#Lord Voldemort would be proud

[racfoam]

Voldemort twined his skeletal fingers of his right hand with Harry’s right hand, closed the meagre distance between their mouths, and kissed Harry.

It was soft and sweet, like a dream.

- be proud, Chapter 2

#harrymort #female harry potter #be proud #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #lord voldemort #lookie guys #i finally figured out how to make a moodboard #woooow #now if I could just find some skeletal fingers pictures my days would be blessed #tomarry #harrymort moodboard #harrymort aesthetic #tomarry moodboard #tomarry aesthetic

[awyeahitssam]

“Expulso!”

The force of the magic slammed him through one wall and into another, and Harry could not breathe. It felt like the time Dudley sat on top of his chest, pressing all of the air from his lungs. He gasped and choked to no avail, the sensation of breathlessness more distressing than the stars dancing before his eyes and the ringing of his ears. 

He was dying, dying, dying.

After a too-long moment Harry managed a shuddering inhale, getting a lungful of concrete dust for his troubles. He doubled over, coughing violently. His wand. He needed his wand.

His right arm was screaming in pain, and Harry squinted through hazy eyes to find a bone sticking out of it at a decidedly odd angle, having ripped through his shirt and robes. Harry had a half-hearted thought of relief that Lockhart wasn’t here to vanish all the bones, which was strange because he should be focusing on the fact that he still couldn’t breathe properly. 

He blinked blearily and twitched his left hand with a desperation that had his wand—blessedly whole—slapping into it. Harry wasn’t used to casting with his off hand, but he was still able to twist it enough to cast a bubble-head charm. 

The spell was silent, because he had no breath for words and no time to think that he couldn’t manage. He had to.

Harry gasped again, this time into a clean pocket of air, and the panic receded a little more at the hard-won oxygen. The pulsing of his temples began to ease on his next breath, but the world still looked too-bright and decidedly crooked. 

“My Lord,” came a smooth, even voice, “shall I take his wand?”

Harry’s eyes focused slowly on the two figures in front of him as his fingers tightened almost compulsively around his wand. His.

“Let the child learn his lesson in full first,” said Lord Voldemort generously. 

Harry swallowed around a dry mouth, glad to taste no blood. At least he hadn’t bitten his tongue or gotten any teeth knocked loose. He inhaled deeply again, revelling in his ability to do so, though the motion made him notice an ache in his sternum as well. Bruised ribs, maybe?  

‘Lesson?’ Harry wondered blearily, a few beats too late. 

Though perhaps he said it out loud, because Voldemort replied, “That you are no match for Lord Voldemort.”

Of course he wasn’t. What a stupid point to try and make. He was fifteen. He barely knew any magic at all. Voldemort had been given decades to learn, versus Harry’s five years. Any competent adult—and wasn’t that an oxymoron—could easily outmatch him, nevertheless a Dark Lord. 

“Well,” Voldemort’s voice came dryly, “you have more sense than I expected, having been raised on Dumbledore’s knee.”

Harry let out a vague approximation of a laugh. He hadn’t known Voldemort had a sense of humour. Dumbledore couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him. They’d spoken—what, six times since he was eleven? Dumbledore hadn’t so much as looked his way the entire year. 

Not that Harry exactly wanted his attention. He was still angry with the Headmaster for that stupidity with the Triwizard Tournament, and his assault after returning from the Graveyard, and the resulting announcement made (on Harry’s behalf, as if he had any right to speak for him) that Voldemort was back. Really, Harry could have avoided a year of carving ‘I must not tell lies,’ into his own hand if it wasn’t for Dumbledore deciding to tell the world about Voldemort’s resurrection. 

Or maybe not, if Umbridge was one of Voldemort’s and he’d told her to torture Harry for revealing his return. Who knew? That would certainly have been a neat, simple solution. The woman was prejudiced enough to be on par with Malfoy, and he was a Death Eater. But if being prejudiced was the only qualifier to being a part of Voldemort’s army, or movement, or whatever the hell it was, then everybody would get an invite. Dudders could be a Death Eater; make his parents proud. 

“He has quite a mouth on him, My Lord.”

Wow, how observant. Snape would love this guy. 

Was Harry concussed? That was weird. Normally if he was concussed he stayed very, very still and quiet until he was able to sleep and his magic saw him to rights. If he got talkative with a head injury, the Durlsey’s would’ve probably dropped him at an orphanage like they always threatened, or maybe just left him in the middle of nowhere in hopes that he’d drop dead.

“What nonsense is he blubbering about?” the voice said again, and the trace of discomfort was slight but obvious to a boy who had been forced to pick up on such subtleties to survive. Did he not like to hear about the fact that some kids did not get coddled?

Did Death Eaters coddle their kids? Like, as a whole? Draco Malfoy had definitely been coddled; he acted just like Dudley, if not as stupid. He’d definitely grown up with a bed and food and people that would say ‘yes’ to his whims. He just had that sense about him.

Not that Harry wished that the boy hadn’t grown up with that stuff. Harry wouldn’t be intentionally cruel enough to hope for that. Just, he didn’t have to rub it in people’s faces so much. Then again, the brat would have to have manners or something not to do that, and with each passing day Harry was becoming increasingly sure that no witch or wizard actually possessed any matter of manners at all. Everyone was so rude, all the time. Well actually Riddle hadn’t been rude at first, but then he sicced a basilisk on Harry, which was not only rude but also attempted murder. 

Wait, where was he again? Oh. Halfway into the wall he had flown into after bursting through the first. Attempted murder again. That made sense.

The only question was, why was Voldemort so bad at actually murdering him? That had to be a little embarrassing. Oh wait, no, ‘lesson’. The man wanted to teach him something. Harry wondered if he wanted to be a good student for the Dark Lord, or if he’d rather just decline the opportunity. So far, he taught like a muggle.

“A muggle?”

Ouch. Harry’s scar hurt more than his arm; how did Voldemort do that? Harry needed to learn so he could hurt the man right back. Fairs fair.

A finger pressed cruelly into Harry’s brow, right over his scar. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurtithurt!

“Just like a muggle,” Harry gasped out. Physical violence. Just like Vernon. Voldemort. Vernon. Maybe everyone in the world who had a V-name was the worst.

Cold fingers felt surprisingly nice against Harry’s overheated face. The pain of his scar ebbed abruptly, leaving a dizzying confusion in its wake. Harry might throw up sometime soon.

“Would you like non-physical violence, boy?” Voldemort asked.

Harry carded through the options. Isolation and containment. Starvation. Maybe mental violence, the kind that Snape preferred. Verbal violence of Petunia’s ilk seemed a bit below the Dark Lord, but then her words about how much of a worthless, unnatural freak Harry was did circle his head to this day, so there was no doubt that kind of thing was effective. Just, probably it would’ve been effective if Voldemort had started before he could remember like Petunia had. 

“Do you have a non-violent option? Or is there a box I can check to be killed quickly? Is this a survey? I would rate your services as abysmal. Or wait. Uh. Troll. That’s it, right? Yeah. Bad… bad grade. Probably your first. You’ve failed pacifism. A truly bleak thing for a Dark Lord. You have my greatest sympathies. Surely this will hurt your future career options and they’ll have to lower your salary.” 

Are revolutionaries paid? Or does Voldemort take his own payment? What would be a suitable payment for a Dark Lord? The bodies of his opposers? But then, all his opposers are magical, and didn’t Riddle have that Magic is Might thing? Or was that just something he said? The man had ordered the death of Cedric, who had been the most worthy of age wizard at Hogwarts according to the cup. Apparently Cedric’s completely attractive competency hadn’t mattered, because Voldemort hadn’t hesitated to kill one of the brightest of a generation when a stunner and memory charm could’ve worked just as well. 

Then again, he’d wanted to kill a baby, once, and the death toll of the last war had officially been tallied at one-hundred and seven magicals, after Harry’s parents, so obviously he could care less if he was decimating their population, so long as he got to rule the world or whatever. 

“Potter, do shut up.”

Huh? Had Harry been talking?

“Rambling,” the voice of the oddly not simpering sycophant chimed in helpfully. 

Well. That was something. Normally Harry went very quiet when he was concussed and waited for his magic to—oh. His magic. Harry had magic. What had he done last summer, when Sirius was no longer an adequate threat? He could probably just… 

Harry looked down to see his wand in his left hand. He set it down very gently, then stared blankly at said hand for a long, long moment. Then the air around it began to do that cute little vibrating thing that his magic would do when it hadn’t been let out for long enough, because of the stupid Dursley’s, and the stupid rules, (why the fuck weren’t students allowed to use magic at all over the summer? Didn’t it make them feel like they were going to burst apart with all the suppressed energy? It was near painful sometimes unless Harry found some way to use it, which invariably the Dursely’s gave him.) 

A hand grasped over his wrist and held him at bay. “Do not do whatever you are considering, you stupid, reckless child—”

Harry was a child, and he had chosen to be reckless when he had chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin, so he let his wrist spark with electricity that was enough to get the touch away from him. Why did people always feel so entitled to touching him? He shivered in revulsion even as he placed his hand to his head and let his eyes fall shut.

His magic went to work, effective as always. This was only the second time it hadn’t waited until Harry was asleep. That was very nice of it.

“Thank you,” he told it quite seriously, in the middle of its work. It buzzed against his temple, a current of energy, and Harry quieted and let it continue.

When Harry re-opened his eyes, his vision was not blurry, his head not pounding, and the world not an unsteady bouquet of water colours with a diagonal slant. When he opened his eyes, he met the red gaze of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and swallowed.

“Oh. Just… lovely. Hi?”

The man behind the Dark Lord snorted. Harry spared him a glance—no features were visible beneath his cloak and mask. 

Harry’s throat worked around a swallow. “Fancy seeing you here,” Harry offered, and then set his hand on his arms, because why not, and winced when his bone snapped back into place. 

Ithurtsithurtsohshit. 

Voldemort’s eyes were gleaming with an odd sort of hunger. “I wonder if you will be so eager to talk now, Harry Potter? Tell me… when was the last time you encountered me treating you politely?”

Voldemort didn’t know about the Chamber?

Harry swallowed. “Okay,” he said.

Voldemort stared. “Just like that.”

 “It’s not like I’m opposed to you knowing. I thought you already knew, but apparently you and Tom Riddle weren’t as connected as he implied. Though, you know, if you want me to spill all, you should at least say please.”

Harry’s scar ached, but his arm didn’t any more. Unlike his ribs. “Pardon?”

“You would actually prefer to use Crucio than say please,” Harry noted. “That says mildly concerning things about you, you know. Common courtesy—Troll.”

“He’s stalling,” the Death Eater noted, when Voldemort moved as if for his wand. 

“Of course I am,” Harry rebutted. “He’s clever; you should keep him around to control your terrible temper.”

Why was Harry doing this? Was he waiting for a rescue that would never come, or an opening that was twice as unlikely given the multitude of people involved. 

The Death Eater laughed, and Harry saw a flash of green light. Heard his mothers scream. 

“Oh,” he said, eyes going a bit wide. “There’s two of you.”

Both figures went unnaturally still. “Why would you say that?” The cloaked Voldemort asked. 

Harry tilted his head. “Your laugh,” he said simply. “Your voice is different, but your laugh is the same. Also, you’re not nearly frightened enough of ‘Your Lord’’.”

The cloaked figure hummed, then lowered his hood. “Clever boy,” he said lightly, eyes just as intent and intense as Voldemort’s own, though they were dark rather than bright. His hair was curly, Harry noticed, longer than Tom had kept it when he was in school, though this man didn’t look very old at all. He still had his nose, though his cheekbones were sharper than they had been as a boy, and unlike Voldemort he had lips as well. Harry catalogued these differences with some interest. The evolution of Voldemort, he thought vaguely.

“Technically,” he adds, as he finishes taking the other Dark Lord in, “I’d be doing the both of you a favour by sharing the story of my Second Year.”

His implication was clear. He wanted two pleases. 

“You’re positively suicidal, aren’t you?” the human Voldemort murmured. “Very well, Harry. Please tell me about the circumstances surrounding your encounter or encounters with Tom Riddle, as well as the encounters themselves.”

Harry watched him thoughtfully. “What are you going by?”

“Marvolo,” the cloaked man answered easily. 

“Marvolo,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Your middle name. Tom wrote it in the air for me—rearranged the letters to spell,” he gestured to Voldemort with his newly healed arm. It didn’t so much as twinge. He was more than a little impressed with his magic. 

“How did you take the revelation?” said Voldemort, something cruel in his voice. 

Harry's lips quirked. "I told him he was nothing special," Harry admitted easily. "I told him Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world. Mostly, I just wanted him to shut up. He kept asking questions,” he allowed his gaze to drift over both of them, mouth speaking absently even as calculations flashed through his mind. How was he going to get out of this unscathed? There had to be something… some way… 

“He was desperate to know about the night you lost your body,” he told Voldemort. “He thought I would have the answers, somehow. I told him it was my mum. Muggleborn,” he informed Marvolo, in case he didn’t know. Harry’s lips curled in amusement. “He didn’t like that very much. Went on and on about how alike we are. Then he decided it was luck and chance that had saved me, said I was nothing special, and called the basilisk.”

“Maybe I proved him wrong when I killed it and then shoved a basilisk fang into the diary.”

Rage bloomed in two sets of eyes, but it was Voldemort that hissed, “You what?”

“Well, I was dying too at the time,” he defended. “I’m nothing if not spiteful. If I died, I was going to take him with me.”

“Yet here you are,” Marvolo said with clear menace. “Apparently you did not get close enough to death.”

Harry watched him, unimpressed. “The diary wasn’t the only thing that got stabbed with a basilisk fang.”

“You lie,” hissed Voldemort, redrawing Harry’s gaze as if he’d ever truly lost it. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s the liar, here? My parents died begging you for mercy?”

“Didn’t they? Your father begged for his wife's life, and yours. Your mother for yours alone.”

Harry’s lips pressed tight. “Really fucked yourself, didn’t you? You told my mum ‘very well’, when she begged to trade her life for mine. You agreed. You didn’t think she was powerful enough to form an unbreakable vow without the official bindings? You would think you would be smarter than pureblood rhetoric when you’re hardly pure yourself.”

“That's it?” Marvolo murmured, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You couldn’t tell me that?” He glanced at Voldemort, then straightened. “You didn’t know.”

Harry felt the silent chastisement in the words. ‘How is it that a child realised what you didn’t?’

#my writing #Voldemort #Horcrux #concussion #ficlet #Harry being Harry #what can you do

[forestdeath1]

Where does this idea come from that the Black brothers are all dramatic and theatric? Regulus writes sad poems and lies on the floor soaking in his teenage tears and sorrow, while Sirius makes up fancy insults and tries to look artistic, entertaining everyone around him.

None of what they did or said is really dramatic or theatrical.

Sometimes their words might sound a bit lofty, but that's because all the Blacks were raised in a family culture that was a bit "elevated". It’s not about them being "naturally" dramatic or theatrical; they’re brought up differently, part of a family culture where honour, dignity, and "knightly" behaviour are more than just empty words. As the saying goes, some are into painting, some into literature, and some into sausages the Malfoys.

So, it's not just personal; it's the upbringing imposed on the Black character. These attitudes don’t just appear out of nowhere; one isn’t born with them, yet all the Blacks (even Narcissa to some extent, and she’s got more guts than Lucius) have them. Honour means different things to them, but it is still honour. They all stay true to their ideals, what’s important to them, they are fearless, not afraid of death, and honest in their actions and thoughts. I think it’s more family than personal.

Both Regulus and Sirius are very focused on the concept of honour, though they see it differently. You could write this on their tombstones:

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one. Take honour from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die.

(I’m purposely ignoring whose words these are — it doesn’t matter here)

Regulus "I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more"

And Bella "You should be proud! If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord"

And Sirius "I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..." and "THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED! DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS"

It's not about their personal theatricality; it's about how such people see the world. These people view the world through a lens where pride, honour, and dignity aren't just idealistic, they're real and ingrained structures that live within them. It's the morality of knights versus a utilitarian approach, choosing what's right over what's just beneficial.

The independence of the Blacks’ thinking leads to unique outcomes — each person has their own idea of what's "right."

Regulus isn't just a sad boy with poems, forced into a vile organisation, then betraying Voldemort out of immense pity and love for a house-elf. And Sirius isn't just an artistic dancer on the bar with witty insults.

Both Regulus and Sirius have very clear views of what's right and wrong. Sirius is incredibly brave, as is Regulus in his own way — joining the Death Eaters at 16 is brave and dangerous, but if it's the "right" thing to do, it's worth it. And if the "right actions" lead to the destruction of the entire line—well, you know... He writes such a letter believing he is dying with honour, in contrast to Voldemort, a dishonourable being who, indeed, views honour as nothing but an empty word. I believe Voldemort was quite adept at manipulating these notions of "honour" among some purebloods. Voldemort is utterly utilitarian.

The same goes for Sirius — his upbringing and ideals are mistakenly attributed to excessive drama and theatricality, as if he's some clown who deliberately makes up fancy insults and entertains the crowd by dancing on tables. This destroys the essence of Sirius, turning him into an aesthetic leech created for amusement and consumption (of attention, things, pleasures, etc.), and turning everything into an aesthetic object. Consumption and Sirius are completely opposite concepts. Nothing he does is for the Other; there's no theatricality in his actions, no fashion, no aestheticism for the sake of it, no consumption for the sake of consumption. Sirius is a man of Grand Concepts, as is Regulus.

#sirius black #regulus black #the noble and most ancient house of black #sirius black meta #regulus black meta #bellatrix black

[aethon-recs]

Tomarrymort Dead Dove Recs, Part 2 🕊️

Thank you all for the wonderful reception to Part 1 of Tomarrymort Dead Dove recs! I was honestly blown away by the interest in this first list featuring Non-Con/Dub-Con recs. It was so incredibly heartening to see that the open-mindedness towards the taboo, the degenerate, the ‘problematic’ is not only alive and well, but thriving, in this ship, when it seems like it’s been reviled and sanitized out of other ships and communities and spaces within this fandom and elsewhere. But Tomarrymort readers seem to be a special breed 🤝 and I’m just so glad we can all be horny sickos together 🤍

For Part 2 of the Dead Dove rec list, the first half is comprised of incest fics, and the second half is chan (underage) fics. These aren’t all necessarily dark fic in terms of tone or plot (some fics are actually quite cozy); the dead dove label just serves as an indicator to take the tags seriously.

Please note there is potentially triggering and disturbing content in the rec list below (including in some of the summaries), so I will be placing all 25 of these recs below the cut. Keep in mind don’t like; don’t read, so feel free to scroll on by if either incest and/or chan is not a theme you would like to explore.

This list was made in collaboration with @danpuff-ao3’s Dead Dove Diaries Series. Check it out for other HP dead dove recs!

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Tomarrymort Incest Recs

Fruit of the Forbidden Tree (part 1) / Forbidden Indulgence (part 2) / Forbidden Darkness (part 3) by @neurowriter14 (E, 19k, complete)

The true parentage of Harry Potter was unknown to everyone except for three people. None remain, but another figures it out.

Hold Me Down (Fuck Me Up) by @itsevanffs (E, 15k, WIP)

Tom Riddle, chief of police, first met his nephew Harry Potter handcuffed to his desk, lip cut and knuckles bleeding, a proud smile on his lips and challenge in his eyes.

I Could Send You to Hell, I Know You by @dividawrites (E, 7k, complete)

Nothing about Harry Potter intrigues Tom—he's average in everything, doesn't act out in class, doesn't do very much at all, in fact. When he finds out they're related, though, this changes at once. After all, there's something to be said for family traditions.

In The Dark by @itsevanffs (E, 64k, WIP)

Harry's mother remarries shortly after his father's death to James' half-brother, Thomas, much to Harry's confusion and disgust. First a duke, now a king, it seems that nothing will stand in his uncle's way when it comes to getting what he wants. Not Lily, not propriety, and most certainly not Harry himself.

Infinite by @duplicitywrites (E, 8k, complete)

Harry and his twin brother Tom have the same mark. The same soulmate. Whoever their soulmate is, wherever they may be, they will go to Tom. Tom, however, has other plans.

Little Bits by @lordmarvoloriddle (E, 10k, complete) 

Inspired by Cinderella. Only there's no prince, and surely no one is singing about their feelings, and Harry's life could be a lot worse than having three step-brothers and a father who didn't like him. He's going to be proven right.

Plains of oblivion by @milkandmoon-ao3 (E, 3k, complete) 

Trapped in the past with no way home, a disillusioned Harry executes a plan to make an ally of the rising Dark Lord and reshape history.

Say It Right (part 1) /  Say You'll Haunt Me (part 2) by @rightonthelimitt (E, 32k, complete)

After James Potter dies, his wife and son have it rough. Their lives change for good when they meet Tom Riddle four years later, but is it for the better?

Seventeen Years by RenderedReversed (T, 10k, complete)

Voldemort is a day old when he realizes he’s been reborn to muggle parents and that he has a twin brother. He is a year old when it sinks in who his twin could possibly be. Because his twin might, possibly, probably be Harry Potter.

Summer Break by anon (E, 5k, WIP) 

A story of a brother's love and duty and terrible obsession.

the dark passenger by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)

Harry had lived 17 years as a horcrux, and Ginny was possessed by another one, so is it all that surprising that their middle child reminds them a little bit too much of another boy they once knew?

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Tomarrymort Chan (Underage) Recs

Below Stairs by pauraque (E, 1k, complete)

Harry receives a visitor.

conversationalist by worn (E, 3k, complete)

As a boy who's known silence and solitude well, Harry finds himself quickly growing attached to Tom Riddle's diary and the way it has so much to talk with him about.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 20k, WIP)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings wrap all around Harry until no more than dark magic and devotion remains, along with visions of a wraith with red eyes.

Everything Green Is Gold by @cindle-writes (E, 27k, complete)

Prior to Hogwarts, Harry had stayed mostly invisible to the teachers and adults around him his whole life. But Tom Riddle, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, looked at Harry like he was something to be wanted.

File A by @kushimanii (E, 7k, complete)

In a different universe, one where the prophecy was never heard and Voldemort won, Voldemort finds eight-year-old Harry Potter in the basement of Fenrir Greyback and takes him in.

he whistles and he runs by @wolfantlersinspace (E, 5k, complete)

"Tom," Harry murmured, ducking under a branch and nearly touching the top of Tom's diary with his lips, "I really don’t like this."

Hearthstone Abbey by @ramabear (E, 92k, WIP)

Harry follows Thomas Gaunt into his world much like he stepped onto Diagon Alley that first time, wide-eyed and full of wonder. He has no idea what exactly this world has in store for him, but he knows that with Thomas at his side, he is safe and happy for the first time in his whole life. 

Make a Wish by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 3k, complete)

Tom Riddle is wasting away in his hospital bed, far too young to succumb to such a terrible and mysterious illness. The only thing that gives him solace is the hope that football star Harry Potter might visit him in his final days.

Quam singulari by anon (E, 6k, complete)

Spermarche: the beginning of a boy's development of sperm; normally signifies a boy's beginning in sexual maturity and puberty.

shelter from the storm by @cindle-writes & @duplicitywrites (E, 7k, complete)

After being left behind by the Dursleys, Harry stumbles upon an empty shack in the middle of nowhere, where he finds a mysterious ring underneath the loose floorboards.

study session by @ilya-zzz (E, 3k, complete)

"Tom–" Harry tries, coughing a couple times before lifting his hands to his head, softly rubbing his temples a couple times. "...I think you should go back to your common room."

The Abyss by AislingSiobhan (E, 36k, complete)

Nietzsche was right: when fighting monsters, Harry should have been more careful not to become one himself. That didn’t matter anymore. It was too late to save himself, yet he could still save the world from Voldemort. But who would save Voldemort from him?

the eternal flame by @duplicitywrites (E, 25k, WIP)

There’s a well-dressed older man who enters the orphanage asking after Tom Riddle. The man’s green eyes fix on Tom’s face, searching and searching. “My name is Harry Gaunt,” the man says, the tenor of his voice soft and faltering, a reflection of Tom's deepest, most secret anxieties, “and I’m here to adopt you.”

This Is Why You Don't Summon Demons, Harry by @kushimanii (E, 59k, complete)

Harry Potter is seven when he's left at the nearby church by Petunia to get an exorcism. Instead, he ends up summoning a demon that he makes a deal with. The demon, Voldemort, will protect him, and in return, the demon will devour his soul when it is ripe.

Without A Chance by Harryfan80 (E, 20k, complete)

When Voldemort (as Quirrell) meets Harry in her first year at Hogwarts, he exploits her naivete and uses her to acquire the Sorcerer's Stone.

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#tomarrymort #tomarry #harrymort #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #harrymort recs #dead dove #dead dove recs #dead dove do not read #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #tom riddle #voldemort

[sheeple]

Miracles don’t exist | 1: The Quidditch World Cup finale

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): None this chapter [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Your first three years at Hogwarts were uneventful. As uneventful as being the daughter of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange can be.

From a very young age, you knew that your parents weren't normal people. I mean, with a mother who was convicted to Azkaban when you were just one and a father who disappeared. It was not hard to connect the dots. 

Of course, as soon as you were popped out of the womb, you were left behind at Malfoy manor in the care of the same nanny that took care of your cousin, Draco. Your mother was too busy with being a Death Eater to care about a brat. Her words exactly.

And it's not like it matters anyway. The Malfoy's are good to you, even besides the fact that you are the Dark Lord's daughter. At first, they handled you with additional care. But after a while, they saw you more as a daughter than anything else. Especially aunt Cissy, who's always fussing over you.

The first time you were genuinely terrified was during the house sorting at Hogwarts. As a precaution, your last name was changed to Black, after your mother's maiden name. Having the surname of either Riddle or Lestrange was way too dangerous.

You can still remember the whispers as your name was called. 

"A Black?" "I didn't know a Black her age still existed." "Could she be the daughter of the mass murderer?"

A sort of relief went through your body as you were sorted into Slytherin. There was no doubt, being the heir of Slytherin nonetheless. But still, the fear of disappointing a father that you've never met was all too great, even for an eleven-year-old.

That same year you got the first letter from your father. He wrote how proud he was of you for being sorted into Slytherin and that he expected big things from you. Thanks, dad, no pressure at all.

During your second year, you heard all kinds of weird whispers as you moved about the castle. It was then that you discovered that you could speak Parslemouth. The giant murder snake in the sewers was not as scary as many believed. Of course, as she was murdering muggle-borns, you felt guilty and tried to forbid her to do so. But the Basilisk couldn't help her nature.

After everything happened with the Chamber of Secrets, you went to Dumbledore and confessed everything, from your true parentage and being a Parslemouth. You cried while asking the headmaster to not expel you.

"My dear child", said Dumbledore calmly, producing a handkerchief out of thin air, "you have nothing to worry about. If I learned one thing throughout my long life, I've learned that parentage could mean nothing. If you let it mean nothing."

He did make you promise to give him every letter your father would send. You agreed without hesitating for a moment.

Third-year was uneventful. You stayed as far away from the Golden Trio as possible, knowing that Sirius Black was after Harry at the time. It proved difficult as they ─ especially Harry ─ were constantly around you. Even at remote parts of the castle, when you needed some time alone from all the stares and whispers, he seemed to find you.

You sniff, burying your face into your hands. Some sixth-year Gryffindor made you fall down a flight of stairs with a spell and scattered all your stuff around the ground. 

Suddenly, a pair of feet appear in front of you and you jump up, raising your wand in defence. Harry Potter looks at you with wide eyes and your schoolbag in his hands.

You drop your wand and turn away, wiping away a stray tear. "What do you want, Potter?" The words come out harsh, just like you see your cousin do all the time.

The boy in question shuffles awkwardly from his left foot to his right. "Are you... are you okay? I saw what happened." He holds out your bag and you take it.

You mumble out, "thanks", and you stand awkwardly across from each other. You fumble with the straps of your bag while Harry plays with his tie.

"I don't think you're like him at all", he suddenly blurts out, making you look up at him with wide eyes. "Like your dad. Sirius Black."

You stiffen. "O-oh no! Sirius isn't my dad. I'm- we're cousins... I think."

"Oh..." Harry's face heats up, obviously embarrassed.

After that rather awkward encounter, every time someone tried to trip you over or bully you, he was there to stop it. Draco was obviously not happy about it and you begged him to not tell uncle Lucious.

And that's how we arrive at your fourth year. Or, actually less than a month before the new term.

"Hey, Bowtruckle, are you awake?" Draco waves his hand in front of your face, obviously annoyed that you didn't listen to whatever he was raging about.

You snap up and turn to look at him, raising one eyebrow in annoyance. "What?"

Draco rolls his eyes and points outside the carriage. A sigh leaves your lips as you see that you've arrived at the Quidditch World Cup finale. To be completely honest, you don't care that much for Quidditch. But Draco does, and Uncle Lucius cares for your public appearance, so you were forced to go.

Climbing out of the carriage, you stretch out your arms and breath in the fresh August air. Everywhere you look are wizards from all over the world, people flying and zooming around on brooms, flags waving proudly. 

You trail behind the two Malfoy's as they strut up the steps, showing off their badges that Lucius got from the Minister proudly.

Suddenly, Lucius spots a familiar family of red-heads, a smirk forming on his face.

A sigh leaves your lips as he and Draco brag about having seats in the Minister's box. Your eyes lock with Harry's and a small smile forms on your face, raising your hand subtly to wave at him. He returns the gesture with an equally shy smile. 

Draco seems to notice whatever's going on between Harry and you and he janks at your arm, pulling you behind him. "Keep your filthy blood traitor eyes away from my cousin, Potter", he spits in Harry's direction as he pulls you along.

Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you move along to the box and take place in the far-most corner of all the seats. Ignoring the looks both Draco and uncle Lucius give you, you stare at the stadium and see the Irish and Bulgarian teams flying around.

As the match continues, and the crowd gets rowdier, you grab a pair of binoculars and look around the stadium. Most people are boring. Here and there are a couple of interesting figures, but nothing more.

Aiming the binoculars higher, you spot the Weasely family with Harry Potter, Hermoine Granger, and two others. They are having fun by the looks of it.

"You're lucky I caught you flirting with Potter instead of father", hisses Draco in a whisper, making you roll your eyes while still peering out of the binoculars.

Glaring at him, you grumble back, "I wasn't... flirting."

He looks at you incredulously before clasping his hands together and fluttering his eyelashes.

You scoff and give his shoulder a shove. "Come off it, you twat."

As you and Draco squabble a bit louder than desired, uncle Lucious snaps his attention to you. He clears his throat and you immediately break apart, cowering under his hard glare. "What... did I say?", he spats.

"Do behave", you both mumble, looking down.

Uncle Lucius gives you one last look before turning back around, resuming conversation with some ministry person. Your cousin and you both share a glance before focusing back on the game. 

The match ended with Ireland winning over Bulgaria by 170 to 160. But Draco and you don't get a chance to enjoy the festivities as uncle Lucius shoves you into a carriage.

"Why can't we stay?", you ask with a frown and produce the same puppy eyes that always work on your uncle.

Not this time, apparently. Lucius gives you a sharp look. "Because I am your uncle and I said so." Giving Draco a piercing look, he slams the carriage shut and sends it on its way.

Slumping down on the seat, you fold your arms over each other.

"You are only making things harder for yourself", muses Draco as he sits back, plucking an old Daily Prophet from the seat next to him.

You opt to ignore his remark and stare out of the window for the rest of the ride home.

Taglist: @the0doreslover​

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter scenarios #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x slytherin!reader #harry potter x riddle!reader #harry potter au #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy scenarios #draco malfoy x cousin!reader #hogwarts #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts scenario #hogwarts x reader #hogwarts x y/n #hogwarts au #slytherin!reader #riddle!reader

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

I ain’t missing you at all  (requires an ao3 account) by @blitheringmcgonagall

Set post first wizarding war. "Lily Evans disappeared just when the war with Voldemort ended. Nobody knows why she left. James Potter doesn't care. He hasn't missed her at all."

It reads like a character study. All of the repressed emotions are so well-portrayed that I could picture all their facial expressions and body language. The dynamic between Lily and the marauders really illustrated how she wasn't just James' girlfriend - she was their friend too. I just wanted to give them all a hug.

Up In Arms by @mppmaraudergirl

When Lily jokingly tells her owl to deliver a letter to "the love of her life", i.e. Marlene McKinnon, her owl misinterprets the directive and, to her horror, her ode to James Potter’s arms lands squarely in his lap.

The banter in this one is so good that it made my friend fall back in love with jily's dynamic and read fics again

Evergreen and Pine by @tinyluminaryzombie

Lily Evans is stuck in a closet with Sirius. All Sirius wants to talk about is exactly what she's trying not to think about: James Potter.

Or: A seven minutes in heaven that's more like seven minutes of sweet sweet interegation ft. Lily and Sirius.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes by @jfleamont

Lily's an overthinker, but fear not, James knows exactly what to say to cheer her up.

Because Lily being a stress smoker is canon (to me)

All The Things I Would Do also by @/ jfleamont

Lily can't stop thinking about James' hands.

Anything Leda writes is great so do yourself a favour and go read her works

I’ve Got My Hate to Keep Me Warm by @dizzy–bird

When a mission for the Order goes badly wrong, Lily Evans must spend the holidays lying low in the middle of nowhere. The rules: no magic, no visitors, and absolutely no Christmas cheer.

And the kicker? She’s sharing the safe house with Order darling – and rival – James Potter, who just happens to be the reason she’s in this mess in the first place.

Kat's poem from 10 Things I Hate About You

Hemispheres by @ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter and Lily Evans have set aside their schoolyard animosities for the sake of the Order of the Phoenix, but when they are enlisted to race Lord Voldemort across the world to prevent him from corrupting the very nature of death, tensions run high. In all manners.

Lily's characterisation in this one is so good

No One Knows Us by @annasghosts

As Fifth Year begins, Lily Evans is certain of a few things: she’s proud to be a Muggle-born witch, despite what Petunia might think; Severus Snape is still a loyal friend and whatever confusing feelings she has as she watches James Potter strut around the castle must be squashed because he’s nothing, but an arrogant toerag.

In which Lily gets the dynamic character treatment that she deserves.

51 Minutes to Change Your Mind by @sosohh

When Muggle-Born Oliver Wood becomes an extremely successful cyclist for the British Cycling team, both muggle and magical ministries have to come up with a plan to make sure all is fair. Enter James Potter and Lily Evans.

The Art of Self-Defense by cgner (on ao3)

Gilmore Girls AU in which "after seventeen years of single parenting, she now has to manage a persistent James, nosy villagers, and a son who's all too interested in joining the Order."

#for everyone tired of lily getting sidelined #this one is for you #jily #jily fic rec #jple #lily evans #james potter

[sofoulandfairaday]

i can't decide which i like more:

the idea - very much canonical and in the author's original concept and view of magic - of the dark arts taking a toll on one's exterior and looks. tom riddle sacrificing his beauty willingly in the name of eternal life, black magic as something that innately corrupts. bellatrix escaping from azkaban with the barest vestiges of her ancient beauty. going from one of the most beautiful women in england to a shell of her former self and no amount of dark magic being able to fix it. and she just. doesn't care. goes from pretty, proud and vain in her youth, to the feverish, fanatical glow harry sees in the department if mysteries. finally she sheds the petal of the rose - look like the innocent flower, her master had once said - and only the thorns remain. the parallel with voldemort himself. the idea that they like each other better now, the only ones to like their respective new appearances better. bellatrix because she can taste the power radiating off him, because she knows how resentful he was of his old face. (oh, he's never said anything explicitly, he would rather be flayed alive than speak of his filthy muggle father to her, but she knew he didn't like himself, took no pride in his aesthetics, it was most unusual, really.) the dark lord because he's reminded of her sacrifice - she was the only one who didn't denounce him, who tried to find him - every time he looks at her. she gave up everything for him: her reputation, her family, her freedom, her health, her beauty, her youth.

or.

the horcruxes are an isolated case. not all prices to pay for power are physical. some dark magic sucks at your humanity, your emotional regulation, your empathy and gives back superficial little gifts. its roots are far from the deep anger, desperation to cling to life of an horcrux. these are ancient witches' remedies to be the most envied in the village. the idea that rotten cores hide behind the prettiest faces. and bellatrix was always vain, always took immense pride in her beauty, her black, pure features. when she escapes from azkaban she tries everything in her power to be herself once again. she still drips with obsession but gradually regains all of her beauty too. cruel people can still be beautiful. gorgeous people can still be inhuman. and yet there is something so human about a woman making her way through the ranks of a very militarised group and still caring so much about what she looks like, still having insecurities, being preoccupied with mundane things like age and decay - and hating it because he would hate it, he hates weakness, and still not being able to help herself. the dark lord was always a collector of shiny things, was he not?

#sorry for the ineloquent stream of consciousness. it's midnight i am exhaused and once again in a bellamort brainrot #better yet - bellatrix and her relationship with her gender is something that i find so fascinating and that few people explore properly #and the differences between bellatrix and voldemort and how they would perceive certain things (e.g. physical beauty) #being a children's book hp uses the very common trope that ugly = bad #the villains are all deprived of their good looks somehow #except in lockhart's case where he literally loses his wits (the whole point of his character - very dante-esque as a punishment) #and dark magic clearly takes a toll on your body #i like characters that are described as imperfect and that are forced to make sacrifices. would bella give this up for her master? yes. #would it be painful? i find that i like both versions of her. #bellatrix lestrange #lord voldemort #bellamort #bellatrix black

[coldemergency]

Unfinished work that I'm proud of 🤗❤️

Summary: After being hit by a spell Harry is de-aged into an infant. Fortunately, his mind is intact. Unfortunately, no one else knows.

Chapter 1: Helpless

Harry stared up into red eyes and cried. It was more like a wail actually, small and pathetic. Just like Harry.

One second he was running in the atrium, then Dumbledore was defending him, then he jumped in stupidly wanting to help and was hit by a strange spell and shrunk uncomfortably. He hit the ground, only cushioned by his now oversized clothes, and found that he could no longer control his limbs.

He was stuck inside his robes, dark and the sound outside was muffled. He could hear yelling, and the occasional spell zapped over him. He was grabbed by someone, yanked hard, and then was apparated away while being clutched tightly.

He tried to fight, he tried to scream but all he could do was helplessly gaze at red eyes when his robes were pulled back.

Voldemort was holding him, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When Harry began crying, the man grimaced, and he thought that the wizard might drop him. To his surprise the Dark Lord adjusted his hold, cradling Harry comfortably in his robes. Harry tried to move his arm, maybe slap Voldemort, but all he managed was a sad wave.

Long white fingers reached out, curiously holding onto his hand. His little baby hand. Dear Godric, he was a fucking baby? Harry cried harder then, gripping his enemy's finger as tightly as he could, willing it to hurt even though he knew it was useless now.

Voldemort clicked his tongue in annoyance at him.

The man waved his wand, and Harry watched through misty eyes as a bottle appeared. The Dark Lord shoved it into his open mouth, and Harry tried to cry around it but found it much too hard. He closed his mouth, clasping the soft rubber between his gums, and simply accepted the drink.

The milk within was sweet and warm, and Harry begrudgingly had to admit it was quite delicious.

He was still mad though.

Voldemort held the bottle, feeding him, watching him with a strange look on his face. Was he not going to kill Harry? There would never be a better opportunity than this, yet the man seemed content in nursing him.

It was fucking weird.

Harry stared up at the man, the monster who killed his parents, the man who tried to kill him. Why bother with this? Why not just chuck him out the window, or drown him? Surely Voldemort had better things to do with his time than care for a baby.

“You’ll be much less of a problem like this, Harry,” Voldemort murmured, his long finger caressing his cheek. Harry wanted to bite it off. Gum it off? Bullocks.

Had this been planned all along? Although he preferred this over being dead, Harry wasn’t sure of what to make of this strange situation. He doubted very much that he was supposed to still be mentally 15. But of course, Harry was the best at screwing things up.

If Voldemort thought this was going to be easy, he had another thing coming.

~~~~~~

Time was weird as a baby. Harry couldn’t keep track of days and nights, and Voldemort didn’t seem to sleep or eat at regular intervals. Harry slept a lot, he slept an ungodly amount. He couldn’t help it. He tired easily, after eating, moving, or breathing he fatigued and would be dozing off quickly. 

There were times he was sure Voldemort was using magic to keep him sleepy, probably during the periods in which he’d be left alone for an unknown amount of time. Voldemort would always return. The man alone cared for him. Harry had yet to see another person and was sure he was dead to the world. 

He wondered if anyone knew what had happened. Dumbledore had been there when he was hit with the spell, but even he couldn’t know everything. Had the old man seen his little form, wiggling under his clothes? Or perhaps his eyesight was too bad and he’d watched in horror as Harry seemingly disappeared from existence. 

He had no clue.

Voldemort wasn’t helping either, he’d barely talk around Harry. The man would mumble while reading, and murmur short sarcastic comments at Harry that he didn’t think he understood. It was more than clear that the Dark Lord had no fucking idea that Harry was indeed still himself. If he knew, Voldemort would probably talk down at him, mock him, or straight up kill him when he realized his spell hadn’t worked properly. 

It was in Harry’s best interest to keep up the charade until he could fight back, run away, or somehow send a message to Dumbledore.

Harry wiggled, trying to move his hands and feet in a swaddle he was wrapped in. 

The Dark Lord looked up from his writing, looking Harry over before resuming whatever it was the man was doing. After weeks of this, Harry thought that the man would grow tired of him, hand him off to a Death Eater, or feed him to his snake. Instead, he seemed to adjust to having a baby. 

Harry gurgled, trying to whine as he wiggled. He was feeling restless.

Red eyes looked up once again, this time Voldemort placed his quill down in its holder and reached over to grab Harry. He unfolded the soft blanket that was wrapped around him, picking him up and minding his head as he brought him to his lap. Harry settled in his hold, happy that the Dark Lord's hands weren’t cold at least. 

Harry blinked up at the pale face and watched as an almost unnoticeable smile crept onto Voldemort’s face. 

“So fussy,” the man murmured. Harry tried to deny it but grunted in response. The older wizard ran his hand through his hair, displacing the small curls. He seemed to be amused by it. Harry was not. “You’ll make a perfect little Slytherin,” he stated, sending a cold shiver down Harry’s spine. “How do you like Harrison Tomas Riddle? Or perhaps Hadrian Marvolo Riddle?” 

Harry wanted to scream. This couldn’t be happening. Voldemort was really going to try and raise him. Feeling frustrated Harry cried out, he wanted the man to know exactly how he felt about being renamed to fit into his sick fantasy. He belted out loudly, eyes quickly covering in a sheen of tears. Voldemort chuckled, gently bouncing him. Harry cried harder.

“You’re absolutely right, Harry. Neither is good, why should you have to bear my filthy father's muggle name?” Harry had to pause to take in a breath. “Perhaps it’s time to revive the Gaunt line,” he mused. Ignoring Harry’s tantrum. 

The man smiled down at him, red eyes filled with pride.  Harry hated him. He hated him.

~~~~~~

At some point, Harry was able to start supporting his own head. His neck was no longer as bendy and weak as a cooked spaghetti noodle. He was having an easier time directing his hands to where he wanted them to go and was practicing grabbing hold of things. 

With his small, newfound strength, Harry tried his best to annoy the shit out of Voldemort. He’d grasp random things, throwing them to the floor or bringing them to his mouth to slobber on. He’d turn his head away from the man constantly, refusing to look at him or acknowledge him. He could tell it bothered him, which was hilarious. 

The Dark Lord fell out of favor with his baby.

When he tried feeding him, Harry would spit it up. He loved making a mess, even though it took Voldemort less than two seconds to clean.

The game became boring after a while since the man never retaliated. Harry wasn’t sure what he expected. The Dark Lord never cursed at him or yelled. He never hurt him, hands as gentle as always. He would spend hours trying to feed him, even after Harry spits up countless times. 

When Harry cried at night, the Dark Lord always, without fail, would come to his cot and comfort him. He never looked tired, instead, he seemed to enjoy the time he spent with Harry, as unpleasant as he made it.

Harry hated him for it.

He’d gotten used to diaper changes, grateful for magic since the Dark Lord never had to touch him for that, but for bath time it was still as embarrassing as ever. For whatever reason the Dark Lord preferred bathing him in the traditional way, instead of just using magic to vanish the food and grime from feedings and drool. 

He had a small basin that he’d fill with lukewarm water, and he’d use one arm to hold Harry in the water while he cleaned him with the other. The soap he used made Harry’s skin very smooth, and the cloth he used to wipe him down was possibly the softest thing Harry had ever felt in his life. It was a stark contrast to the rough rags his Aunt would use to scrub him until his skin was red.

After his baths Voldemort would towel dry him carefully, patting him down before placing a diaper on him and fitting him with warmed clothes. Bathtime was always before bedtime, and Harry was always the most relaxed afterward, clean, warm, and comfortable. Sometimes he would forget to be humiliated until the morning after. 

They had a routine and followed it usually. There were the odd times that Harry would be left alone for longer than usual, Voldemort was probably busy torturing muggles and having slumber parties with Malfoy. But those times alone were few and far between. It would seem the Dark Lord had plenty of free time, ignoring how much paperwork the man did.

He was always reading and writing. It was so fucking boring. Harry would bother him, and Voldemort always was happy for the interruption.

Harry was surprised one evening to find that Voldemort does in fact sleep.

The man had taken a break from his book, rubbed his eyes, and took Harry with him to his bedroom. Harry had been there twice that he could recall since living here. Voldemort lay on his bed, putting Harry on his chest, and then took a fucking nap.

Harry was appalled, absolutely disgusted. But intrigued all the same. 

He watched Voldemort sleep as he lay there, rising and falling with his chest. The man must have been tired as it hadn’t taken long for him to go under. He didn’t snore, or twitch. He was very still. Harry hated that the sound of the man’s heartbeat was comforting. It made his eyes heavy, and he tried to fight it but in the end, he closed his eyes and nodded off as well.

After that, the Dark Lord took Harry with him whenever he slept. It wasn’t all that common, no rhyme or reason to the schedule. Harry wondered if the man slept because he needed to or if he just felt like it.

He still hadn’t seen the man eat a single thing since being in his care. He would drink a rare glass of wine, or sip on tea, but never anything substantial. No wonder the man was practically a walking skeleton. The opposite of Harry who had been gaining weight, as babies do. Voldemort had once rolled his little fat rolls between his bony fingers, chuckling.

“Look at how fat you’ve become,” He stated gleefully. “You’ll be much healthier this time around, I can assure you of that,” He promised, making Harry both sick to his stomach and also secretly relieved. He was so ready for real food, none of that mushy crap. 

In fact, Harry was so ready for anything that would give him any kind of independence. He’d be the fastest potty-trained kid the world would see. Then, when he had the motor skills, he would learn to run as fast as he could. With the right amount of strength, he might be able to stab Voldemort to death in his sleep. 

How morbid. 

But it would come to that in the end, wouldn’t it? He still had to fight the man. There still had to be a winner. Didn’t there? He had kept his memories for a reason. The world was giving him a fighting chance. He was the only one.

It would have to happen.

There was no other choice.

#harry potter #fanfic #harry potter is a menace #hp #fanfiction #voldemort #tom riddle #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 author #fanfic writing #unfinished #ideas #short story #short stories #harry potter au #harry james potter #harry potter fanfiction #daddy voldemort

[sitp-recs]

Happy Friday, friends! I’ve never done monthly wrap ups before but since Wireless pulled me back from a brief hiatus, I thought it would be cool to share some things I’ve been reading, that could use more love. 10 fics both old and new, Drarry and rare pairs, Wireless treats; pick your poison and have fun! 🙌

Drarry

Muscle Memory by @corvuscrowned (E, 7k) - brilliant concept perfectly executed, I’m so here for curse-breaking colleagues who fuck at the job to pass time and then forget about it every time 🤌🏼 genius and intriguing and captivating as per crow’s usual

There's something just beneath the surface, just at the periphery of Harry's mind. They've been here before — they've done this before. If only he could remember it.

And Embers at Your Lips by @nametheshadows (T, 15k) - sequel to one of my all-time favorite 8th year fics with insomniac roommates just as soft and healing as LLAYF. Gorgeous prose and all the kissing. Highly rec this series for A+ comfort food!

The sequel to Like Lightning at Your Fingertips: the kissing montage. And there’s that thing with Potter’s magic.

Rich Friend, Anon (E, 18k) - one of my faves from Wireless, pop star!Draco never gets old and both the pacing and the romance are perfectly developed! I live for Harry’s horny yearning and for their road trip together, kudos to casual Harry/Neville as a side ship!

As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.

Waking Up Slow, Anon (E, 22k) - this ode to advent Drarry fics took my breath away with a charming Draco, fun dynamics, an enchanting Christmas shop and one of the sexiest smut scenes I’ve read this year, 10/10 recommend for hot & sweet magical vibes and lots of references as an homage to the classics!

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

We Are Legend by Vaysh (E, 38k) - happy to report to @romaine2424 that I have finally read this epic apocalypse AU and am shooketh with its originality and serious tone. One of the most creative takes I’ve seen on animagus Draco, a poignant and devastating war story.

Eighty years into the future, Voldemort won. Harry Potter is a renegade wizard, Portkeying Muggles out of London to Hogwarts, last sanctuary in a Britain ruled by the Dark Lord. On a mission he encounters a powerful phoenix Animagus fighting on the Death Eaters' side. He recognises Draco Malfoy whom he thought long dead. But the differences between them are perhaps even greater than before. Cw: MCD

LA, Who Am I To Love You?, Anon (E, 42k) - I cannot believe this beauty was written for my lil Wireless prompt ♥️ perfect LA vibes, gorgeous aesthetics, horny ust and a fascinating take on both down and out bi Harry and out and proud bi Draco, we love to see it! Couldn’t have asked for a better story to fill my prompt, ty anon!

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Rare Pairs

A Different Tune by November Snowflake (M, 8k) - very nice Dron get together, short & sweet with an undercurrent melancholy that I love, just what I needed before bed

Working in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office has led Ron to many strange encounters--but none more unexpected than this one. Cw: Harry’s dead

The Years Between by brummell (M, 14k) - another rare pair fave, this Rarry fic told from Ron’s smitten and jealous pov as he helps Harry recover from a coma is so deliciously raw and angsty. Gorgeous slow burn, the feels!

For both Harry and Ron, a wake-up call is just the beginning.

Things Remembered by avioleta (E, 17k) - best Snarry fic I’ve read this year, I’m low key obsessed with this hitmen + amnesia concept and how the romance develops so organically while they’re on the run. Intriguing plot, sexy ust and super scorching smut that made me salivate jfc 🔥

Harry wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar hotel room, and with absolutely no idea who he is. The man he’s in bed with has no memories either. But they think, maybe, they’re assassins, because they seem to be very good at killing people.

A Dress with Pockets by PacificRimbaud (E, 25k) - a Panville classic recced by anon (ty!!), what a sexy and vibrant read! I LOVED Neville and their dynamics are brilliant and so funny, I just couldn’t get enough of these characters. 100% sold on this ship pls and thank

Pansy Parkinson needed a drink. And a shag. She didn't care in which order. Enter: Neville fucking Longbottom and his rolled up sleeves.

#July wrap up #hp recs

[flusteredmoonn]

superman; regulus black

summary: "he has his mothers eyes, his fathers ambition," in which she is proud of him that he is the one chosen, succumbing to his parents expectations.

tags: (SFW), fluff, drabble, slight one sided angst, mentions of war, threats of war, implied previous threatened violence, implied voldemort supporter!reader, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 700+

speak now tracklist. request.

the meetings end was uncharacteristically abrupt. chairs screeched as the members of the organisation were dismissed, not even an ambient conversation filled the stagnate air in the great hall of the manor. eeriness loomed outside of the houses walls, it felt haunted, like they weren't alone. though the silence was soon shattered by a husky voice,

"regulus, you stay behind, boy," it's owner's tone was authoritative, making the boy still in the archway of the room. he inhaled sharply before turning around and retracing his steps back into the room, posture assured yet his shoulder's slumped.

"my lord," his voice was suddenly adolescent, like he was back home and talking with his parents. a stark contrast to the boy that many who lingered on the other side of the heavy door had known.

"i have something to ask of you.." the older man alluded, "and who better to trust than a member of one of our world's most loyal families," he held a snide smile as something akin to cunning glistened in his usually stoic expression.

"what is it, my lord," the boy nervously questioned, though his voice never wavered and he rolled his shoulders back in faux confidence. the air in the room became stagnate when the dark lord revealed the favour he asked of the younger boy. surely it couldn't possibly be so simple, the trade of a house elf for unwavering trust.

he had apparated back to his parents home, releasing a hesitant breath as his ancestors discussed conspicuously about the agenda of the meeting. summoning his beloved house elf with a small pop, he commanded kreature to serve the dark lord for as long as voldemort deemed to be suitable.

regulus caught the exchange of words from several of the portraits, questioning how he could be in such close quarters with voldemort, speculating if he would copy the betrayal of his brother. he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing he turned toward the staircase, ascending them and walking toward his bedroom.

using his fireplace, he travelled the floo network to the leaky cauldron, where he was set to meet with someone. she sat quietly in a corner of the pub, a stein of butterbeer in front of her as she watched the entrance. her eyes moved over to him, a smile gracing her face, meeting her eyes as he strode over to her.

he shouted at tom, the pub owner, for another round of butterbeer before he seated himself opposite her. "hey," he smiled shyly at her, thanking the barman for bringing their drinks over.

"hi," she replicated his tone, taking another sip from the glass in front of her. she began to ask about the death eater's meeting, her tone becoming swiftly hesitant as he features hardened, her voice soon trailing off.

"it was good, i think," he began, eyes looking around in avoidance, "i got tasked with something, finally," his expression lightened at the prospect of his importance. surprise graced y/n's face,

"really? that's really good, reg, i'm proud of you," she smiled, "how did your parents react?" she queried with a small smirk.

"oh, uhm 'haven't told them yet," he mirrored her expression. "well i'm sure they'll be proud."

"yeah."

a beat of silence lingered in the space between them, each taking the opportunity to fill it with a sip of their drinks.

"just don't wanna disappoint sirius, you know," he spoke after a while, avoiding eye contact.

"you won't, he'll be happy so long as you're happy, i'm sure of it," the girl spoke softly, extending her hand to him, squeezing it in response to him taking it. he nodded solemnly, smiling briefly at her before suggesting that they take their leave from the pub and spend the rest of the evening in town.

with a hum in agreement, she stood up from the table as the pair made their way to the bar to pay, before making their way into town.

"i am really proud of you, you know?" she exclaimed comfortingly.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐰 🔮 #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐧'𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐞𝐫𝐚 #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x yn #regulus black x you #regulus black fic #marauders era #harry potter #hpcu #harry potter universe #taylor swift #superman #speak now taylor swift #superman taylor’s version #speak now taylor's version #fluff #regulus black fluff #short fic #all the young dudes #speak now #angst

[fiendishfyre]

I want to hear your thoughts on Regulus👀

Oh my gosh, I m literally so hyped for this ask!!

Hehehehehhee. Okay, I am not eloquent nor articulate so forgive me.

Okay, first off, I *abhor* the notion he was forced to become a DE, I am sorry but neither Walburga or Orion would force Regulus to clip out anything related to his Lord and Saviour, Voldemort. Look, they allowed Sirius to have his posters and yes he put a sticky charm on it but you're telling me that they couldn't actually get it down??? Like literally could hire someone.

What I am trying to say is, they had free will and chose what they wanted to have be up. (Fook it, Walburga could have added an illusion charm to make it appear differently. I could go. Walburga left Sirius' room as is for a reason. They were not dictator parents.)

So I am a Regulus was a willing and proud (for the most part) Death Eater. He was a blood supremacist. We don't need to have seen him say mudblood to know he'd likely have tossed that word around like it was nothing. He is a ***minor*** character so of course we shouldn't be getting that much info. And no I am not saying what we had was plenty in the sense that, he is Sirius' brother and it would have been interesting to see more on him. But unnecessary, in my opinion.

Now for his betrayal/'Redemption'.

To be frank, I don't think he had a change of heart. He could have easily turned because his house elf was almost killed and you can take it as he is doing it for the fact someone he cared for was used or that his *property* was used, I see both. He's a pureblood and a Black and you don't fuck with whats theirs kinda thing.

Also the horcrux, knowing Voldemort created one. Tore his soul apart for it. Which is the taboo even amongst Dark wixen. You can take out muggles, burn down blood traitor families but to tear ones soul could have been the limit for Regulus, fearful of what Voldemort was willing to actually do. And that it tears the mind too. Who wants to follow a crazy leader?

All of the above doesn't mean he had a change of heart, that he was betraying Voldy for a truly altruistic reason. He kinda traumatized Kreacher all over again. He let the poor elf stay in the cave.

And you'll find me hard pressed to make Regulus this 'woke', progressive, Slythertin. That such screams OC (Original Character) to me. I see him very much as a misogynistic, sexist, blood supermacist. He had his family crest over his bed! Agh! He was a proud Black!

He is a pathetic white boi. I love him for it. I don't wanna change him. XD

I love Regulus Black, but I love villains/dark/flawed/etc characters and I don't agree with the notion that you must change these characters to justify liking them. That speaks to the person on how they have a morality complex. (Or perhaps not morality complex but a lack of understanding what you like in fiction doesn't mean you support it in real life. This topic deserves its own post.)

There is more on Regulus that I could talk about but this is long enough already. Hahahaha.

#regulus black #character discussion #hp character discussion #fyre answers #fyreanswers #regulus black meta #hp meta #meta analysis

[princeblack]

Regulus wakes to a knock at the door, followed by a creaking sound as it opens immediately. Blinking bleary green eyes open, he doesn’t see anyone standing in the doorway, so he knows it’s Kreacher. Sure enough, the house elf’s voice follows. “Good morning, Young Master… Kreacher is here to wake you on behalf of Mistress’s orders. She requests you are ready to depart for King’s Cross by nine o’clock, so you must dress and eat now–”

“Yes, good morning, Kreacher…” Regulus’s voice is groggy and his patience thin, because despite how endearing it always was that the house elf took his job very seriously, it also quickly became exhausting when at the crack of dawn. “Tell Mother I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

Kreacher walks to the edge of his room, folding his hands together as big pale eyes gaze up at Regulus, who’s still in his pajamas. “Yes, Young Master. Kreacher is happy to serve…”

Sitting up, he glances down thoughtfully at the house elf. “Go make yourself some tea and have some eggs and toast, okay?” 

Sometimes his mother would ‘forget’ to give the loyal house elf his breaks, something that Regulus made sure to command him to take. “That’s an order, so you must.”

The house elf sniffs a little, the way he always does when he thinks someone might be contradicting Regulus’s mother in any way, but he ultimately agrees. “Yes, Young Master… Master Regulus is generous and will make his mother proud when he’s sorted into the noble house of Slytherin.”

Regulus smiles, unable to contain his natural reaction to the elf. “And I’m looking forward to it. Now, get out of my room so I can change.”

The small house elf bows before leaving, closing the door on his way out. It leaves Regulus in silence, contemplating the future. He’s sixteen and finally going to attend Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, just like his predecessors. He would no doubt be sorted into the same house as the rest of his family, and if his home-schooling grades were to be trusted, he would be even more talented in an official academic setting. Everyone expected him to succeed, from his parents to his extended family, including Lucius and Bellatrix. They had already placed their trust and expectations in him, allowing him to attend secret and lavish meetings with the Dark Lord at the Lestrange mansion and various hidden places. Lucius would often say that Draco had much to learn from Regulus, only ‘hoping’ his son would amount to as much both magically and academically. Draco wasn’t allowed to attend the parties or meetings yet, with Lucius claiming he had maturing to do, but Regulus had met Lord Voldemort. Lucius explained he was in a specter form after Harry Potter’s ‘defeat’, in a weakened state and requiring a body to fully walk in their realm again. From what Regulus could tell, Voldemort was smart and well-spoken, only wanting to protect the wizarding world from outsiders and even itself.

It was hard for Regulus to imagine, after living in a wizard’s village the entirety of his life, why muggles would be allowed into their society when they wanted them dead for most of recorded history. Would anyone who wasn’t brought up in their ways truly understand them, or would they be biased to their muggle roots, always defending them even when the magical world was at risk? His father always said that despite the Black family’s riches, their heritage and family was the most important valuable of them all, and they were to protect their magical blood with their lives or it would bring shame upon their fathers and their fathers before them.

He’s heard from his family about the state of muggleborns at Hogwarts, being admitted in just the same as those from wizarding families. Every student was even designated to use muggle transportation to get to the school, in the name of cohesion (“That crackpot old fool doesn’t want to admit he’s boot-licking the muggles”, as Lucius had said to his father). Regulus thought it was an overreaction on his relative’s part, but he did see the fear beneath, and he felt it all around him as muggles were integrated into their society more and more. What if their secret was to be found out, and they were hunted to extinction when their numbers were already dwindled to so few? What if magic was bred out of their bloodlines completely? Even the paintings of Grimmauld Place talked about it and it was never far from the back of Regulus’s mind.

But something else that never left his mind was Sirius’s dusty room, still untouched at the topmost landing of the mansion. There were Permanent Sticking Charms on a lot of the decorations on the wall, including the Gryffindor banners hanging everywhere. Regulus had often wondered how Sirius was the only one in the family to become sorted into Gryffindor, and what exactly had happened between him and their parents that led to his disownment. But his mother and father were tight-lipped, telling Regulus he’s a murderer and a blood traitor. This didn’t quite match up with Regulus’s research, which indicated that Sirius was immediately escorted to Azkaban upon the murder of muggles in broad daylight, all because of his maddened support for the Dark Lord. But none of his family was willing to talk of the incident, and none of the death eaters either. If Sirius ever supported Lord Voldemort or if he was a fraud who de-famed their organization with careless murder in the streets, Regulus never knew. All he knew was his brother’s image was burned from the family tree and the remains of his life here were frozen in time in his bedroom at the top of the stairs.

He thinks about all of these things as he gets dressed, wearing a dark brown cable knit sweater and a black cashmere coat. It isn’t until he finishes getting ready, stopping by his bathroom, before he finally goes downstairs to greet his mother at the dining room table.

There are two plates of food already placed, his mother waiting, giving him a thin smile as he approaches. ”Well, go on. Hurry and eat up before you make your father late. He’s leaving work to pick us up in the ministry car to see you off, but he needs to get back to the office in a timely manner. There was a duel between two goblins in downtown London that needs cover-up… Blew out the side of a residential building and the muggles are in an uproar.”

A portrait of Regulus’s great grandmother, who was positioned near the entrance to the dining room, gives a derisive cough. “I say leave it blown up… The Muggle scum deserved it.”

“I quite agree, Hesper,” Regulus’s mother says, starting to eat her eggs. “But they can’t know of us, so Orion does his job dutifully.”

“I don’t have much left to pack, anyways,” Regulus says, moving to sit down. “I’ve been waiting for this day my entire life, so I’m a little over prepared…” It’s hard to even worry, he’s so prepared. He knows exactly what happens when he gets to Hogwarts and he’s positive he’ll be in Slytherin.

“Nonsense,” his mother shakes her head. “There’s no such thing as over prepared. But, Regulus, we need to talk about your priorities when you get there. I don’t want any distractions, or assosiacting with blood traitors. I hope to be able to trust you, and not lose you like we did with your brother.” Her tone is brittle, but he can see in her eyes that even the thought of Sirius has made her upset. “If I hear of you fraternizing with any of those muggle-loving fools, I’ll bring you straight back home. Do you understand?”

Regulus stiffens, not eating for a moment as he glances up at his mother. “I understand. I’m only interested in my studies, anyway.” Truth be told, he’s never liked her iron grip, telling him what he can and can’t do. But he respects his family and doesn’t want to end up alone (or worse, in Azkaban) like Sirius. Besides, she knew better, didn’t she? And the Dark Lord was a powerful wizard with influence and a community; someone he wanted to be like.

So he finishes his breakfast as his mother rattles on about his first semester, thinking about all of the belongings he needs to put in his trunk before they depart.

His father arrives late in the ministry car afforded to him by being Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. His mother ushers them all in, bickering with his father the entire way to King’s Cross. They just barely make it to the platform in time, his mother planting a kiss on his cheek and his father giving him an encouraging pat on the back before sending him on his way.

Regulus already knows what to do; pushing his trolley to the bricked barrier and running through it, magically appearing onto platform nine and three-quarters. The Hogwarts Express is exactly as he expected it to look; a large, red steam engine with billowing steam. There was a chattering crowd around him as other students said last minute goodbyes to their parents closer to the train, something that made Regulus jealous as he passed by. Instead, his father had been more concerned with his job, rushing back to the car to return to the ministry, as usual.

Compared to his family, formal and strictly business, a lot of these families seemed close almost. One girl clung to her mother in tears, as if she couldn’t bear to let her go for the term. There were animals everywhere, from cats wandering the platform to owls hooting in cages. Most everyone was starting to file onto the train, Regulus finally bringing in the rear.

Just as he reaches the stairs, he notices someone else struggling with their trunk, trying to get it up the steps. He can only see her back, but she’s wearing an orange sweater and a dark plaid skirt, matching her small brown boots. She has auburn curls and he can see flowers woven into them, which catches his interest. 

Finally seeming to realize she was standing in the entrance for too long, she turns to look at him and he’s stunned into silence for a moment. She has the prettiest face he’s ever seen; a small, delicate chin, high cheek bones and big blue eyes that almost sparkle. Remembering he should probably say something, he quickly tries to cover up his reaction. “Hello,” he starts, almost nervously. This is the first person he’s spoken to that’s going to Hogwarts and isn’t from Grimswood like the Malfoys or Greengrasses or Rosiers. How was he supposed to know if she was from a pureblood family? He pushes aside the thought of his family, instead focusing on the present. “Let me help you with that,” he offers, stepping forward to take the trunk from her. His hand brushes hers as he takes the handle. Lifting it, he puts it on the top step before turning to get his own luggage so he can follow behind her. / @devcted

#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( prose ) . #Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. bexley ) . #Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( canon thread ) .

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 26 - Superstition

July, 1997

"I will meet you this evening, Severus", the Dark Lord said leisurely.

"Where, my Lord?"

"The Astronomy Tower."

-

There was no question he would go, none; no possibility to shirk, to evade, to lie.

He never lied, and that was the issue, the root of the problem. He simply did not say the whole truth - he projected small, minuscule truths as if they were whole, as if they were not part of a grand tapestry he would never show anyone.

What was he to do, then?

He would meet the Dark Lord in the Astronomy Tower. He should look proud, that was what was expected of him - the good and loyal servitor, having accomplished the most difficult task of all, proved his loyalty beyond any doubt.

But the Dark Lord always doubted. He smelled betrayal even in his most trusted advisors, and even Severus could not afford to rely on his new found position.

This was a test, the final test, and he was very well aware of it. But there was no pride in him: no pride, no contentment, not even relief, though he had thought there would be some.

He had used disgust to kill Albus. This, and hatred, and scorn, all accumulated over the years, all very much deserved, none even as remotely strong as the twisted love he felt towards Dumbledore.

He had found them in him nonetheless, and had used them successfully.

He was at an impasse, and he knew it.

He could not use the self-hatred, the fear or the shame, he could extract from his soul nothing of satisfaction for that crucial moment.

Still, he would go.

He went to the meeting that night, he climbed the stairs, he stood in front of the Dark Lord helpless, a cold breeze lifting his hair.

His master observed him carefully. He narrowed his horrid reddish eyes and leaned against the guardrail behind him, the very one Albus had stumbled upon before falling. Severus refused to look at it, refused to look at anything in front of him, to take another step.

So much was a stake and yet he feared, irrationally and in spite of his intelligence and will, that if he did so much as lift his eyes he would see a ghost. Albus' ghost, staring at him intently.

Voldemort noticed.

"Something troubles you, Severus. You are… ashamed."

Severus' heart missed a beat. He blinked, slowly. He fought with all his might to keep breathing at a steady pace, he relaxed, and looked up.

There Albus was, just beside the Dark Lord, pleading with him like in his nightmares.

"Severus… please…"

Severus looked at him for a few seconds. His lips tightened. It was like every night, every single night since it had happened - it was terribly and utterly pathetic.

Slowly, he turned his gaze away from Albus, and back to his Master.

"I… am ashamed, my Lord", he replied. "Though it is foolish of me."

"I do not understand."

He saw the Dark Lord's hand contract for a second, grasp his wand more firmly. He let out a small noise of contempt.

"I have spent 17 years in the close presence of Albus Dumbledore, my Lord. During this time, I came to admire him - I admired him as much as I loathed him."

To his relief, his master did not react.

"But before I killed him, he pleaded with me. He pleaded… and pleaded again… it was pathetic. Absurd. He was on his knees, he was weeping. It was unlike anything anyone would have imagined."

Again, his eyes drifted on Dumbledore's ghostly, teary face, and he noticed, in the corner of his eye, Voldemort's hand loosening around his wand.

"I feel no personal satisfaction concerning what happened, my Lord. No pride. Only a foolish sense of shame, because the man I killed was far from being the Dumbledore I had come to know, and wished to kill myself. I... merely murdered a helpless man."

Voldemort smiled.

"So if anything, my Lord..." He turned his gaze away from Albus, one final time. "If anything, I feel disappointed."

Slowly, the Dark Lord put his wand away.

"That is very noble of you, Severus. I suppose this is my fault - you have spent too much time with the old fool, and you have picked upon his dripping sense of nobility. You must feel relieved to finally be rid of him."

Severus smiled.

"Very much so, my Lord."

#severus snape #pro snape #albus dumbledore #snapetober #snapetober 2023 #severus snape fanfiction #lord voldemort #voldemort

[forestdeath1]

do you think james bullied snape because he was poor? do you think it had anything to do with classism?

Nope, I don't think so. When I first heard this version, I was really surprised. I think it comes from fanfiction? Some authors use the detail that if a child is rich, they will always bully the poor. That's not true.

We don't see any evidence that in the relationship between James+Sirius (why do they always forget about Sirius? He was very harsh verbally towards Snape and did it without much reason in his head) and Snape, there's anything related to Snape's poverty.

Here are a few reasons:

1. Sirius doesn't like the trappings of his family's wealth; he despises it. He's intentionally shown as the complete opposite of Lucius Malfoy (even their appearance, black and white, the most rebellious of purebloods and the most sycophantic, the one who values wealth and money and the one who despises it). Do you think he would love and be friends with someone who bullies others because of... money?! No way. It's actually pretty demeaning for the person themselves to brag about how much money they have. Considering how proud Sirius is, I doubt their bullying had anything to do with Snape's poverty.

And I think this Sirius's pride is partly seeded by his family. Because…

2. I think the Malfoys narratively were a bit the opposite of the Blacks in general. Their moneyed arrogance and bullying from Lucius and Draco - that's a pretty specific case, very similar to how some people think their money solves everything and defines who they are. The Malfoys are raised like that —they believe just having money makes them better than others. If we're talking about the old style upper class —it's not about thinking money makes you better, it's about how you're raised, what family you're born into, how you live, how you grow up – that's what makes you upper class, not your money. For wizards – their blood purity and loyalty to pureblood ideals. They might not even have much money, but they'd still be proud. Meanwhile, you might become rich, but you'll never become upper class. And it's pretty odd for this "class" to bully others based on money. The way the Malfoys do it is pretty crude and demeaning for themselves. In canon, it's well shown that the Malfoys are fixated on money. Whereas the Blacks aren't about money, but about their status. For the Blacks, it's all about status and primarily about blood purity. The Malfoys marry half-bloods, while the Blacks disown their children for wrong marriages.

3. I don't think wizards really have classes based on wealth.

(Also it’s pretty obvious but just in case, wizards don't have aristocracy in the traditional sense. After the introduction of the Statute of Secrecy, wizards don't have titles. Titles are purely a Muggle construct. Before the Statute, they existed, we know the Malfoys came with the Normans and were given lands. We know about the Bloody Baron. But there's no indication in canon of these aristocratic arrangements among wizards after the Statute (which, by its nature, implies service). The only lord among wizards was Voldemort. Because he called himself a lord. The fact that wizards deliberately don't use titles, even though the Malfoys had it, speaks only to one thing — the very idea of calling yourself by such titles is abhorrent to pure-blood wizards. It's a connection to Muggles and Muggle royalty. And being an aristocrat isn't just a privilege, it's also a duty.)

I think their upper class is pure-blood wizards. Their nobility is blood nobility. Their nobility was based on blood purity and loyalty to blood purity. They have a book called "Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy." So all their nobility — it's natural, inborn, blood, or rather pure-blood. But it's nowhere regulated, except in the minds of those pure-bloods. Their society is inequality in minds, where some consider themselves better than others.

Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn’t believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good.” (Professor Slughorn)

Even "not-biased" Slughorn was biased against muggleborns

They take a very harsh stance against "blood traitors". And true blood purists are much more tolerant of poverty if it's truly loyal to pureblood ideals (even families like the Gaunts). Blood is more important than money. The Black family tree has many marriages to different families, but not all of them are wealthy; it's impossible in their small society. I think, given how small wizarding society is, only three families were truly wealthy — the Blacks, the Malfoys, and the Lestranges. And I believe the Malfoys mostly gained their wealth from dealing with Muggles. Pure blood and being on the "Sacred 28" list doesn't make a family rich. Why if someone's in Slytherin, they're rich? Where did this wealth come from? In the Muggle world, this is understandable (but that's not always true either). But in the wizarding world? So it's a pretty weird trope that all Slytherins and pure-bloods are rich.

Wealth itself also doesn't make someone a member of the "upper class" in the wizarding world. No matter how wealthy you are, if you're a blood traitor or Muggle-born, then this pure-blood upper class won't accept you into their society.

Therefore, I believe bullying Snape had nothing to do with Snape being poor and classism.

There aren't that many rich people in the wizarding world.

Not everyone in Slytherin was wealthy. Their "upper class" is not related to wealth.

Sirius certainly didn't show any interest in wealth or judging people based on their money. The Blacks probably thought their blood was more important than any money.

James didn't show that either. Remus and Peter probably weren't rich, and they all got along fine.

All we know about James and his attitude towards money is this:

James was amused by Vernon, and made the mistake of showing it. Vernon tried to patronise James, asking what car he drove. James described his racing broom. Vernon supposed out loud that wizards had to live on unemployment benefit. James explained about Gringotts, and the fortune his parents had saved there, in solid gold. Vernon could not tell whether he was being made fun of or not, and grew angry. 

I don't see anything here that suggests James was intentionally trying to flaunt his wealth. It was a response to Vernon's assumption that they live on benefits. That wasn’t bullying. Sirius would hardly have said so, but James obviously didn't think talking about money was something embarrassing. But it's not bullying.

#sirius black #james potter #hp meta #sirius black meta #james potter meta #the noble and most ancient house of black #pureblood society

[venononom]

if you pull me down, you're going down with me (chapters: 1/?)

"I’ve killed many Alphas throughout my life, Harry Potter—proud, powerful beings—all of them in the end reduced to quivering wrecks, kneeling with their necks bowed before me. So don't amuse me; handling a pup like you would be mere child's play."

"But wouldn't that make it sweeter, Omega? I've already beaten you once, when I was just a one-year-old, but this time around I think I won't... No, I won't. After all, why bother when your submission to me would taste better?"

Harry spoke without knowing what possessed him. Perhaps it was aggression towards Voldemort or fury ignited by his godfather's death. But one thing was clear: his resolve crystallized. He would destroy Voldemort, in a way that would be truly unexpected.

Voldemort's pupils widened momentarily before narrowing in hatred, but Harry saw everything, realizing he had caught the Dark Lord off guard. The man was clearly unaccustomed to people speaking to him in such a manner, which made Harry’s lips curl into a vicious smirk.

"And do you not think I'm too much of a big bite for you, Potter?"

"Oh, Voldemort… One thing to know about me is that I turn ravenous when hunger strikes."

#harrymort #harry potter #voldemort #a/b/o dynamics #alpha harry potter #omega voldemort #ao3 fanfic #ongoing

[consistentsquash]

HP Rec Fest - Day 17

Fest - @hprecfest. Theme - A fic that made you cry.

Snarry is good at angst. So I made a list! 10 fics with 10 types of angst :D

The Boy by themoonandstars1989. What if Snape wasn't a good guy? :D Read the warnings!

The boy had grown beautiful — alabaster skin and dark red lips. Snow White personified, waiting for a prince's kiss to wake him up.

Mostly Harmless by emilywaters1976. What if Harry wasn't 100% good guy? :D Read the warnings.

After the war, former Voldemort supporters go into indentured servitude. Snape becomes Harry's slave. That's when things get complicated.

Morior Animus by vain. You know where this is going but you cant stop reading :/

". . . You seem to be enjoying the book." "Read it twice through," Potter replied, vacant gaze staring just a little bit over Severus's left shoulder. He sounded proud of himself. The sad smile reappeared and he shrugged slightly, sensing if not seeing Severus's raised eyebrow. "I like happy endings."

No Sex, No Galleons by Ziasudra. Snape Whump :D

Even after the death of both his Masters, Severus Snape couldn’t escape a life of servitude. Tonight, just as every other night, he stood on a shaky wooden platform, with nothing but a tattered robe wrapped thinly around himself.

Help Wanted: God & Executioner by pir8fancier. Wartime really sucks when you have to be the one doing the thing.

"You are quite willing to let the rest of us shoulder your sins, are you? Kill for you, so that you can exit this war with a relatively clean soul?"

So Lonely Without Me by caligryphy. Wartime also really sucks when you can't do anything.

"... What if they’re dead? What if no one knows we’re here—what if they’ve sold us out—what if the war is over and Voldemort’s won? Dumbledore secreted us away—he can’t do the same for himself. What’s to stop the assassins from gunning for him? What’s to stop Dumbledore from dying—he’s the only one who knows where we are—the only one—"

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by cluegirl. Voldemort wins is the worst situation ever :/

"Delusional child, don't you remember what you are?" He hissed between blows that rocked Harry breathless, "Have you let our Lord's indulgences fool you?" Lucius grunted, and the whip bit again, "Fine robes! Elegant chambers! Laughable titles do not make you anything but a slave!"

Always Hungry by melora98. More wartime whump. Sometimes you have to make big sacrifices to save the other person :/

Harry didn't know how long it had been. He slept, jerked awake, his mind spun. Walking around the small perimeter of the cell exhausted him and he would collapse flat on his back, staring up into the darkness until fitful sleep caught him again.

The Impossibility of Crows by LoupGarou. Wartime. Doing the right thing means giving up on a lot :/

"I have to do this." His voice was so soft I had to strain to hear it. "Of course you do. You never did have any reasonable understanding of your own limitations."

Standing on the Shoreline by tofsla. Postwar. You can totally have postwar Snarry angst. This one is melancholy and really brilliant as a Snape character study.

He never undresses, not for this. It was circumstance and then it was habit, and why would he have wanted anyone to see his body, anyway? He has little enough going for him as it is, even with the mark gone. And besides, the dresses are—are— But he almost wants to say yes. Roll over onto his stomach and let Potter unzip him, open the dress from neck to arse. He could almost let Potter expose him like that.

Also bonus!

If You Are Prepared by Cybele. Nobody is prepared for this one :/ A sweeping old school Snarry epic.

The boy cannot know.

#snarry #snarry fic recs #hprecfest2023 #hprecfest2023 squashrecs #snarry angst fics #hp