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sofoulandfairaday · 9 months

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My black sisters early headcannons

I agree with you about narcissa not being soft, I mean if she was she probably would be miserable for the whole of the series and shes not, and the redeeming factor for the malfoys is that they all love each other very much. She and lucius got together in her fifth year. And got married straight after she finished school. She had however had pregnancy problems, so they were overjoyd when draco was born. Narcissa was made prefect but not head girl. Of the sisters she was the least interested in school but she did do enough to get good grades in all her classes.

With Andromeda i think she actually loves all the pureblood functions like the balls and the rest. But most the fics ive read has her hating them. And that not being able to take part in the high society was the worst part of running away for her. I think she was as prejudiced as the other 2 when starting school. And my headcanon is that she and ted got paired for a class very early on and he just decided he wanted to be her friend and he just did not let up. Snatching small conversations and giving small gifts. It took years for this to actually work and andromeda to decide she wanted to be friends. And that and only that made her slowly change her mindset. After the 2 war i could see her and narcissa write letters to each other but i also cant see either of them writing first. And its not like andromeda would attended bellas funeral. I also think of the sisters she and bella were the ones who were the closest. I think bellatrix wedding was the last event she attended. And the fact that after this bellatrix was very busy made it easier to run away. I also headcanon her as the best spellcaster of the three but that after the 1st war she does not keep training. I also think the reason she wasnt more involved in the order because she doesnt want to fight her former friends and family.(opposite i think to sirius who i think found Joy in it).

As for bellatrix she is the one i think who enjoys balls the least but she still thinks they are somewhat fun, she leaves as soon as socially acceptable to do other fun "afterparty" things. By the time she started school she had decided who her friends were and those were her friends for all 7 years. She also really enjoys learning and was the most studious. She took as many classes o.w.l.s and n.e.w.t.s as possible and excelled in all. She could have been both prefect and head girl but made sure ahead of time she was not interested because it would cut into study time. Not that school classes was the only thing she studied. Due to being and excellent student and some charm and high standing she got to read any book she wanted from the forbidden section of the library. She always asked with a good and untrue excuse. She was far from kind to muggleborns but she was not a bully in school. Only hexing those who annoyed her or slighted her some other way. She actually found it boring and did always had an air of "can you get done soon" when her friends were bullying. Bellatrix found however out that she liked inflicting pain the first time she did it, this was at the very end of school though so she didnt terrorize the school. As soon as she was out of school she travelled to learn more. Around her 20 birthday her parents started bugging her about marriage because she had never shown any interest in romance. She after a bit of this went to rodolphus and said lets get married in which he responded wathever you want(I think he is in love with her but knows she doesnt love him and therefore dont expect anything and they are best friends). He proposed the next day at a garden party with the finest and most expensive of rings. Though there had been talk with and about voldemort in her friendgroup. Bellatrix first met voldemort at her wedding(I really like this headcanon). They immediatly got along well because Bellatrix had gotten lightly into dark magic and wanted to learn more and voldemort really liked how much interest she showed esp coupled with that she is very powerful.

Hi, anon! Oh, gosh, thank you so much for this ask - I agree with so many of these, almost all of them! They're so perfect.

Yes to Lucius and Cissy being together since Hogwarts, yes to her being Prefect but not Head Girl, super-duper yes to Narcissa with pregnancy problems. I have a very specific headcanon in mind for this. I think they had several miscarriages (Bella had at least one too; difficulties with conceiving children is something I envision for all the women of the Black Family, which may also be due to the fact that they all select their spouses from a very small pool) and they finally managed to conceive with Severus' help, using some sort of potion and very later on (if Cissy is done with school around 1972-73, why did her and Lucius only have Draco in 1980? It's not like she was involved in the fighting...)

I also agree that Andromeda was quite different from Sirius and her leaving her sisters was much less of a nuanced political position (I see her as someone with many biases and a lot of unlearning to do- never mind the fact that she also doesn't want her daughter to marry Remus because he's a werewolf). I think she loved her family - sisters, parents, cousins - and partly her world (balls, fancy restaurants and holidays...) I can see her having a difficult time letting go. Her abandonment of her family is something that's much more selfish than we think: she liked Ted, and her family said she couldn't have him, so she took him anyways. My problem with her is that I can never seem to write her the way I want to. I can't seem to get her voice right.

Yes to Bella's wedding being the last event she ever attended (something Narcissa would always be resentful of).

Sirius is someone with a very black-and-white morality (ironically, the same as Bella), while Andromeda isn't in my opinion. And I can see her being conflicted over her position in the war, even willing to forgive her sisters until Tonks' death, of course. Yes to neither Andy nor Cissy being able to bring themselves to write first after the second war. And yes to Andromeda not being there for Bellatrix's funeral. She might have gone, even after Sirius, if it weren't for Nymphadora. I just can't see her forgiving Bella for that.

Yes to Bella being the most studious, and the best in school. Yes to her having a small group of friends. I can see her being Prefect and Head Girl, but I can also see the opposite - her not being given it/refusing it not on the basis of grades but temperament/free time/other injustices etc. Yes to Rodolphus being in love with her and them having a good relationship, yes to her choosing him personally. I headcanon that she meets Voldemort at her engagement party! (At least in the story I'm writing, but I am very flexible on this- it's not the when it's the how for me.) Yes to her being a natural sadist, not that much of a bully in school, but definitely respected. Maybe she partook in her free time.

It's a happy headcanon for her to have travelled after school. I definitely think she wanted to, but in my head, her parents had always refused it, saying that it wasn't proper for a young witch like her to travel the world without a chaperone. It also fuels, for me, her need for adventure as a young woman. I do like it though (I tend to make everything tragic; I don't know if you've noticed but I love angst!)

Yes yes yes to her seeing Voldemort as more than a political figure but as a mentor, a teacher, and him choosing her above all else to make her his pupil.

#bellatrix lestrange #andromeda tonks #narcissa malfoy #ted tonks #lucius malfoy #rodolphus lestrange #lord voldemort #headcanons #hp headcanons #asks #answered

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danse--macabre · 5 months

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At First Sight

Read on AO3

In which Tirazel di Fiore met Astarion twenty years before the Nautiloid crash. Neither of them remember the occasion. Or: meet-cute where you watch him devour a rat in a kitchen storeroom and don't say a single word. Yummy.

Astarion/f!Tav. Second Person POV. Character Study. 1.5k words.

Trigger warnings:

voluntary starvation, vomiting, disordered eating

fantasies of self-harm/suicide

emotionally abusive and controlling family

violence/gore expected of an organised crime syndicate

-----

“Cazador Szarr,” Astarion had told you.

You knew that name. You had met Cazador Szarr before, of course. It was at your father’s newly purchased country estate, where it was rumoured that the vineyards flourished for all the blood he let run through the soil (half-right: it was actually your half-brother Iaxes who used it as his favoured dumping ground). In its seclusion, your father preferred to conduct particularly sensitive and murderous matters of business. The sort that would make a delicate stomach turn.

Of Cazador, you remember little. Certainly not what the matter of business was – that would have been far too useful for your pretty little pointy ears. Better that you attend to your frighteningly busy social calendar, pretending you didn’t want to know the slightest thing about forbidden spellbooks, or corpse preparation, or how to most effectively manage a cohort of undead thralls. No, what you recalled were only clutches: dark velvet, watchful eyes, your father’s fingertips pressed lightly into your shoulder. You, a girl of darling nineteen, were expected to let the Lord Szarr kiss your hand.

(Cold enough to draw a shiver.)

But Astarion?

You could picture him in the milieu well enough. Strung along as quite the dashing attendant in matching attire, no less than one hundred and sixty years behind the times. Would he have been wearing his telltale smirk? Or would it be a mask of blank misery? A piece of pretty window dressing? You couldn’t possibly say. You have no idea if he had actually been there.

Your recollection of that whole time was haze. You were a darling nineteen. Circling from candlelit soirées in the Upper City to back alley black markets and lurid corners of the Blushing Mermaid like a Neverwinter waltz – but you’d been born in the better half, you wouldn’t know a thing about those pits of vice and despair, would you? Oh, it wasn’t as if you hadn’t tried to behave. You had followed your father’s teachings oh so very well, why, weren’t you just the most vicious little thing? You still kept the severed hand of the first unworthy boy who had asked to take yours, scented in rosemary, still fresh from the day your uncle Andus had sliced it off him in front of you, in a rosewood box. Was it so strange, really, that you tore out the heart of every noble suitor your father lined up your way as well? Your watchful tutors ceased their lessons on magic, politics, or history in favour of the etiquette and dancing you were sorely lacking, and had already begun to compose elegies about your ‘great potential’ and ‘corrupting bloodline’ that had led to your illicit after-class cavorting; your father had neatly torn up their reports and cradled your cheek, and told you he would never reject you for who you were. He would simply have to take care of you until you could learn to control your urges. You were to remain at home until you married.

Little, you remembered so little, that year. Stuck in your father’s house, in your father’s carnival of never-ending canapés and finest selection of patriars’ third-sons and third-cousins, circling you like meat wrapped in satin. You danced so well. Didn’t the Bloomridge gossips like to say you ate each chamber of Edmund Jannath's heart like a four-course dinner? Why were they looking at you like they were the ones who could split you open?

(You had wanted to idly fantasise about sticking your hand down your throat and emptying your insides out onto the polished marble. A feast.)

No, you remember almost nothing of that time. You don't recall the hunger. You don't recall the gnawing that ripped through your body. You don't even recall the shape of his eyes, nor the colour.

(Blood red, of course. Like a rose garden.)

Wouldn’t it have been simply perfect for a creature like him to lead you astray? To bring you from brilliant ballroom to the depths of night with a handsome smile that tore into your flesh until all you could do was bleed?

But this was not how you first encountered Astarion. No, when your eyes first met his, you were delirious, sick, and had not eaten in three days.

The circumstances were as such, though you could not remember the particulars: you were on a self-proclaimed hunger strike on the week of the di Fiore summer ball. Not for some devilishly clever reason – oh no, you had long run out of those, would that your mother's infernally cursed heritage be so useful. You had exhausted every scheme to avoid the inevitable betrothal: you had bribed your father's syndicate thugs who had been ordered to 'watch' you, had pressed half-brothers Iaxes and Thelikos for every bloody family favour you could bear, had asked your brother Dharrimos to have the Zhentarim smuggle you out, had stolen your tutor's address book and written to Blackstaff in hope of late tuition – you had even drafted a plea, in infernal, to your wretched mother, in Avernus. You had blackmailed patriars and sold their messy business to the press under a pseudonym your father scolded for being 'too obvious'. Your plans got more desperate. Debutante days had already begun to fade, four seasons of being sick to your stomach from gilded oysters and too much dancing, and at this juncture, you were six months away from running off with a common-born warlock with a liar’s smile – so much for the precocious child. You did not starve yourself for any intelligent reason. No, you did it because you wanted to spite your father. So you had announced at dinner your intentions to waste it, tipped your plate on the floor like the child you were, and then refused to leave your room for three days. You hadn’t even wanted to go to this damned ball, and it had taken three servants and one half-brother to drag you screaming into a ball gown: your very first, still pristine from when you were fifteen, as you had torn the rest of your wardrobe apart with your own claws.

Three days of starving passed. This left you, this ball’s former belle, in near-delirium, but beautiful, in your baby blue bustle dress with most of your cleavage threatening to spill out. Your whole body broke into sweats, your feet ached, your calves trembled after just three dances and your stomach. Your stomach. Oh, it wanted to just carve its way out of your body. Rake up your flesh, lash through your skin and swallow you all in. You were hungry, you were starving, you were ravenous in a way you, the upper city born sibling, had never known. Your legs were about to collapse beneath you when your brother Dharri sidled up and told you, tipped you off with his warning smile, that your father had composed a list of taverns you had been seen frequenting and a list of the disreputable boys and girls that you had been seen accompanying, in such establishments.

Your father did not make idle threats.

Your heart almost stopped. And then, you tore yourself away in such a rage that you did not care whether you ended up in a dark alley or a ditch. As it happened, you did not get as far as either of those highly questionable locales, and instead only ended up as far as the back kitchen storeroom, where you had once caught your chambermaid Charlotte feeling up the gardener. You threw the door behind you, bolted it shut, balled up your fists as you slunk down amongst the sacks of lumpy potatoes, and prepared to howl –

And it was here, at this point in time, you realised you were not alone.

You don’t remember him. Hunched over, on his knees. You don’t remember his pale skin nor his handsome curls nor his bloodied fingers, gripping tightly around a live, quivering rat he had snatched off the floor. How he tore straight through its flesh with his bare teeth. Gnawed through its fur until the bones crunched. How he began to shudder. Like it was riveting. Like it was nauseating. Like–

Your breath hitched–

And your eyes met–

Twenty years later, when you know that his name is Astarion and that he is lying about being a magistrate from Baldur’s Gate, he will stumble over to you in a rather pathetic attempt to suck your blood dry while camping on the Chionthar and you will see his heart stop again. That look of blank shock. The way he completely froze. As still as he had been twenty years ago: then, on his knees, in the dirt, in your father’s kitchen storeroom, as he held a fat, dripping rat carcass in his mouth.

Blood had trickled down his lips. He wasn’t even breathing.

It would strike you only after you begin to recall this memory, at least three weeks of highly ill-advised and rather heavy-handed flirtation into a charade that would probably end in heartbreak, exactly how terrified he looked in that moment. He had been so frightened of you. You: a miserable nineteen year old girl in an ill-fitting gown who was tired of dancing and wanted nothing more than to devour herself. He had looked at you with wide, trembling eyes, like you could snap him in half.

(Could you? You weren’t sure.)

He gave the rat one last squeeze. A bit of extra juice.

“I–” you had begun to vocalise.

– but he had already disappeared. Returned to the shadows before you could even warn him that your father would find you both here and nail his corpse to the wall while you had to watch. At least, that is what you would have told him, were you a sensible girl. You knew how to be a sensible girl, didn’t you?

(Why didn’t he take you? Why couldn’t he take you?)

But your questions were unspoken in an empty room. You were left alone, in the dirt, with a bloodied rat corpse on the floor in front of you. And you were still hungry.

You leaned forward over the desiccated carcass, and reached out with the with the tip of your tongue –

(What would it taste like? This forbidden fruit?)

A shudder quaked down your spine.

Revolting.

How revolting.

You would recollect snatches of this moment, in time: the blood smeared on a hungry face, the fingers clawed in the flesh, the first sight of a quivering thing being devoured. They would come back as you danced around each other. But you would forget this feeling. The hunger. The sheer revulsion. It would gradually crumble to dust.

You were still mortal, after all.

#bg3 #astarion #tav #astarion/oc #please be nice i haven't written f/m in about 5 years. lol.#anyway. hunger as a mode of dysfunctional desire and suicidal ideation. the fic.

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bloobluebloo · 5 months

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So on the topic of Ganon's cool demon horses (this applies to TOTK, OOT and TP, really just any incarnation) - what do you think is going on with them? Especially the totk one with horns and gloom etchings... Are they selectively bred for generations to look evil, does he feed it a devilish magic stew to make them glow like that? Does he have such a strong psychic bond with his horsies that they co-adapt to anything he goes through? I must know your thoughts

Okay so Ganondorf's horse in OoT is a purebred Gerudo stallion. It's a real horse that was probably raised by the Gerudo with the full intention of creating the perfect steed for their king. I would not be surprised if it may have been magically enhanced by Koume and Kotake, or even Ganondorf himself, for more endurance or speed etc. OoT Gerudo are all horse girls and Ganondorf is The Horse Girl (like come on he fired Talon and hired Ingo at Lon Lon Ranch for the purpose of breeding him THE BEST HORSE you know he cares a lot about his horsies. I bet part of the reason he's pissed at Link is because Link stole Epona from him. That was supposed to be HIS EPONA-) Post OoT, I do think that Ganondorf's horses are magical creations. My headcanon for TP Ganondorf's horse (that is based on nothing but my feels and crying over Ganondorf's dramatics) is that a Gerudo King's horse is considered as sacred and revered as the king himself, and receives an honorable burial alongside his master once it dies. However, given that Ganondorf was never actually killed, and the Gerudo having been scattered, his steed probably also met its end in an unceremonious fashion. As a result, Ganondorf tirelessly searches for the remains of his loyal steed to raise it to life once more, to allow it to seek the same vengeance that he would hope to enact on Hyrule for trying to kill them. Also, he will not ride into battle without the finest, and given how well cared for TP Ganondorf's horse is (the mane is BRAIDED LIKE DAMN) you know he must have had an attachment to that horse. As for TotK, it's a bit confusing to me if you ask me. You cannot bring your horse into the desert (which I don't understand why they even DID THAT THE GERUDO LITERALLY HAD HORSEBACK ARCHERY IN THE PAST???) so the Gerudo do not seem to have any attachment to horses (HUFFS). Correct me if I'm wrong but even Gerudo travelling outside of the desert are not seen with horses. So, if we want to apply the same logic to the Gerudo Ganondorf ruled, then he would not have really had much exposure to horses *in his homeland*. This feeds into my headcanon that TotK Ganondorf probably did travel the entirety of Hyrule for the sake of learning (for example, his weapon mastery must have been learnt through seeking training from various tribes across Hyrule and learning their unique fighting styles). There, he must have been exposed to horses and simply became enamoured with them, but could not really have one in his homeland. As a result, as Demon King he fashions what is basically his dream horse from the magic granted to him. He probably took something like the giant black stallion and powered it with gloom to turn it into the badass unicorn horse that we see for a whole 2 seconds. (TotK WHY DID YOU DO THAT)

#ganonthots #bloothots

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denimbex1986 · 4 days

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'Patricia Highsmith’s 1955 novel The Talented Mr. Ripley has been made into two sterling films: 1960’s Plein soleil (Purple Noon) starring Alain Delon, and 1999’s The Talented Mr. Ripley headlined by Matt Damon, Jude Law, and Gwyneth Paltrow. Nonetheless, Netflix’s new Ripley stands head and shoulders above its predecessors (and most modern TV offerings) as an adaptation par excellence.

Over the course of its eight exhilarating episodes, all of them shot in breathtaking black-and-white by Oscar-winning cinematographer Robert Elswit (There Will Be Blood), this stellar thriller exhibits a formal precision, dexterity, and majesty that electrifies its tale of a small-time New York City grifter named Tom Ripley (a phenomenal Andrew Scott) who attempts to remake himself in Italy by slipping into the life of wealthy playboy Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn). Cunning cons and brutal murder ensue, all of them dramatized by the show with a suspenseful elegance and psychological complexity that does justice to its source material—and, in certain cases, adds new, incisive wrinkles to the oft-told tale.

Ripley is, quite simply, a small-screen masterpiece, and credit for its triumph goes, first and foremost, to writer/director Steven Zaillian. In the three decades since he won the Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar for Schindler’s List, the 71-year-old has collaborated with a who’s who of Hollywood greats, from Brian De Palma (Mission: Impossible) and Sydney Pollack (The Interpreter) to Ridley Scott (Hannibal, American Gangster, Exodus: Gods and Kings), David Fincher (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) and Martin Scorsese (Gangs of New York, The Irishman).

Along the way, he’s additionally penned the excellent Moneyball, helmed three of his own feature scripts (including the fantastic Searching for Bobby Fischer), and spearheaded HBO’s acclaimed The Night Of. Even with such a formidable résumé, however, Zaillian’s latest may be his finest achievement to date. Its scintillating style wholly wedded to its storytelling, and its meticulousness central to its simmering undercurrent of sociopathic madness, it’s a work of controlled Machiavellian malevolence, rife with tension and rich in detail and depth.

Guided by Zaillian’s virtuosic hand, Ripley is the rare example of genuine auteurist television, even as it simultaneously stands as a testament to the fact that projects are more likely to be great when they’re made by a collection of great artists. Now available on the streaming platform, it’s an early contender for end-of-year accolades. Consequently, we were elated to speak with Zaillian about the challenges of making his sensational series, collaborating with Scott and Elswit, and the enduring appeal of Highsmith’s famous novel.

Ripley is better directed than 99 percent of modern television, to a great degree because it’s been actually directed, with personality, flair, and guiding motifs and techniques. Was there any pushback to your approach, given that TV generally wants formal style to take a backseat to storytelling?

No, there was no pushback. The style that the show became… I started with the writing, I can’t write anything without imagining it. That being said, things obviously change when you’re shooting, and motifs come up and the style gets set at a certain point. But the whole time we were shooting, basically all anybody is seeing are dailies. It’s hard to tell from dailies what’s going on, you know [laughs]? Most people at the studios didn’t see anything until it was edited. So I had this great freedom to do what I wanted in terms of its look, and I spent a lot of time doing it. It was important to me that it looked good and felt good in terms of its tone, and most of the people who came to this come from film, and we approached it as one long movie.

Is the writing process different when you’re writing for yourself, versus another director?

I don’t write any differently. As I mentioned, I can’t write it without seeing it, so whether I’m writing for myself or someone else, it’s the same process. I don’t ever put in, close-up here or wide shot there. However, I do see it, so when I’m making my shot lists, I’ve already done it once before when I was writing it. But in terms of writing in a different way if someone else is going to direct it, no.

What made you want to tackle The Talented Mr. Ripley, which has been adapted multiple times before?

I’ve been wanting to do it since I read it, which I think was probably back in the ’80s. Certainly after Purple Noon but before The Talented Mr. Ripley movies. I saw it in a certain way and I wanted to try that, so when this opportunity came up, I took it. I just think it’s one of the great characters and one of the great stories that can be told over and over again.

What is it about the novel that’s allowed it to endure so powerfully over the past 70 years? Despite its age, it feels extremely relevant in today’s socio-political climate.

The idea of a character who becomes somebody else is something that happens all the time, today and throughout history. We’re strangely fascinated with it. I mean, it comes up all the time! There are articles—one that comes to mind from a few months ago was called “The Talented Mr. Santos.” I think this particular character is fascinating, certainly to me and I hope to other people. And the style of it—and I don’t mean the photographic style, but the style of the story—comes from Highsmith, where she finds these kinds of extraordinary things happening in normal circumstances with normal people. It’s something she’s well known for, and is something which I feel we can all relate to.

You’ve directed three feature films, but none since 2006. As a director, what compelled you to segue to television?

It’s the way things go. It’s strange to say that it’s easier to get a television show done than a movie, but it seems to be true, at least with the kinds of movies that I want to make. [TV] is a lot harder and it takes a lot longer, and I long for the days and the chance to make a movie again. I’m hoping that that’s what I’m going to do next, only because it won’t consume years and years of my time [laughs]. I can do the same thing and not have it take four or five years.

At what point did you decide to shoot the entire series in black and white, and what was your thinking behind that creative decision?

It started with the writing; that’s how I imagined it. Why, I don’t know. Maybe because of the period. I did want it to not feel like a postcard, and Italy, if shot in bright vibrant colors in the summertime with blue skies, can feel that way. I felt that this was a more dark and sinister story, not unlike a film noir story, and so black and white seemed to be the natural choice.

Yet despite that monochromatic scheme, you didn’t lose the classical beauty and romance of Italy.

You can’t lose that in Rome—it’s impossible [laughs]. Nor did I want to. But that being said, even a familiar place to people—like, well, you don’t really see the Coliseum except when he’s driving around with a corpse in the car—I didn’t want those places to be front and center. I wanted the backstreets of Rome more than the boulevards. Naples and Palermo are both really interesting places that photograph wonderfully in black and white.

But again, part of the story does take place on the Amalfi Coast, and that’s the place that’s hard to make sinister in color. When you have the aqua blue water and the bright sun, it’s tough. Luckily, we were at least filming there in the fall, so we didn’t have the brunt of tourism or those postcard shots, which certainly helped.

Robert Elswit shot the pilot of The Night Of and the entirety of Ripley. What is it about him as a cinematographer that makes your collaboration work so well?

It’s many things. Obviously, he’s really talented. He shoots beautiful movies. And we get along really well. He’s very intrepid—he’ll do anything, and go anywhere, and work crazy hours. He’s a workhouse in that regard. This took that kind of person. We shot for 160 days in Italy, with a one week break in the middle, and that’s tough on anybody. He just loved the idea of shooting it in black and white, and he’s a master with lighting, as you can tell when you watch it. It’s a great collaboration, we have.

The series is dominated by shots of Tom at a distance, framed in long claustrophobic hallways and by constricting architecture (such as the stairs of Dickie’s home in Atrani). Was it difficult to find the locations you needed for that visual style?

That’s one of those things when you talk about motifs… yes, I wrote a scene where Tom climbs a lot of steps, but that was a place that [production designer] David Gropman and I found. We drove from Salerno to Sorrento, all the way up the coast, and this little town called Atrani that has 800 people had those stairs, and I was fascinated by them. I said to David, it looks like an M.C. Escher drawing, and I found out much later that [Escher] had actually lived there and had drawn those very stairs. So that’s where it started. Then, wherever we went, we encountered stairs, and that’s when it started becoming a motif.

You shoot Tom’s two murders (and their aftermaths) in long, methodical sequences. Why was it important to stage those in such detail?

I had a little note scribbled on a Post-it when I started this saying, “It’s easier to kill somebody than it is to get rid of the body.” I wanted to show that. Even getting rid of a body that’s laying down in a little boat is hard to get rid of. I thought, this could be an opportunity to try something that I’d like to, which is showing these things in what feels like real time, and how difficult it is. I thought it was interesting, I thought it was entertaining, and I thought it was something I’d wanted to do from the beginning. So in the scripts, in episodes three and five, those sequences are about 35 pages long.

How did you settle on Andrew Scott for Tom?

I’d only seen him in three things, and one of them, I didn’t even see him; I’d only heard him—that was in a movie called Locke in which he did not appear, but he was a voice on the telephone. He created a really interesting character with just his voice. That was the first time I saw anything he was in. Then his Moriarty [in Sherlock] and Fleabag. With those three things, I felt he could do anything. They were so different from each other that I felt, that’s Tom. He’s got the range to play Tom.

Often in Ripley, the most important aspect of a given scene is what’s taking place beneath what’s being said aloud. From a writer’s standpoint, how do you tackle such undercurrents?

That’s always been important to me in the writing—to know, what is the point of the scene? Is it a piece of dialogue, is it an action, or is it the moments between the dialogue? Often, that’s where it is for me. Like you say, someone is lying and the other person knows they’re lying, and they play this kind of game with each other—that is the point of the scene! So those moments in-between the dialogue are what’s important. I spend a lot of time with that, and the actors got that, and they’re smart and they’re good and they like doing that. So in those instances, that was what was going on.

John Malkovich makes a late, brief appearance as Reeves, which is both a sly shout-out to Ripley’s Game (which he starred in, as Tom) and a tantalizing suggestion of future seasons. Was Malkovich’s participation always part of the plan—and was his cameo designed to keep the door open for a follow-up?

Both of those things are true. I wrote to him and explained that I’d like him to consider doing this. It’s very short, it’s just a couple of days, but maybe it’s a fun idea. And he thought it was and came to Venice and did it.

Yes, I was also thinking that if there’s another season, this character appears in the next two Highsmith books about Ripley, and he’s a great character. He does not appear in The Talented Mr. Ripley book; he doesn’t appear until the second book. But yeah, if that ever happens, I hope he’ll do it. Because he’s perfect for it.'

#Steven Zaillian #Robert Elswit #Patricia Highsmith #Matt Damon #Jude Law #Gwyneth Paltrow #Ripley #The Talented Mr Ripley #Andrew Scott #Locke #Sherlock #Fleabag #John Malkovich #Reeves Minot #Ripley's Game #David Gropman #Atrani #Moriarty #Netflix

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cyberpunkonline · 7 months

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The Most Off The Wall SHMUPS Ever Created

Buckle up, because we're about to dive into the wild and wacky world of shoot 'em up games, or SHMUPs as we affectionately call them. This genre is like the eccentric cousin at the gaming family reunion – it's a staple, yet niche, and it's known for embracing the bizarre. So, grab your laser blaster and let's blast off into the cosmos of quirkiness.

1. "Parodius" (1988): Let's kick things off with a game that's essentially a parody of itself. "Parodius" takes everything serious about traditional SHMUPs and tosses it out the window. Piloting a ship shaped like a penguin or an octopus, you'll battle against waves of wacky enemies, including dancing pigs and giant sushi. It's absurdity at its finest and showcases the genre's capacity to not take itself too seriously.

2. "Cho Aniki" (1992): Ever wondered what it's like to play a SHMUP that feels like a bizarre bodybuilding competition set in space? Well, "Cho Aniki" has you covered. This game features muscle-bound characters, some wearing speedos, and you shoot protein blasts at equally strange foes. It's a surreal experience that reminds us that SHMUPs can be as odd as they come.

3. "Sexy Parodius" (1996): If you thought "Parodius" was eccentric, wait until you meet its seductive cousin. "Sexy Parodius" takes the zany gameplay and cranks up the absurdity by introducing sexy versions of characters and enemies. Expect to see sultry penguins and raunchy octopuses as you navigate this weird and wild world.

4. "Space Funeral" (2010): This one's not just a SHMUP; it's an entire surreal adventure. "Space Funeral" is a psychedelic journey through a bizarre universe filled with strange characters, odd landscapes, and an eerie soundtrack. While it may not fit the traditional SHMUP mold, it exemplifies how this genre can blend with the avant-garde to create something truly unique.

5. "Ikaruga" (2001): "Ikaruga" may seem like an odd choice on this list, but it's a masterpiece of complexity and design. In this game, you control a ship that can switch between black and white polarity, absorbing bullets of the same color and repelling those of the opposite color. It's a mind-bending experience that takes SHMUP gameplay to a whole new level, showcasing the genre's capacity for innovation and challenge.

6. "Deathsmiles" (2007): This dark and delightful gem takes the SHMUP genre into a realm of gothic horror and whimsy. Set in a spooky, Halloween-inspired world, you control one of several cute yet eerie girls with magical abilities who ride on broomsticks, shooting down all sorts of supernatural foes. It's a twisted fairy tale that beautifully blends the macabre with the adorable, reminding us that SHMUPs can be both charming and unsettling.

So, there you have it, six of the most off-the-wall SHMUPs ever created. From parodies and bizarre bodybuilding battles to surreal journeys through space and spooky gothic worlds, the SHMUP genre proves time and time again that it's a treasure trove of gaming diversity. So, if you're ever in the mood for a gaming experience that's as quirky as it is fun, dive into the weird and wonderful world of SHMUPs. They're like a carnival ride through the bizarre, and they're not to be missed!

- Raz

#gaming #cyberpunk #games #shoot em up #shmup #shmups

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readerbookclub · 1 year

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Paranormal - A Book List

Hello everyone! This month’s list is a collection of novels that deal with the supernatural! Are you ready for something a little spooky?

As always, please vote for which one we should read using the link at the bottom of the post.

The Saturday Night Ghost Club, by Craig Davidson

Growing up in 1980s Niagara Falls--a seedy but magical, slightly haunted place--Jake Baker spends most of his time with his uncle Calvin, a kind but eccentric enthusiast of occult artifacts and conspiracy theories. The summer Jake turns twelve, he befriends a pair of siblings new to town, and so Calvin decides to initiate them all into the "Saturday Night Ghost Club." But as the summer goes on, what begins as a seemingly lighthearted project may ultimately uncover more than any of its members had imagined. With the alternating warmth and sadness of the best coming-of-age stories, The Saturday Night Ghost Club examines the haunting mutability of memory and storytelling, as well as the experiences that form the people we become.

Opium and Absinthe, by Lydia Kang

New York City, 1899. Tillie Pembroke’s sister lies dead, her body drained of blood and with two puncture wounds on her neck. Bram Stoker’s new novel, Dracula, has just been published, and Tillie’s imagination leaps to the impossible: the murderer is a vampire. But it can’t be—can it? A ravenous reader and researcher, Tillie has something of an addiction to truth, and she won’t rest until she unravels the mystery of her sister’s death. Unfortunately, Tillie’s addicted to more than just truth; to ease the pain from a recent injury, she’s taking more and more laudanum…and some in her immediate circle are happy to keep her well supplied. Tillie can’t bring herself to believe vampires exist. But with the hysteria surrounding her sister’s death, the continued vampiric slayings, and the opium swirling through her body, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for a girl who relies on facts and figures to know what’s real—or whether she can trust those closest to her.

Later, by Stephen King

The son of a struggling single mother, Jamie Conklin just wants an ordinary childhood. But Jamie is no ordinary child. Born with an unnatural ability his mom urges him to keep secret, Jamie can see what no one else can see and learn what no one else can learn. But the cost of using this ability is higher than Jamie can imagine - as he discovers when an NYPD detective draws him into the pursuit of a killer who has threatened to strike from beyond the grave. Later is Stephen King at his finest, a terrifying and touching story of innocence lost and the trials that test our sense of right and wrong. With echoes of King's classic novel It, Later is a powerful, haunting, unforgettable exploration of what it takes to stand up to evil in all the faces it wears.

The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson

It is the story of four seekers who arrive at a notoriously unfriendly pile called Hill House: Dr. Montague, an occult scholar looking for solid evidence of a "haunting"; Theodora, the lighthearted assistant; Eleanor, a friendless, fragile young woman well acquainted with poltergeists; and Luke, the future heir of Hill House. At first, their stay seems destined to be merely a spooky encounter with inexplicable phenomena. But Hill House is gathering its powers—and soon it will choose one of them to make its own.

In the Shadow of Blackbirds, by Cat Winters

In 1918, the world seems on the verge of apocalypse. Americans roam the streets in gauze masks to ward off the deadly Spanish influenza, and the government ships young men to the front lines of a brutal war, creating an atmosphere of fear and confusion. Sixteen-year-old Mary Shelley Black watches as desperate mourners flock to séances and spirit photographers for comfort, but she herself has never believed in ghosts. During her bleakest moment, however, she’s forced to rethink her entire way of looking at life and death, for her first love—a boy who died in battle—returns in spirit form. But what does he want from her? Featuring haunting archival early-twentieth-century photographs, this is a tense, romantic story set in a past that is eerily like our own time.

Please vote for our next book here.

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autumnalwalker · 3 months

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A Dream About Subpar Mentorship

I am a wizard at a royal court. I have recently found a young serving girl - no more than ten or eleven - with an incredible natural aptitude for magic, particularly the manipulation of water. Unfortunately I already have an apprentice - a kindhearted but incompetent young lad whom I’ve given up on his ability to master even the simplest spell - and protocol forbids me from taking on more than one at a time. As a loophole I am coaching her in secret and encouraging her to practice by playing pranks on nobles and advisors whom I think are bad for the king. Strictly speaking, as an unregistered and untrained mage I should be reporting her to the authorities to either be locked up until a teacher can be found or thrown into the arena with the monsters, but I can’t stand to see such potential go to waste.

The girl gets caught dumping conjured icy water on the head of a privy councilor. She tries to say that she just hauled the water up using a bucket, but there is no bucket to be found. I deny any involvement and allow her to take the fall for the actions I prodded her into taking. She is hauled off to the arena and I begin scrambling behind the scenes to make accommodations to have her transferred into my care as quickly as possible.

The most important step is to remove my current apprentice from the picture.

As hard as I am on him for being a hopeless case when it comes to learning magic, I do have a soft spot for the boy and try to let him down easy. I find him after sundown on a ruined stone bridge at the edge of the castle grounds that was never repaired after it was destroyed in a siege long ago. He is feeding the stray orange cat that makes its home there. He doesn’t know that I know the story of how that cat once stopped him from taking his own life by giving him a reason not to jump from this very bridge. I sit down with him and the cat and ask him why, exactly, he wants to become a wizard.

He says that it’s because of Tabby, the cat. Bonding with a familiar is one of the first moderately advanced spells most wizards learn and becoming a familiar restores an animal to perfect health and extends its life. Tabby was injured some time back by a falling bit of masonry and has had a bad limp ever since. On top of that, she is now pregnant with kittens. My apprentice sounds both worried and excited when he shares that last part.

I ask him what if the cat dies before he can master the familiar bonding spell. After all, it is taking him quite some time to make any progress and Tabby is already fairly old for a cat.

He tells me that he’d like to try his hand at music-based magic and has dreams of wandering the land helping and inspiring those in need. He wouldn’t play the bawdy tavern songs so in vogue these days but ballads of the true and the good. Even so, they would be songs of and for the common people and the bonds we all share. When he speaks of this, I have a vision of him dressed not in his plain brown tunic but in the finest minstrel’s motley and playing a black violin that glows with the green of forest and field.

I am still working up the heart to break it to him that I need to replace him as my apprentice when we are interrupted by the sound of crashes and screams. We run back towards the castle proper to find the monsters escaped from the arena and running amok. A small dragon-like creature charges at us but then gets snapped up and swallowed by a giant worm. The worm then shrinks and retracts into the arm of the little girl who would be my second apprentice.

She has made a pact with an old and forgotten god for the power she thinks will make her safe. She is heartbreakingly proud of herself as she explains while floating in the air with eldritch serpents and tentacles erupting from her chest to smash buildings and snatch up people and monsters alike. She wants me to be proud of her too and invites me to join her when she rips a hole in the sky to let in the smallest portion of a great and terrifying being that defies mortal description.

Other wizards of the realm arrive on the scene to do what they can to avert these apocalyptic events. Burdened with the knowledge that this is all at least partially my fault, I prepare to make the necessary self-sacrifice to put things right, preserving the child’s life as well if I can.

But first, I break off what small piece of my own power I can spare and bestow it upon my apprentice. It isn’t much, and it won’t last long, but it should at least be enough for him to bond to a familiar. Perhaps that will be enough for him to take the next steps on his own without me.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #my dreams #dreams #dreamposting

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nekorenge · 5 months

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Rises The Moon fic snippet

Umehito Nekozawa x Renge Houshakuji

The man in all black crouched in the school garden, arm extended into the bushes in front of him, his back to the approaching girl. Upon hearing her hesitant footsteps, he turned to face her and stood, putting his hand into his pocket.

“Ah, Renge… I was hoping you would meet me.”

“What were you doing in the bushes?”

“Oh… I saw a cat. I was trying to beckon it out.” He scratched his neck, embarrassed.

Her heart melted a little. “...Well, be careful for thorns, there are rose bushes around here.”

Indeed there were roses. Blooming black roses dotted the well-maintained landscaping.

[CONFESS TO HIM]

[ASK WHY WE MET HERE]

Renge’s eyes were tinged red from hours at her game. The newest addition to the Uki Doki Memorial series had to be one of their finest, and the new characters immediately captivating. Luckily, it was available on her handheld console, so she didn’t even have to part with it at school. Curled up on a couch all to herself towards the back wall of Music Room 3- ‘overseeing the Host Club’, she had unconvincingly claimed- she was hours deep into a staring contest with the machine that was about four inches from her face, and loving every second of it.

No one dared bother her or they would certainly invoke her wrath. Honey-senpai already tried to pass her a plate of strawberry shortcake out of naive goodwill and got spooked by an enraged Medusa. Only she could break herself from this spell, and why would she want to?

The sound of crashing and a sudden shriek rang throughout the room.

…Okay, maybe she would break away, if only for a second.

She peered up over her game console, to meet the gaze of surprised aquamarine eyes from across the room.

There was also Tamaki, who was sprawled on the floor, a panicked expression still blatant on his face. Next to him was a small wooden side table, its contents wasted and shattered on the tile flooring.

Looming, standing above him was Nekozawa, who seemed to have been gently antagonizing the superstitious man beneath him.

But where a Cheshire Cat grin might have been resting on his lips before, it was gone. Instead, he had caught Renge’s eye as she peered over her game, his face unreadable.

Just behind him, on the wall, the dark wooden door to the Black Magic Club was ajar. Had it always been on that wall? Had it been there minutes ago? These were questions for another time.

The twins took this moment in time to encircle Suoh, grinning wide as they teased him for his fearful reaction to the sudden appearance of the Black Magic Club leader. He sputtered and attempted to shoo them away.

Meanwhile, Renge lowered her gaze to re-engulf herself into the world of Uki Doki Memorial, until…

Nekozawa was headed towards her, avoiding eye contact.

The rest of the club was distracted, continuing to playfully bicker amongst themselves and tease the flustered Tamaki who had now righted himself and brushed off the shattered ceramic. And yet at the same moment, the cloaked man traversed to the back corner of the club room.

Curious, she lowered her game console.

When he reached her, he laughed, a mix between his usual creepy one and one that betrayed his nerves, before clearing his throat and cautiously explaining, “Kirimi… has been asking after you. She has quelled my dark magic long enough to compel me to ask if you might come to our estate to read with her as soon as you can.”

She pulled her game back up just a bit higher, “reading” the in-game dialogue, feigning indifference.

“Hrm, I’ll consider it for Kirimi but I don’t know if I want to come over to your haunted house.” She gave him a pointed look, nose wrinkling.

“Miss Houshakuji, please consider it. You have no idea her wrath. I have not known peace…” he elaborated, a slight desperation in his voice, hand on the arm of the sofa and slightly bent at the waist to be at her eye level. Even his puppet looked exasperated. He lifted an arm slightly to reach within his robes and obtain a small envelope, held closed with a messy pink wax seal. He held it towards her with a furrowed, embarrassed brow.

She lowered her video game and took the envelope by an end. Bowing his head in acknowledgement and gratitude, he straightened up before whisking his cloak around him like a classical vampire and abandoning the club room.

Across the room, the King of the Host Club had his fingers over the backrest of a sofa as he continued to peek at the back corner of the club.

“This is no good.. two dark and powerful beings combining forces like this can only bring trouble, I’m telling you…” he muttered.

“I think you’re the only one here that needs to be worried, boss.”

“Yeah, after all, they’d have some reason to come after you, what with her grudge and you almost stealing his sister.”

“Gah!! You really think so?! Kyoya! We must intervene!” Tamaki stiffened, panicked at the twins’ words.

“With all due respect, I really don’t see what we would need to interfere with here or why.”

Oblivious to the suspicious whispers and panicked words about the mysterious letter passed between the Black Magic Club Leader and the Host Club Manager, Renge had the sealed envelope tucked neatly in her dress pocket and was once again fully absorbed in her game.

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tanzzz · 4 months

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Want somebody Son, who won’t tell me no. Lay up with me😇

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dhr-ao3 · 7 months

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Adoration

Adoration https://ift.tt/fnzdwOp by flowerfem Hermione needed time out of Wizarding London and a move to the English countryside in the Fall was just what she wanted. Upon discovering Draco Malfoy was her neighbor, running an apple orchard next door, she realized she had no idea what she wanted. The season was sure to hold rainy days, carved pumpkins, and of course some magic. Buckle up for some fluffy, cozy Dramione goodness. Brief appearances by our favorite Slytherins and Gryffindors. This does get a little angsty in the middle, but rest assured this is HEA at its finest. (pumpkin) Spice throughout but chapters will be marked that have smut. Written for Flufftober Challenge 2023; new post every day of October Words: 123, Chapters: 1/31, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, hermione’s parents Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Potions Accident, apple orchard, corn maze, Fluff, SO FLUFFY, Fluff and Smut, A little angst, HEA, Memory Loss, Parental Fighting, Cozy, Flufftober 2023, No Beta We Die Like Dobby, a bit of femslash, hermione has a girl crush, Bisexual Pansy Parkinson, Halloween, Guy Fawkes Day, jane austen vibes, Smut, Pumpkin Pasties, traumatic memories, Muggle Draco Malfoy, Community: Dramione FanFiction Forum via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/0KVWqEZ September 30, 2023 at 11:15PM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

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iexcistoutofspite · 1 year

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MCR ALBUM REVIEWS - by silly little mentally ill autistic <3

I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Love

Overall sound:

10000000000000/10 literally the best one ever I will never listen to a better album in my life I live breather eat drink and sleep this album

Lyrics:

100000000/10 the masterpiece omg I love it so so much the lyrics have such great meaning and it's just so pretty and well written omg I need to grind it into a powder and snort it

Instrumental:

1000000000/10 again, it's a fucking masterpiece, thry all slayed so hard, the guitar solos, the bass lined and drums I love it all

Nostalgia value:

it hits so hard omg

Personal:

I. am. OBSESSED. I love this album so bad I need it injected into my bones

Fav trac(s):

Honey, this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us, Vampires will never hurt you, Drowning lessons, early sunsets over monroeville, demolition lovers

Skips:

no skips ♡

Listening notes:

- romance is an interlude

- I want to eat it

- bullets era my beloved

- I'm a depressed vampire who hides inside his burrow and drinks rats blood

Review:

MCR THANK YOU FOR THAT MASTERPIECE

I love every. singe. part of it. it's literally injected into my brain, I could listen to if for ours without end the best album I ever heard. I would pay MILLIONS to hear it for the 1st time once again. magical feeling. I'm turning into a homoerotic vampire every single time I hear it. I love it so much I could only listen to it for the rest of my life and never complain. I do however miss feeling happiness but who cares why you have ibymbybmyl. ♡

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Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

Overall sound:

9/10 I love it

Lyrics:

100/10 another masterpiece it's so good it hurts

Instrumental:

100000/10 they all slayed once again

Nostalgia value:

I have so many memories good and bad

Personal:

my 2nd fav album. I love it so much, the STORY the lyrics and sound all of it comes together and creates a masterpiece

Fav trac(s):

To the End, You know what they do to guy like us in prison, the Ghost of you, the jetset lives is gonna kill, I never told you what I do for living

Skips:

I'm Not Okay (I promise) but only sometimes

Listening notes:

- the story omg

- THE LORE I LOVE LORE OMGGG

- good for drawing and painting

- rip grandma

- I'm literally the demo man

- relationship goals

Review:

just so much good stuff in it omg, I love it. I could listen to it for hours, drinking coffe and listening to it omg a dream come true

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The Black Parade

Overall sound:

9/10

Lyrics:

10/10 another masterpiece

Instrumental:

1000/10 they all slayed omg the guitar, the vocals the bass lines 😍

Nostalgia value:

has a special place in my heart

Personal:

the concept of cancer is both triggering and comforting to be because I lost 2 pets due to cancer so I find a comfort with it and also I think about death a lot so it's my vibes yknow

Fav trac(s):

This is how I disappear, Mama, the Sharpest lives, Cancer, Dead

Skips:

Welcome to the Black parade, teenagers- I mean they're not bad but it's just not for me

Listening notes:

- the story is absolutely beautiful

- crying time

- I miss my dead cats

- I DONT LOVE YOUUU LIKE I DID YESTERDAAAAYYYY

- I want to join the Black parade

- transgenderism at its finest

Review:

Very very good album. the story is very interesting. scary but in a good way. reminds me of very snowy winter. very cold. cold toes. starving for days, living only on black coffe and diet coke. I remember I was listening to it in 8th grade while other kids were talking behind my back and I heard the line "I an not afraid to keep on living, I and not afraid to walk this world alone" and I said to myself, fuck everything and everyone I'm gonna be who I want to be but who others want me to be and from that moment I started to express myself in the way I always wanted :)

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Danger Days

Overall sound:

1000/10 my love. my baby girl. my beautiful girlfriend DD ♡

Lyrics:

10000/10 another masterpiece

Instrumental:

1000/10 it's different than the rest but it's beautiful in itself and it's difference

Nostalgia value:

10000/10 late summer nights

Personal:

ever tho it gets so much hate and it's not my favorite I love it so much. mcr put their entire pussy into this album

Fav trac(s):

The only hope for me is you, DESTROYA, Vampire Money

Skips:

any of the interludes

Listening notes:

- feels like running away from your small hometown in the summer with your homoerotic lover

- night summer car rides

- red hair

- tboy swag

Review:

they slayed so hard on this album. u don't get why people hate on it it literally so good. the lore to the comic book omg. so good. yes ut us different but different is good. it makes me want to run away and steal shit bshshd fuck the government- it scratches my brain in the right places. gerard slayed with both the album and the asthetic. red hair- omg he's such a slut fr. he's my slut, a cunt, my own personal man whore

#mcr album reviews #my chemical romance #mcr #gerard way #frank iero #ray toro #mikey way #michael romance #i love gerard way #im bored okay?

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eveenstar · 11 months

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𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 | 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦/𝘰𝘤

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was, with its due merit, one of the finest and most notable institutes of magic in the wizarding world. There the students would begin their magical adventure at the age of eleven, to be sorted into one of the four houses that would define who they are for the rest of their school years. But spells and flying on brooms were not the only adventures the students would endure, no, for they would also experience something far more magical and dangerous than any spell they could ever master: love.

Oh yes, falling in love was a must that any teenager in the late nineteenth century simply had to go through. After all, who doesn’t dream of falling in love with a young wizard or witch, one to share their school years with? To smell their sweet scent in their Amortentia? Even the thought of it disgusted young Leander Prewett during his first two years as a Hogwarts student.

However, as time passed, Leander was witness to all of his friends coming and going out of relationships faster than a Nifler stealing precious jewelry. In his third and fourth years, he sought to feel those so-called “butterflies” in his stomach by putting on bravado of his extraordinary magical skills with his wand in front of not-so-impressionable girls. None of those plays worked out in the end though, as they all saw through his mask.So, after a long row of disappointments and embarrassments, the young wizard decided to shelf romance out of his life.

Leander was a tall, lean boy with a long face for his age. A groomed set of ginger hair, a pair of the darkest brown around for his eyes, and freckles that centered right on his cheeks and his nose. How he hated those freckles. He was an average looking boy, there was nothing remotely notable about his appearance, or his skills by that means, and Prewett knew that. He couldn’t fly a broom and his abilities to duel even a fellow classmate often ended up with him on the floor. He couldn’t even win on Summoner’s Court! But what Leander lacked with his abilities, he made up with his boastful and bold personality. He could often fool influenceable First Years but all of his classmates saw through his little displays of skill and power. But he belonged to House Gryffindor, Prewett would often repeat to himself, the best house in all of Hogwarts! He couldn’t fail, he couldn’t let his parents down. But how would he live up to his house’s bravery and courage if he couldn’t even beat Sebastian Sallow? Sebastian or…

Her.

Lucienne Alderidge, the new fifth year. The girl that haunts his dreams, awakens or not. Everyone at school knows her one way or another, even if it’s just by the fact she was a unique case of starting Hogwarts five years after she was supposed to, or that her entire family has mysteriously disappeared under circumstances that the Ministry refuses to speak about. She and Leander had nothing in common - she had the patience of a Hufflepuff, the determination of a Slytherin, the courage of a Gryffindor but mostly, she had the wit and cleverness that only a Ravenclaw could possess. Oh, and by Merlin, she was the most beautiful girl Leander had ever seen before. Her hair was a fiery auburn, always loose, and her eyes were two pearls of black that Leander often found himself lost in.

But after years of disappointments, Leander could admit to himself that she was out of his reach. He could see it in her eyes, the way she tilted her head up to look at him, even if her words were always polite and gentle. She had the sweetest of voices, one he found himself daydreaming to.

Leander often saw her running around the castle’s grounds, always looking for something, always coming in and out of Professor Fig and Professor Sharp’s classrooms after classes. The gossip was quick to fall around Hogwarts, of Lucienne’s encounter with a dragon on her way to the school, and some whispers about a certain run-in with Victor Rookwood and his crooks on the Three Broomsticks. While some applauded her courage, others would find ways to link it to her the Alderidge family - full of secrets and rumors of dark magic, they were on the same level as the Gaunts, but they were more reserved than that, to a point of being known as one of the most secluded houses in the wizarding world. None of their children ever go to a proper magic school yet they always seem to know better than most.

And that unsettled Leander. He didn’t want to be involved with someone with dark roots such as her, what if she was a dark wizard like her father was? Yet like a moth to the flame, he found himself always circling back to the Alderidge girl.

After a certain herbology class, Leander was almost sure she and Sebastian had something going on. He had seen too many of his friends in love and Sebastian had a certain look to his eyes that Prewett was well-acknowledged in. It was that same spark missing from Lucienne’s eyes that gave him an ounce of hope - as if he was ever going to get with her.

“Nice work in Defense Against the Dark Arts, by the way.” Said Leander the moment the doors to the greenhouse closed. Lucienne stopped in her tracks to look at him and it took her a moment to understand what he had said.

“Excuse me?”

A nervous smile played on his lips as he continued, stumbling over his words, “Your duel with Sebastian. And he’s good. Ha, thinks he’s really good.” Lucienne resumed her stride to the Chinese Chomping Cabbages. “But you outright slaughtered him. It was brilliant.”

“Oh.” Lucinne hesitated as she picked up one of them. She had a certain faraway look on her eyes as she stared at the chomping plant. “Well. Thank you, Leander.”

The young Gryffindor seemed to take notice of his classmate’s distance but that didn’t stop him from running his mouth, in fact, it only increased his necessity to add more to the conversation.“I nearly put Sebastian in his place myself. I mean, I would’ve, if Hecat hadn’t stopped me.”

Lucienne raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. “I’m pretty sure she stopped that dragon skull from crushing you.”

“Pffft,” Leander dismissed her with a wave of his hand, “Typical Slytherin trick, dropping a dragon skull on someone during a fight. We Gryffindors fight with honour.” He proudly remarked, trying his hardest to pass off as impressive - as if belonging to a certain house put you above everyone else. But upon the girl’s silence, Leander turned his head around to see her still staring at him and a sense of dread fell before him.

Leander cleared his throat. “And, huh, Ravenclaws too. At least you did.”

Lucienne stared at him for a couple more seconds before she resumed her pace, holding the cabbage in her arms without an ounce of fear while Leander walked empty-handed next to her.

“In a real duel, there’s no honour, only survival of the strongest.” Said the Ravenclaw as they entered the classroom again and a warm smile graced her features once more as Professor Garlick greeted them back.

After that brief, awkward conversation between a teenager and his crush, Leander was sure that Lucienne wanted nothing to do with him. She probably forgot about that whole ordeal the second Professor Garlick dismissed them.

The young wizard was, if not a fool, then a lost puppy when it came to love. He had learned from watching his father gift his mother a beautiful set of flowers that women loved presents, but from his friends he learned that they also loved to be courted and impressed. Lucienne was in some aspect like the other girls, but she was also a kind-hearted witch from a mysterious family, and she looked just like a dream in Leander’s eyes.

A dream he wished he could wake up from.

Leander sat alone on the courtyard behind Hogwarts. He was taking a rather big bite out of his apple when his eyes spotted Lucienne leaving the school. She had brushed her hair and braided some strands above her head, and she was wearing a beautiful blue dress that brought out the redness of her hair and a black corset.

The young Prewett, maybe for lack of anything actually intelligent to say, rose to his feet and put on his best smirk "Looking good Lucienne, you look good," greeted him in a half-singing voice.

The girl abruptly stopped her walk and almost bumped against him, "Thanks." Lucienne replied with a thin smile.

Leander took note of the smile. In fact, he takes note about everything she does - was it overexcessive? Yes, but the fear of disappointment and loneliness in his heart said otherwise.

"I mean it, you're really pretty," he continued with a bold confidence to his tone. His grin only spread further and he did his best to mask his own anxiety.

A dry and forced laugh left her lips. Instead of looking at Leander, she took a long look around the courtyard, seemingly looking for something. "Ah-ha, thanks."

Leander sensed the cold shoulder, but it was too late to give up now. He never really knew how to stop either way. So, once again, he repeated:

"I've just got to be honest with you," Leander motioned to her figure, "You're stunning."

And again, Lucienne repeated the same two words: “Thank you.”

"And like, I'm not just saying that, you are absolutely stunning. Seriously, you're the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts." Leander continued with a chuckle, taking a brief look around.

"Leander..." Lucienne clears her throat and looks up at him. The first thing he noticed was how the sunlight brought out the brown of her eyes. "I really need to go, I'm heading out with Sebastian."

Those words felt like the sting of a hundred curses being thrown at him. His smile faltered ever so slightly, but Lucienne seemed to have noticed it as her face softened.

"Oh, okay. Okay then. Hope you and Sebastian have fun." Leander stands taller, trying to sound like he doesn't care a single bit, but the look on his eyes tell a different story.

For a moment he feels like Lucienne is about to say something else, but she decides against it and chooses to walk away.

Even though their second interaction ended just like their first, Leander’s mind is soon filled with the image of her smile. That dreamy, captivating smile that makes his heart flutter.

Lucienne turns around for the last time, and he is still standing where she left him with the most love-sick look on his face. She smiles.

"I'll see you in Herbology class."

She has the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

#hogwarts legacy #leander prewett #leander prewett x mc #hogwarts legacy oc

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misslyzz · 1 year

Text

Snake Song - Chapter 3: Kiss With a Fist

~Paring: Draco x Original Female Character

~Description: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, Cannon divergence

~Word Count: 4.6k

~Author Note: I update once a week! You can find the series masterlist here.

~Content disclaimer: Canon typical violence, slight mentions of blood, bigotry

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My black eye casts no shadow

Your red eye sees nothing

Your slap don't stick

Your kicks don't hit

So we remain the same

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia Prince sat in the Slytherin common room staring out one of the large, ornate windows that looked out into the Black Lake. The only light left in the common room came from a few candles spread out across the room and the dull green hue from the lake. It cast the vast stone room with its leather button-tufted couches and dark wood furnishings in a sort of eerie glow, but Cordelia found this rather comforting.

It was late, probably past midnight, but she couldn’t sleep. She kept replaying the events of the day in her head. It had been a particularly nasty day that had started with a letter from her mother berating her about participating in the quidditch trials. It seemed the school had sent her parents news of her injury. Something she really should have expected.

The letter had been something along the lines of “If you embarrass this family one more time, we’ll transfer you to Beauxbatons Academy before you can say snitch.” Being surrounded by silly little French girls for the next 5 years sounded like a fate worse than Azkaban to Cordelia.

It hadn’t stopped there. Not long after her owl Sage had dropped off the dreaded letter and Cordelia was staring forlorn into her porridge, Malfoy had come swaggering into the great hall, wearing one of the Slytherin team's silver and green jumpers. Cordelia would have liked nothing more than to drown herself in her porridge. He’d sent her a haughty smirk and waltzed over to the rest of the team to eat breakfast. Presumably they would be heading to practice soon.

It hadn’t been until later that day when Cordelia was moping around the common room pretending to make progress on her History of Magic homework that she had overheard the most infuriating bit of news. She had just crossed out the third unsuccessful sentence about how Barnabas the Barmy had tried teaching trolls ballet when Pansy Parkinson walked by with a few other girls in her year giggling about something asinine. However, a particular bit had caught her attention.

“...of course his father bought the whole team new brooms, he wants them to win the cup this year and it's not like he couldn’t spare the expense. Only the finest for a Malfoy.”

Cordelia’s quill snapped in her hand and her nearby ink well magically flew off the table narrowly missing Daphne’s head, who was sitting across from her, and smashed into the stone wall. Daphne looked up at her a bit wide eyed and muttered a “wow...” before Cordelia had stormed off.

That’s how she got here, staring out into the swirling darkness of the Black Lake, instead of in her comfortable canopy bed, with its fluffy pillows, asleep like a sane person. Un-bloody-believable. She knew Malfoy wasn’t above cheating and was an absolute menace to her on a daily basis, but she didn’t peg him for someone who couldn't earn his own achievements. Part of her was disappointed in him. Despite their constant rivalry this felt low, unambitious even.

She did eventually drift off to sleep curled up on the dark green wingback chair, with one thought on replay in her head. Some Slytherin he is. Salazar is probably turning over in his grave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe Salazar Slytherin had turned over in his grave. Cordelia thought wide eyed, staring at the body of Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, hung by her tail below the letters written across the wall in what Cordelia highly doubted was red paint. They had just been enjoying a truly excellent Halloween feast only to run into this on the way back to the common room. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Someone had shouted from the front of the crowd. Cordelia’s heart lurched. She knew that voice, it had been Malfoy. She felt someone grab onto her arm and looked to her side. It had been Tracey, who was staring stone faced at the bloody letters on the wall. Despite her expression, her hand was clutching Cordelia tightly.

“It was probably him and his little cronies, pulling some kind of sick prank,” Cordelia whispered to Tracey as they watched Filch yelling at Harry Potter, of all people, about killing his cat.

“You!” The hunched over caretaker screeched at Potter, “You’ve murdered my cat!” Cordelia looked back to Tracey who still hadn't looked away from the writing. Luckily, a moment later Dumbledore came to sort the mess out and everyone dispersed back to the common room. Cordelia kept close to Tracey, who had been unusually silent since seeing the writing.

The three girls, still being quite full from the feast and not wanting to hear any more Malfoy's nonsense, went straight up the short ironwork staircase and down the tunnel to the girls' dorm. Cordelia had drifted off into a restless sleep, having hazy dreams of slithering snails that she could have sworn had Malfoy’s face all chanting Mudblood over and over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first week of November had brought with it a cold snap that had the grounds covered in frost in the mornings. Cordelia dreaded venturing outside of the castle and into the biting highland wind, which was an excellent excuse for her to lean on when the first quidditch match of the season rolled around one Saturday. It was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor normally a match Cordelia would never miss, but a deep bitterness had lodged itself in her chest after the events of last month. She would have sooner leapt into the freezing Black Lake stark naked than to have gone to this game.

Tracey had given her best effort trying to persuade Cordelia from the dorm that afternoon, but she stubbornly refused to go.

“But Cordelia, it's the first match of the season!”

“Tracey I swear to Salazar Slytherin himself, if I end up going I’m going to cheer for Gryffindor and then I’ll be disowned from the whole house.” Cordelia had whined. “Is that what you want?”

Tracey signed, exasperated. “Can’t have that, then.” And with a begrudged look had left the dorms to head down to the quidditch pitch with the rest of Slytherin house. This left Cordelia quite alone in the common room, which she considered a blessing. Good I can brood in peace.

And brood she did. She sat at one of the comfy green couches, staring into the large stone fire thinking of all the things she could say or do later to terrorize Malfoy as revenge. She sat in her revenge fueled trance for who knows how long until finally people began to trickle back into the common room. Judging from the general mood, it didn’t look like Slytherin had won. Cordelia tried to look stoic, but the corners of her mouth couldn’t seem to behave.

Tracey flopped onto the couch beside her, Daphne soon followed in an adjacent armchair.

“I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.” Tracey signed.

“Bad news, first then.” To her credit Cordelia did manage to sound aloof.

“We lost.” Daphne interjected, not seeming that upset about it either.

“Considering the mood, not surprising,” Cordelia said surveying the room. Everyone did seem a bit defeated, which considering Slytherin hadn’t lost the quidditch cup in seven years, wasn’t surprising. “And the good news?” She questioned.

At this Tracey let out a crooked smile. “Malfoy missed the snitch. Literally had it floating right behind his head, the tosser! Potter had a particularly nasty bludger after him and still managed to catch it before Malfoy.” Tracey let out a barked laugh. “It was embarrassing, honestly.”

Cordelia was trying her best to not break out into a full-blown grin, feeling absolutely giddy that Malfoy had managed to embarrass himself so thoroughly. They heard a loud snort from behind them. She turned to look over the back of the couch to see none other than one of Slytherin team's chasers, Adrien Pucey. Adrien, a handsome boy with intense green eyes and dark hair that fell in soft waves across his forehead, was two years ahead of Cordelia. He was sitting with a few other students in his year including, Miles Bletchly, the team's keeper, a pale dark haired boy who’s features resembled a goldfish a bit.

“You forgot the part where he fell off his broom and landed on his ass.” Adrien snickered with the rest of the boys. “Poor sod is still in the showers sulking.” He had one arm slung over his chair and leaned towards Cordelia. “You know Prince, you should have tried out for seeker instead. Maybe then we would have actually won.” He shot her a wink as he and his friends got up to leave.

She flushed up to her forehead, though she tried to pretend that was not happening. That did not stop her two friends from staring at her knowingly.

“Pucey does have a point, huh Daphne?” Tracey said with a cheshire cat smile.

Daphne raised her eyebrow. “Yes, couldn’t agree with him more, eh Cordelia?”

Cordelia, cheeks still red, was trying her best to hide a smile. “Oh shove off.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Cordelia had gone down to the great hall that morning hoping for a peaceful Sunday breakfast only to be met with an uproar of chatter. She sat down in an empty seat between Daphne and a boy from their year, Theodore Nott, a lanky boy with sandy hair. He was leaned over to talk with some other students about something in a hushed tone.

“What’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist this morning?” Cordelia asked more than a little irritated with the chatter.

Nott had turned to her a little surprised, “Haven’t you heard? A student was found last night, petrified. Some Gryffindor.” He had scoffed at that.

Cordelia hadn’t really been able to enjoy her breakfast after that and soon after headed back down to the common room. She sat in the common room at one of the long dark tables reading Holidays with Hags, one of Lockhart's books he had assigned 2 feet of parchment on. I’d rather snog one of these hags than read another word of this rubbish. It wasn't just the pompous tone the book was written in that was making it nearly impossible for her to focus, but the constant chatter of the common room.

She was failing miserably to focus on how Lockhart had saved all those village children from the nasty hag by blinding her with his dazzling smile. Her mind kept wandering back to Colin Creevy, a muggle born first year, who she had found out was the Gryffindor student that Nott had mentioned.

Cordelia thought back to the bloody writing on the wall on Halloween. Enemies of the Heir beware… Was the enemy of Salazar Slytherin really after just the muggle borns…? Cordelia was trying her best to ignore the murmurings she had heard from some of her nastier classmates. A group of which were snickering amongst themselves at the far end of the table.

“Of course it was a mudblood.”

“Probably won’t be the last either.”

“Who do you reckon will be next?

Cordelia snapped her book shut and exhaled sharply through her nose. Bigoted prats. She stood up swiftly from her chair and walked towards the group of snickering teens. She slammed her book down on their side of the table.

“If you’re going to be ignorant, you could at least do it quieter.” With that she stormed off towards the girl’s dorm, hoping to find some peace and quiet. Just as she had reached the top of the stairs she ran into the familiar figure of Tracey coming down from the dorms. Cordelia glanced back at the older students still at the table whispering quietly amongst themselves at the same table, still presumably spouting their nonsense. She made up her mind to head Tracey off.

“Hey Trace, wanna help me sneak into the kitchens?”

Tracey grinned at this, “Merlin yes, I’m starved.” With that the two made their way down the kitchens for the rest of the afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next month had gone by with relatively little excitement. On one particularly dull afternoon, Cordelia found herself in her least favorite class, Herbology. Even more unfortunately for her, today they would be working with infant mandrakes. She had already watched Longbottom faint the previous week from the plant's lethal crying, having apparently neglected to secure earmuffs for himself. That was enough to make her contemplate faking dragon pox to get out of class.

Nevertheless, she found herself elbow deep in fresh soil trying to wrestle the, no doubt screaming, mandrake out of its pot. At the potting station next to her, Tracey was having a lot less trouble, having already dug most of the young plant out of its pot.

“How did you manage that so fast?”Cordelia looked at her incredulously. Tracy almost looked bored, which was unusual for the girl, who normally looked forward to herbology lessons. All Cordelia got in response was a vague grunt. Cordelia tried focusing on shifting the soil around in her pot, but couldn’t help casting nervous glances at her friend. Tracey was looking forlornly down at the wrinkled little root in her pot.

“Trace, you alright?”

Cordelia’s focus was abruptly pulled back to her own pot as she felt a sharp pain in her finger. It seemed the mandrake had clamped its tiny mouth down on her finger. Tracey looked at her and snickered. That was until Cordelia jerked the baby mandrake from her pot. It let out an ear shattering scream as she tried her best to shove it into the new pot, with fresh soil.

It seemed the irritating little plant had a different idea as its tiny veiny arms had gripped on to the side of the new pot. Despite Cordelia’s best efforts to push its tiny, screaming head under the fresh dirt, it seemed determined to not budge. Tracey thankfully took pity on her, helping her shove the shrieking plant under the fresh dirt.

“Thanks, Trace,” Cordelia said to her friend who had already turned back to her own mandrake. The most response she got out of the girl was a vague hum of acknowledgement. Tracey was busy quickly scooping her mandrake out of the old pot and into the new one. Hers hardly even screamed…

“Excellent work, Miss Davis,” Professor Sprout complimented while passing by. Cordelia couldn’t ignore the nasty look a few of their classmates shot Tracey at this. From the look on her face it seemed Tracey also noticed. Cordelia felt a pang of guilt at this.

“Ignore those gits,” she scoffed. Tracey had a detached sort of look about her, her eyes solidly set on her already potted plant.

“Bit hard to do when it’s the whole house.”

“It’s not the whole house…”Cordelia felt her stomach sink further, eyebrows furrowing. She wasn’t sure she believed herself with all the murmurings and nasty comments she had heard lately. “Only the incredibly stupid ones.” This got a half hearted snort from Tracey, but she wouldn’t meet Cordelia’s eyes, still fixated on the pot in front of her.

Determined to at least get her friend to crack a smile, Cordelia grabbed a small clump of dirt from her pot, tossing it at Tracey. It hit her cheek leaving a little smudge of dirt and earning an offended gasp from Tracey. Cordelia looked at her with feigned innocence.

“What? It was him,” she pointed down at the newly potted mandrake, “extremely cracky that one.”

Tracey looked at her through narrowed eyes for a moment before turning back to her pot. Cordelia let out a labored sigh, turning back to her own station. She’d leave Tracey be for now. Maybe she just needs some tim– She was pulled from her thoughts by a clump of dirt smacking her in the forehead before falling down onto her robes.

She whipped her head in the short haired girl's directions. Tracey was trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“What? Maybe I’m cranky too?”

Cordelia grinned at her friend before chucking another clump of dirt back in retaliation. Their little battle continued for a minute before Professor Sprout came by and admonished the two. They both tried to look guilty. However, as soon as the Professor walked away, and Cordelia met Tracey’s eyes they devolved into fits of giggles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November faded to December and Cordelia finally felt as if she might have a relatively normal rest of the school year. On one particular afternoon, she found herself in her element in the potions classroom, deep in the Hogwart’s dungeons.

The cold stone room was lined with jars upon jars of pickled animals and various glowing substances. There were half a dozen tables where students could place their cauldrons and try their best not to earn Professor Snape's ire. At the front of the classroom was a chalkboard on which said professor had written some especially detailed instructions for a swelling solution. This is where Cordelia was trying her best to apply all her focus on, with great difficulty.

She was yet again partnered with Malfoy. What did I ever do to Snape to deserve this? He was currently flicking her carefully counted pufferfish eyes at Potter and Weasley.

“Knock it off Malfoy,” She seethed, “you're wasting all our ingredients.”

He scoffed in return, having turned his attention to Longbottom getting chastised by Snape once again. Cordelia glanced over at the visibly trembling boy. He should really get a tutor. She rolled her eyes and went over to one of the shelves to get more eyes. Just as she turned to go back to their cauldron, she noticed Potter ducked under his table. Odd… He quickly lit what looked to be a firecracker of some sort and threw it into her and Malfoy’s cauldron.

Her eyes widened and for a brief moment she locked eyes with Potter as he turned. They both looked at each other for a moment before they both ducked for cover. Cordelia leaped behind Professor Snape’s desk just as the mayhem began. From her place of cover, she heard the potion explode and several people shrieked, one of which sounded suspiciously like Malfoy. I’d know that high pitched scream anywhere… Snape should really dust under here.

Cordelia brushed her hands on her robes and peaked over the top of Professor Snape's desk. What she was greeted with was indeed mayhem. Several students were groaning in pain, parts of their bodies swelled up to triple their normal size.

She stood up fully now that the coast was clear and walked back toward her station where Malfoy was clutching his face. When he finally moved his hand, she could see that a glob of the potion had managed to land on his nose, which had swelled up like a balloon. Cordelia immediately let out a snort of laughter. She looked over to Goyle who was flailing around with a hand the size of a dinner plate. This is the best potions class ever.

She met Malfoys gray eyes, which now looked small and beady compared to his still growing nose, and burst into uncontrollable giggles. Her sides were hurting from laughter, and Malfoy's stare was positively lethal.

Snape finally got back control of the class telling anyone who had been splashed, to come to the front of the class for a Deflating Draft. Cordelia had managed to suppress her laugh at the death stare Professor Snape was putting out. She watched as the affected students walked to the front. Malfoy, in particular, seemed to be having a lot of difficulty seeing how top heavy his head had become. As he staggered away she glanced over to Potter. To her surprise, he was already looking nervously her way.

A few moments later after the students had begun de-swelling, Professor Snape came back over to Cordelia and Draco’s cauldron with a ladle and scooped out the firecracker.

“If I ever find out who threw this,” Snape said in a low tone, “I shall make sure that person is expelled.” Then as if on cue both he and Cordelia turned to look at Potter, though only one of the cousins knew the truth.

For the rest of the lesson she could feel Potter's nervous glances, as if at any point she might rat him out to Snape. As if. It was bloody hilarious. She thought back fondly to Malfoy’s gigantic nose. She glanced to her side where said nuisance kept running his hands over his nose as if to make sure it hadn’t re-swollen suddenly. She had to suppress a laugh again.

Soon the bell rang and everyone began filing out of the classroom. Cordelia had just made it out of the door when she heard a loud “pst” from her side. She glanced to the side of the potions classroom only to see Potter standing there motioning her over awkwardly. She raised her eyebrow, but walked over, nonetheless.

“You rang, Potter?” she said dryly.

Potter looked quite nervous, she almost felt bad for him. He’s probably worried about being expelled for his little stunt.

“Yeah, erm why didn’t you tell Snape about the–” he gestured vaguely toward the classroom then made a kind of exploding motion with his hands.

Cordelia Snorted. “I think I have better things to do than get the great Harry Potter expelled.” He immediately looked a little relieved. She rolled her eyes. “Besides, watching Malfoy’s nose swell up like a cantaloupe was bloody brilliant, Potter,” she let out a genuine laugh.

Potter to her surprise flushed a bit at this. “Right, then um thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Looks like you owe me two now, Potter.” At this Harry blanched but was rescued by the Weasley boy calling for him and he rushed off. As Cordelia was watching him walk off, she heard a seething voice from behind her.

“You knew Prince?”

Cordelia whipped around to see Malfoy had just exited the classroom, after having apparently overheard the whole conversation. She scoffed, but Malfoy continued.

“Taking Potter’s side?” He spit out, “Pathetic.”

Cordelia’s nostril flared as all her anger from the last month came rushing back.

“Jealous Malfoy? Today isn’t the first time you’ve missed something right under your nose.” She gasped suddenly pointing behind his head. He turned in confusion. “Sorry, thought it was a snitch, I wouldn't want you to miss another one.” She snickered, as did a few other nearby students.

The tips of Malfoy’s ears turned red, and he whipped back around to her. “Everyone knows Potter only made the team because he’s famous,” he sneered back.

“That’s rich coming from someone who’s daddy bought their way onto the team with new brooms!” Cordelia was furious and nearly yelling now. A crowd of the students had begun to form to watch the two’s screaming match.

“What is he your boyfriend now? Are you a house traitor as well as a blood traitor–”

Cordelia cut him off shapely, “What are you on about Malfoy?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Someone from your bloodline hanging around a filthy mudblood like Davis? Disgusting.” He spit out pointing at Tracey, who was amongst the crowd watching the verbal sparring. She could see Tracey flinch at the slur. The fight didn’t stay verbal for long.

That comment directed at her friend was the last straw. Cordelia saw red, threw her potion book and bag onto the floor, and leaped forward, tackling Malfoy to the ground. He yelped as she landed right on top of him and reared up to land a rather hard punch to his right cheek bone, which immediately started to blossom red. Malfoy, now enraged and red in the face, threw his arm forward and managed to elbow her across the mouth.

Cordelia grunted a bit and flinched back, a trace of something metallic hitting her tongue. Still furious, she hardly noticed, before once again rearing her arm back and smashing her fist across the same side of the blonde’s face.

Malfoy let out a high-pitched groan and reached his arms up trying his best to get her into a headlock. The two brawled on the ground for a few moments while the throng of students jeered, until a voice bellowed above the crowd.

“SILENCE! You two, enough!” Malfoy, who had a handful of Cordelia’s hair, was ripped away from her and hauled rather violently to his feet. She was greeted with the side prolife of an enraged Professor Snape.

“WHAT do you think you're doing?!” Snape seethed at Malfoy nose to nose, then rounded on her. He pulled her to her feet in a considerably less aggressive manner than he had Malfoy, but his voice had lost none of the venom.

“Two students from my own house, brawling in the hallway like barbarians?”

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but one icy stare from Snape cut him off. “The rest of you begone! Go to your classes,” he commanded. The crowd dispersed and Cordelia caught Tracey’s downcast stare for a moment before she headed off. Professor Snape turned back to Cordelia and Malfoy.

“This is unacceptable behavior from two students of Slytherin house. Two months detention for the both of you–”

“But–” Malfoy attempted to interrupt, outraged, but Professor Snape cut him off again.

“Another word, Malfoy and it will be three months.”

At this Malfoy snapped his mouth closed. Meanwhile, Cordelia was staring at Malfoy with a look of absolute loathing.

“Your detention will be up to my discretion, but believe me, it will be tedious and painful. Malfoy to class now,” he ordered coldly. He turned to Cordelia and produced a black handkerchief out of the pocket of his robes, handing it to her. She opened her mouth to question him and was immediately met with a sharp stinging pain. She pressed the handkerchief to her now oozing split lip.

“Prince with me.” Professor Snape didn’t leave a lot of room for argument as he immediately headed down the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him.

She took one more chance to glare at Malfoy, who was holding his now swelling cheek bone and sneering right back at her. Cordelia had to jog a little to catch up to Snapes brisk pace. What, is he gonna start my detention now? All she really wanted to do was go back to the common room to check on Tracey. She followed Snape out of the dungeons, through several corridors, up a few staircases, and to her surprise he came to a stop in front of the hospital wing.

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression, before ushering her into the hospital wing and fetching Madam Pomfrey.

“Miss Prince thought starting a brawl in the corridor was a bright idea,” he said dryly before taking his leave. Cordelia stood there utterly confused as Madam Pomfrey fretted over her split lip. While they were family, Snape never coddled her. He might occasionally seem to favor her in class, but this was different. He hadn’t marched Malfoy down to the hospital wing personally and he came out of their little row arguably worse. Was that actual concern? For my well being?

Madam Pomfrey soon sent her on her way, split lip completely healed. As she walked back to the common room, she felt a surge of fondness for her gloomy, aloof cousin, who had just shown more care for her than her parents had in months.

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