or something… we could pretend we were close… we would be close… As long as I live, I’ll come… As long as I live… Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass

A little bit of heartbreak for @hp-12monthsofmagic’s November prompt, Remember, Remember…

#harry potter fanart #12 months of magic

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

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Stars Above

A/N: This story was written for @hp-12monthsofmagic November prompt "Remember, remember." Warning: dealing with grief, death of a family member

Castle Combe, 1979

“Orville, Gregory. Parish constable. 1671 - 1715.”

“Okay, how about this one?”

“Weaver Penelope. Seamstress. 1748 - 1782.”

“And this?”

The voices of the two children carried clearly through the older part of the Castle Combe graveyard. It wasn’t the most common place to play but people passing them by on their way into the old church of St Andrew's hardly took notice of their presence. The Campbell children had always been odd; no one really questioned them.

“Franklin, Edmond. Cheesemonger. 1815 - 1835. Struck dead by a cheese wheel falling onto his head.”

The little girl walking behind the rows of weathered graves stopped short in her tracks.

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“But I do.”

“How?”

The older boy, with the same gold-blond hair as his sister, drew his lips into a patient smile. “It’s called research, Ava.”

Ava made a frustrated noise. They had been playing for the better part of an hour now, and Jamie was five correctly guessed - no, not guessed; remembered - historical dates ahead of her. Her count had been better than average but she had messed up the baker’s daughter and the old vicar. Frustrated, she sank into the grass in front of Miller, Adelaide, 1813 - 1878.

“Why must you always be so clever?” she asked Jamie with a wrinkled nose.

“Runs in the family, I believe,” Jamie laughed, but not unkindly. “Maybe some of it will rub off on you eventually.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that.” Ava paused. Quietly, she said, “It’s going to be lonely without you, once you’re back at school.”

“First term is only until Christmas. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Promise?”

Jamie raised his hand towards Ava, little finger outstretched. “I’ll always be there for you, Ava. I’m your brother, am I not?”

Smiling, Ava hooked her little finger beneath her brother’s. “Forever?”

“For as long as there are stars above.”

1987

Castle Combe had gone dark. The wind had picked up earlier and was chasing heavy clouds over the sky. It lifted Ava’s hair off her shoulders as she slipped from her parents’ house unnoticed. Quietly, she walked through the deserted village streets. When she reached the graveyard, Jaime was already there.

He stood in front of the grave of Miller, Adelaide, pensively watching the stone that had only crumbled more and more since the last time he and Ava had visited the graveyard together.

“You’re back.”

Ava had stopped a good deal from her brother, having to raise her voice not to be drowned out by the hissing of the wind. It didn’t matter. Jamie had known she was there from the moment she had stepped foot onto the leaf-littered grass. He turned, a solemn expression on his face.

“I felt like there were some things I needed to explain.”

“Go on then.”

“I don’t think you understand what it meant to me, Ava,” he said, taking a step towards her. “The Vaults are a mystery, a myth, to all of our kind. This was my chance to find out something nobody has before, to be looked up to for what I’ve achieved.”

“I’ve always looked up to you.”

Jamie’s rush of words ceased. He fell quiet, until eventually he said urgently, as if he wanted desperately for Ava to believe him, “I never thought it would blow up like it did but I couldn’t stop. I needed to keep everybody safe.”

“You didn’t keep Olivia safe.”

She didn’t raise her voice but her words hit home regardless. The fire that had burned behind his eyes went out.

“No,” he echoed tonelessly. “No, it didn’t. But the toll needed to be paid. There was no other way.��

“Hadn’t you meddled with the Vaults to begin with, there would have been no need.”

“Why don’t you understand? I needed to know!”

He had moved forward, extending his hand toward Ava, who recoiled from him.

“There are more important things than what we want, Jamie.”

“Is there?” His eyes were flashing angrily. “As if you didn’t meddle. You followed all the clues, just like I did, and —“

“To find you, to save you! Because I thought you were my brother!”

“I am your brother, Ava,” Jamie said. His gaze had an intensity to them that would have made Ava shiver if not for the sheer force of her own will. “Believe what you will, but we’re alike, you and I. I will always be your brother…”

Ava closed her eyes, not wanting him to say the words.

“… for as long as there are stars above.”

She took a shuddering breath, making herself look the boy - the man - who had once been the centre of her world and was now a stranger in the eye. Her voice was icy as she spoke.

“You are no brother of mine.”

1988

As if to mock their grief, the sun shone down brilliantly and bright on the graveyard and the small group of mourners clad in black.

Not many people had come. It was mainly family who had gathered, some distant relatives and the odd person from the village but Ava was fine with it. Not like there were many people left to mourn her brother’s death.

The service in the cool shadows of St Andrew’s passed her by. Then they went outside, where the vicar continued droning on next to the hole in the ground that would soon harbour Jaime’s dead body. Ava kept her eyes fixed on it, as much to keep herself from snapping at the old man in front of her as to not look at the coffin waiting to be buried in the earth.

When the draw of the polished oakwood became too overwhelming she shifted, letting her eyes wander over the assembled mourners. Her relatives were there, Carolyn Pendleton with Ava’s aunts and uncles. Their - her - cousin Mina had tried taking her hand during the service earlier, but Ava had drawn away from her sympathy and pity.

Behind her, Ava’s parents were standing arm in arm, looking aged beyond their years. There was an almost physical tension extending from them towards her, burning with the need to hold her, hold onto their only remaining child, but Ava remained at a distance, just far enough to not seem strange and still be out of reach. She couldn’t bear to be touched; not by anyone, but especially not by them.

Not when it was her fault.

Everything was her fault.

Her uncles stepped forward to help lower the coffin into the ground as the mourners sang a solemn song, and Ava closed her eyes not to watch her brother’s remains disappear. Pictures flashed before her inner eye, of a dark, dark forest looming around her, and her brother’s voice telling her not to go there alone. She had thought she was clever enough, as clever as him, that she could handle finding the last Vault by herself, that she could handle the Vaults by herself.

She had been so wrong.

Rakepick had found her in a clearing, had stepped from the shadows as if she’d been a part of the darkness pervading the trees. She had drawn her wand and pointed it at Ava, eyes hard and gleaming. She had told her something about a curse, a blood toll that needed to be paid. That was what had been agreed; that was what needed to be honoured.

She had said more but Ava hadn’t understood a word. All she had seen was the glowing tip of Rakepick’s wand, aiming for her heart.

She hadn’t even known Jamie was there. She never heard his footsteps, or him shouting her name when he suddenly appeared, flinging himself between her and the curse, crumbling to the ground like a broken ragdoll.

Ava and Rakepick stared at each other, then at Jamie’s body lying on the ground. Hoarsely, Rakepick whispered, “The toll has to be paid, one way or another.”

Then, she disappeared.

She left behind deafening silence, only broken by a shuddering gasp as Ava moved forward. The gasp turned into a scream as she collapsed onto her brother’s dead body, crying, cursing, wanting him to come back, begging him to, but he didn’t, he couldn’t, he would never, never again.

Night had fallen when Ava snuck from her room and back toward the graveyard. There were flowers everywhere, left by the mourners and others who had come after the service had concluded. Ava stood over the colourful sea of petals and ribbons decking the freshly upturned earth, thinking how obscene it was to celebrate Jamie’s death in a way that his life never had been.

She sat down before the tombstone, drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. She stared at the letters etched into the stone without really seeing them, just looking, before finally - finally - the tears were starting to fall.

1999

The night was dark and drenched in rain. It fell from protruding roofs and hanging branches, cloaking the small village and its graveyard in a shroud of rainfall. Many fresh graves had been dug here lately but the one Ava was drawn to was older. She walked past the rows of crosses and stone angels like in a dream, her feet taking her on familiar paths, past memories of different times, a different life.

Orville, Gregory, parish constable.

Weaver, Penelope, seamstress.

Franklin, Edmond, unfortunate cheesemonger.

Then, Miller, Adelaide.

She stood, swallowing hard.

Campbell, Jamie.

It had been years since she’d been here. She stared at the grave in silence, barely recognising the plants and candles that had been set into the pitch-black earth. The cold wind coming from the East hit her bare neck, making the pendant resting against her skin feel like a lump of ice. Shivering, Ava wished for something to keep herself warm but there was nothing that would help. She covered the big red scar spanning her abdomen; she hadn’t felt warm in weeks.

“Things have changed,” she told Jamie’s gravestone. Her words rang through the silence of the graveyard, dropping to the ground with the rain still falling around her, heavy and cold. “I understand what you did now, and I’m sorry. For everything.”

She was met with silence. Ava closed her eyes, conjuring the memory of this same graveyard filled with hers and Jamie’s laughter. The pang of longing that hit her was so sharp that it almost made her gasp.

“I’m going to leave,” she continued quietly. “I have found a way to end it, once and for all. I have to, you know that. You always knew. It has to end. But I’m not sure if I’ll come back.” She paused. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to.”

Reaching out, Ava touched the tombstone, fingers barely grazing its surface. Tears were burning in her chest but there weren’t any left to shed.

“I’m sorry, brother,” she whispered, words picked up and scattered into nothingness by the wind. “I’ll always remember you… as long as there are stars above.”

She took out her wand, her spell barely more than a breath. Then she turned and walked away without looking back, leaving behind a single amaryllis flower bowing its head to the rain falling from an ink-black, starless sky.

#12 months of magic

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hp-12monthsofmagic · 6 months

Text

to remember

November entry for @hp-12monthsofmagic. tw: memory issues, COVID (iimplied) IYKYK.

early November, 2023

I sealed the envelope in front of me, before flipping it over and scrawling ‘Devon’ on the front. There only tended to be a few birthdays in November among my friend group, but there were some, and I dutifully did my best to owl them a card between exams and homework.

The cards would go out over the next few days. Kleio, Jasmine, Marlowe, Bill… That should be everyone… I mentally counted, reaching for my list to double check.

Which I had misplaced. Great. Stuff like this had happening more and more frequently since February.

I rested my elbows on my desk and stared intently at the small round object sitting quietly under my secondary computer screen.

Both Kleio’s and Devon’s cards needed to be sent ASAP. Aurora could handle both as soon as she returned from hunting… The small object shifted in colour, turning from a placid, near transparent sphere into an opaque, deep red sphere that seemed to glow a little in the dim light of my office, as my thoughts drifted.

You’re forgetting something…

No… really? I thought sarcastically, starting to shift the already graded work on my desk into neat-ish piles. The Remembrall had been taunting me since April, when it was given to me after misplacing my car keys one too many times.

It wasn’t exactly helpful, considering all it did was turn red and glow a bit to let you know you were forgetting something. It didn’t show you what you were forgetting.

I’d seen doormats that were more useful.

Papers somewhat sorted, I found one of my cookbooks, a Mary Berry one, along with my list stuck in at the Yule Log recipe I’d been wanting to try.

I sighed, finding an old, marked up envelope (with several lists, all largely checked off) and sticking it in the book instead.

Looking at the list, I realised I had forgotten both Victor Kesueki and Levi Kidd’s birthdays, though I had lost contact with both of them a long time ago. I’d never been close with Victor, and I hadn’t heard from Levi for quite a few years, not since the Middle East exploded with infighting in 2011.

I wrote him one anyways, setting it with Jasmine’s and Bill’s cards. No doubt there were plenty of others I didn’t remember, as I pinned my list back to the corkboard.

Weasley family birthdays were a task unto themselves, considering the immediate family was huge. Somehow, I just managed to keep the nieces and nephews ones straight, let alone Charlie’s siblings and their partners.

There was also my family, which was more manageable. Just. Eileen had a better grasp on our wider family, and more patience with card finding.

Families aside, there was also my (surprisingly large) group of friends. Uni, the phoenix resistance, Hogwarts and even a couple from the years wandering the world.

Another couple cards filled out, I shuffled them into a stack, keeping them in the correct order, helped by the date written in the corner.

A flutter of wings caught my attention, as Aurora landed in the open window. I threw a few owl treats into the bowl next to it, which she chased around the bowl, as I tied Devon’s and Kleio’s cards together.

Jacob would be able to send Aurora on to England.

Having eaten her fill of the treats, Aurora hooted dolefully as I attached the letters. I gently petted her feathers, apologetic. I, too, wished for even a brief break, but there was always something.

“I know,” I replied. “Jacob will probably have some treats or something. Greece should be nice, even.”

A little bob, almost curtsy, or the owl equivalent of rolling her eyes, before flying off. Hopefully, Devon and Kleio would appreciate the cards.

#hp12mom

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