fairytales

hogwarts: 

01.       remus    ,     marauders boys .     02.       lily    ,    james . 03.       lily    ,    mary . 04.       thea     ,    caradoc . 05.       narcissa    ,    evan . 06.       narcissa    ,    gideon . 07.       roman    ,    sirius . 

ravka:

he can’t shake the feeling    that something has shifted out of place.    like a glass left teetering,    suspended for a brief moment before the fall.    tense,    things have been.    strained.    even his own denial has not allowed him to keep ignoring this new space between them.    a space that he doesn’t know what to do with.    it will fade,    he thought in the early days after his capture.    but on and on the weeks went until he found it had grown twice as big,    nurtured by their mutual avoidance.

    so familiar this picture has become:    james busying himself and lily readying herself to go.    still,    each time she leaves he can’t help but feel that she is running away from something.    the order is at a standstill.    meetings have no direction as they try and regroup,    try to figure out where to go from here.    and though james has kept his attendance to only those of strict importance,    lily has thrown herself that much deeper into the effort.    most nights he has to remind himself this is still a war.    there is still work to be done even if he can’t bring himself to sit vigil for hours on end,    feeling useless and failing to produce a solution.    not when he’d rather be here.    

    he is taking his time with the dishes if only to have something to do,    but when he doesn’t hear that soft crack of apparition he knows it has reached a tipping point.    so james finds himself setting down a half-rinsed plate,    wiping his hands on the dish towel that’s slung over his shoulder.

    ❛     since you asked,    i’m just going to say it,   ❜     a last attempt to grin and bear it and send her on her way as he’s done countless times these past weeks.    there is an undeniable stiffness in the way he approaches her,    hands coming to rest on either arm.    still james tries to make a show of this.    he twists his face up in something like pity for the last one to be let in on the joke.     ❛     i don’t think alastor bakes those biscuits.    so.    there it is.     ❜     he knows lily sees through this flimsy attempt,    and as he looks down at her james feels for the first time in a long while like he can take a full breath.

    with an exhale he leans in to kiss the top of her head,    not bothering to mask the creases in his brow when he pulls back.    ❛     you can miss just one,    you know.     ❜     he is struck by the sense that this is the wrong thing to say;    as if he’s suggested she give up altogether,    as if he’s told her they should forget the war and do nothing else for the rest of their days but take harry for long walks on the countryside.    it’s a ridiculous thought,    so grotesquely domestic that it causes his mouth to twitch upwards just slightly before he loses confidence.    he squeezes her arm lightly in question.     ❛     what’s happening here,   lils?     ❜

ONE SMALL BREATH, falling from her lips as if in relief, or maybe in frustration, at the fact that they kept dancing around whatever issues lay between them. The biggest issue, perhaps, was that they so very rarely had issues. She didn’t know how to confront him, and he didn’t know how to battle her. Their stubbornness was a strength, as a family, as a unit, but what happened when they were on opposite sides of the battlefield?

What happened when their truths no longer aligned? 

So, Lily lets the words rest between them just for a moment, before pulling away to look up at him. It almost hurts when the words finally do pierce through her skin. Almost breaks her, if she weren’t already feeling so broken by it all. Maybe it makes sense, that he doesn’t understand how desperate she is to help. How desperate she is to win this war. How desperate she is to feel as though she’s a person again, and not just a pawn in Dumbledore’s dusty game.

“Missing one is a dangerous spiral,” she says, voice soft but still stern as she meets eyes full of concern. Lily pulls away from that; away from the idea that she is something that is meant to be concerned for. There shouldn’t be concern there. How can he not feel the anger in her bones? “Moody needs the help, and missing one feels like it tips some sort of scale. It means they go on a mission I’m not there to approve. They’re kids playing at war heroes and they don’t understand-- They want to help, and I love them all for it but none of them...”

Lily shakes her head, knowing she’s rambling. It doesn’t make sense, her need to want to help. The way that she feels as though she’s the only one who can really do something about the situation. So instead, taking a step back she meets James eyes and shakes her head. “You were in Azkaban, James. You were there, and I was here waiting for them to bloody do something. I had to scream and shout and finally it happened but if I hadn’t been there you wouldn’t be here.”

Sirius was not usually the first choice for a stakeout. Or the second. Or really, anywhere in the top ten. He was far too restless and tended to chase after trouble ; both of which were counterproductive — or so he had been told. But now, the Order was stretched thin. There were so many lives lost, he knew it would overwhelm him if he stopped to take count. 

It is supposed to be a simple mission: he is supposed to watch a warehouse for any signs of Death Eater activity and try to determine if it was a potential safehouse. It ended in a fight with those masked fuckers, Sirius barely able to make it to the apparation point with the three of them throwing curses after him. Well, at least he had managed to confirm Death Eater activity. 

He stumbles when he lands in the Order safe house but manages to catch himself on a nearby table. He is bleeding on the floor and feels light headed for a moment, giving himself a second to steady himself. There is a gash in his side, another one on his forehead but he is alive which is all he can ask for in these days. He looks up to see Roman watching him. 

He is still not fully used to having him here. His presence brings back memories he would rather not deal with , feelings he had gone a lifetime without acknowledging and he wasn’t going to start now. They had never been friends — their relationship always too volatile for that gentle word, always stretched too close to the breaking point until it had inevitably ended that way. But they had been something. They had been close. Once.

He grips the side of the table, offering up a sarcastic smile, “Ran into some of your pals.”

---

Exhaustion is a constant now. He supposed that was the cost of living in two worlds; never sleeping, the constant nightmares. The potions he used to keep the bags under his eyes away littered rubbish bins across the city. Roman couldn’t even throw them away at home, in fear that his family would find them; in fear his mother would pop over and use a restroom, and get a little too curious.

The war had forced him to make choices, and while he was paranoid as all hell, he didn’t regret them. Not for a second. His family had shown their true colors that first night he’d gotten the mark; what they’d made him do. Even now, sitting in the Order’s safehouse, he found himself retreating inwards, going back to that place, back to the way the old man had looked when he’d raised his shaking wand--

A crash brings him back to reality, to the present, only to find someone from his past. Roman’s feet were moving without thinking, towards the man that had once been... something to him. If he were thinking back, Sirius was everything, and he’d let him go. Or rather, yelled at him enough that Sirius had left on his own. If he kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing, then everyone who he might harm would leave.

And he’d be alone, but at least they’d be safe.

“Oh, I actually asked them to do this,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, stubbornly. It wasn’t the right thing to say, but when did he ever get a proper word out? “You’re welcome for what I assume was quite a night.” A sigh followed and Roman took a hesitant step forward. “Let me help you, Black. I promise to be extra gentle.” In another life, he might’ve even been a healer, but that was neither here nor there.

he’s late,     which is to say he’s just on time.    thea always has a way of making him aware of things he might otherwise ignore,    so despite having just done so caradoc checks his watch again before sidling up beside her.    he doesn’t bother to pull an affronted look when she chastises him,    simply offers a fond shake of his head.    water off a duck’s back,    or whatever it is she always says.     ❛     if everyone was early no one would be.    and i don’t think you’d be able to live with that.     ❜     caradoc searches his jacket pocket for the ring,    trying not to think of the one still sitting in the box back at his flat.    it’s only on the second pass that he remembers it is already on his hand.    he waggles a teasing finger at her as if to say there it is!

     ❛     only in my very wildest dreams,    mctavish.     ❜     that the two of them could joke about something like this is a testament to the comfort they share    -    even if it is a bit tangled up these days.    he offers thea his arm and they walk,    suspended for a few moments in silence,    before he clears his throat.     ❛     remind me who we are again?     ❜

---

Her heart betrayed her. It beat quicker in her chest even now, even at the simple gesture of his arm in hers. They’d stood this way so many times, and yet it didn’t stop her very body from feeling as though it were lighting up again. For years without him, Thea had turned off. A switch had been flipped. And now? Well, now they were working together, and it was like she finally felt alive again.

It terrified her to think what might happen if he went away again.

“Mr. and Mrs. Peter Nott,” she said, turning to look at him. “It turns out the newly engaged Nott wife is also a Squib, so they’ve put me on the case. And, of course, they haven’t put their money in Gringotts. One of the newer couples, y’see, haven’t joined the family vault.” Bringing him around the corner, she nodded at a few goblins and then stood in line behind them. “I’ve got all the identification paperwork, all we need to do is... well, not die.” 

She whispered the last part, almost like a joke, but couldn’t help but feel that fear rise up in her again. They’d been in too many positions where the world felt like it might tear them apart, and Thea wished they could find some sort of solid footing. 

Edgar would never be certain how someone so important to him, could also feel like a stranger. Amelia was not just family. She was his best friend, his confidant, the person he knew he could always count on. Her stubbornness, he’d always believed, was a strength. An indestructible dam in the face of a mighty flood. While they weren’t always on the same page, Edgar always felt as though she would be there for him; understood him. He often let his emotions wash over him; Amelia was the one who kept him from ruining himself. His dam. 

These days, he wasn’t certain if he and his sister would ever find their footing again; if that normalcy, that current, would ever return. He’d suggested family dinner, half expecting her to turn him down, and yet they sat, eyes trained on their food. He couldn’t even try niceties, not with Amelia. She’d see right through any ruse he was trying to pull, right through any fake attempt to get them back in step.

Still, as he pushed rice around on his plate, he looked up at her words falling from his lips and breaking the silence before he could stop himself. “I don’t think I’ve said congratulations for all the work you’re doing at the Ministry.” And he was proud of her, despite it all; despite the fact that he couldn’t really believe that she was sticking around. She’d always had the idea that changing the world meant following the rules, the law. Somehow, Edgar had fallen on the opposite side of that coin, but it hadn’t meant either was wrong. Until now, he supposed. Until war was involved. 

“I know it’s not... Well, I can’t imagine it’s easy. If you wanted to...” He waved his fork in the air, waiting for her to finish that sentence. A large part of him just wanted to scream at her to get out, but that sort of command always had the opposite effect. If anyone could do it, create a neutral section of the Ministry, it was his sister. But with Death Eaters crawling the place, with Order members getting exposed every day, he worried. Not just about her, but about what he might do to her.

Edgar stared at her expectantly, not sure how to voice any of his concerns without asking her to take a step back from what she believed in. What happened if someone found out he was an Order member? What happened if they found out his sister’s life was more important to him than his own? What then? What now? 

This house still didn’t feel like home. Lily had thrown little touches here and there; a pillow on a worn-out sofa, her baba’s typewriter in the upstairs room, James’s matching rocking chairs on the front porch. If anyone saw the place, they’d believed it’d been lived in for years, soft footsteps creaking wooden boards through the ages. Lily, in any other moment in time, would’ve been happy to raise Harry here; happy to build her family with James.

And yet, there was always something missing.

Maybe it was in her, this fear. It made the cottage feel as though it were an embodiment of mockery. A reminder of a life that she could never have, not so long as she was hunted by her own society. Her own son would be on the lists of those now in power, all because of her; all because of the fact that her parents weren’t wizards. 

It was disgusting and heart-breaking and maddening all at once. All Lily wanted to do was claw through the Ministry walls, brick by brick by bloody brick.

The Order was her outlet, although she could tell lately that the more meetings she attended, the tighter James’s smiles were; the more she talked about their plans, the more his lips pursued, and eyebrows knitted together. He was never good at hiding his emotions, not from her, and today when she pulled a bag onto her shoulder, Lily couldn’t help but notice the look in his eye; that glint of frustration.

“Alright, what’s wrong,” she asked, arms crossed over her chest as she moved closer to him. “You’ve been looking at me for weeks as if I’ve been taking Alastor’s homemade biscuits and hiding them from you after meetings.” Lily managed a smile, joking to ease whatever tension it was that was building between them. “You know you’re always welcome to come, whenever you’re up to it again.”

THERE HAD BEEN YEARS BETWEEN THEM. Years and a few stolen glances; the feelings of a young girl that had flickered away over time, but that bubbled up every now and then. Those thoughts of what if, her darkest fantasies, the small feelings that she would keep as a rebellion when it all felt out of control. Gideon had been that fantasy. That what if. And a part of her had always wondered, what had happened if she’d took his hand and run away with him? Where would she be today? 

Of course, she hadn’t. She’d chosen her path, and it had put her here, in the Ministry, sitting behind an obliviator’s desk. But that didn’t stop her heart from dropping out of her chest when none other than Gideon Prewett walked into the office. She stood, both to greet him and in shock of seeing him. “Gideon,” she said, almost out of shock. “What are you... I apologize. I don’t have you on our schedule for the day.” Narcissa almost asked if he was here to see Arthur, but the Muggle department had been dissolved after the assassination. Arthur Weasley was on thin ice, like a lot of them, but she had wanted to act as if everything was normal. As if they were normal. But she didn’t look at people this way if they were normal, no matter how much she wished to pretend that her feelings were mere fantasy. 

THE CARPET WAS LITTERED WITH HARRY’S TOYS. It was such a normal sight, a sight that both made Lily relieved and absolutely terrified. This, the floor littered with Harry’s toys and Mary sitting across from her and laughing as her boy laughed, was what she was fighting to get back. She was fighting to keep the fear from her stomach, the fear that any point, someone might burst into the kitchen, knowing that she’d been here, somehow. They’d all moved, of course, to more muggle regions; to places the Death Eaters wouldn’t think about looking, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

And it didn’t make her any less angry. Angry that they had to run, angry that they had to hide in shadows while the people who made their lives miserable were allowed to rule society in their place. She missed the beginning of this war; missed the feeling of hope that still lingered. Now? Well, it felt like she was holding onto a fraying rope, and any minute she’d lose that last thread. 

“Auntie Mary, would you care for a bit more adult juice?” she teased, trying to push her negative thoughts away. Girls night. That’s why she was here. James was having boys night, and he deserved that, but didn’t she? Didn’t she and Mary deserve it too? “I’ve a mind to be ashamed of us -- we haven’t even made it halfway through the bottle.”

THEA WAS EARLY. She’d always been early, especially when she first started to truly show up in the Wizarding World. It was her small way of saying fuck you to all of the people who had made her feel small. Her way of proving she had agency in this world. It meant nothing, not really, but if she couldn’t wave a wand and cast a magic spell, she could at least be there. Present and accounted for. Sometimes, it seemed so bloody small, but it had to be enough.

Especially now, after joining the Order, she felt so small sometimes. Helpless. Unable to do missions on her own. Always needed a crutch, someone who had a wand in their pocket. Today, of course, they’d paired her with none other than Caradoc Dearborn, which was both a pleasure and a bit of torment. He used to be the one person who made her feel enough in a world that made her feel so bloody tiny. 

But now? Well, it was confusing wasn’t it, after she’d mucked it all up. 

“You’re late, again,” she teased, without turning around. She’d know his footsteps anywhere. “Are you ready to be Mr. and Mrs? Never thought you’d see the day when you’d get a ring on this finger, huh?” Now this was teetering on the edge of a cliff, but the words flew out of her mouth before she could think better of them. They were, of course, supposed to be pretending to be an engaged couple for the purposes of the vault they were trying to get into. It was easy enough, although, knowing them, it would turn into disaster. 

IT HAD NEVER BEEN DANGEROUS, BEFORE, TO BE AROUND HER FAMILY. If Narcissa had sensed that danger before Lucius, perhaps she would have run. Perhaps, long ago, she would’ve taken Draco and found herself penniless in order to keep her son safe. She hadn’t, of course, and it had landed her here. Fearful of a too long conversation; of a long glance that might be misconstrued as in support of the current going ons. It still didn’t make sense to her, really, how Lucius betrayed her, and yet still continued to do right by her. She missed hime when he was gone, and wanted far away when he was near. That, she supposed, was the theme of their family. They lived behind cruel eyes and straight backs and never stopped to think about the soul inside.

A voice took her from her daydream, and she turned to find Evan standing there, watching as Draco carefully plucked a book or two off a shelf. She helped him, and then watched as he sat down to read, a part of her proud that her son was already reading at such a young age. Still, she wasn’t thrilled that it now gave her all the time in the world to talk to Evan. “He takes after you in this way,” she said, smiling ever so slightly, trying to diffuse whatever tension might be there between them. “Always grabbing the next book after he’s finished one.”

peter pettigrew .

james potter .

there is nothing quite like this,     nothing quite like the presence of these three,    all under the same roof despite circumstances that would keep them apart.    he’d seen several healers since azkaban,    and the curative powers of a particular redhead were a marvel in themselves,    but james swears this is the only thing he needs to feel right as rain.    he’s talking back at sirius,    something to the effect of i told you so,    when the door swings open and james greets remus with a grin.     ❛     nah mate,    you’re just in time.     ❜     clapping a hand on his back as he passes,    he gives remus’ shoulder a light squeeze.    time and war might have wormed its way in between them,    but to james nothing had changed.

      he trods after his friend before settling into a bar stool,    looking over at the painting in question.    ❛     do you reckon that’s his name?     ❜     he helps himself to the pot pie without second thought,    speaking through his first bite.    ❛     harry’s just taken to calling him moo.     ❜ 

…

this is losing a war  :  hiding in the middle of ireland, picking at smuggled pot pie from the leaky, surrounded by brothers. he wonders if they know it, too. but they haven’t seen the other side - not like he has. they are on the losing side of the war, he wants to scream. to let the feeling in his gut shake out of him, shaking them from their naive plans. they have let him into the safe house. they do not know what this means. that he could give them away, if he wanted.  ( if he wanted, he thinks, because he’s desperately searching for control however he can get it. ) but he knows it will likely end with him shaking on the other end of a death eater’s wand, betrayal spat out of his mouth in hopes for survival. 

     "  mate, he’s talking about the muggle painter,  ”  peter offers, his voice sounding far away from him, a small smile on his lips as if he has any real confidence in his answer. he feels a bit smug at the knowledge he has over james. it’s a playful jest, but he enjoys it all the same - it’s not often he finds himself in this position with anyone.  “  got a missin’ body part, i think.  ”  he adds after a beat later, mouth full of pot pie and eyes on remus - because of course he does. never knowing when to stop will always be his ruin. “ like his toe or somethin’. ”

—

there are still moments when he almost forgets that there is a war going on. they are fleeting and so few in between, weighed down by everything they had lost but sirius finds relief in them all the same. the four of them haven’t been together in a while and he had felt the absence keenly but it didn’t really matter, not with a bond as close as theirs. it was always the same no matter how long had passed. they might have been trapped in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere but the war was the furthest thing from his mind.

he greets remus with a grin and a fist bump before taking a bite from the pot pie. he waits until he’s finished eating before he speaks, “that’s not the painter, that’s that pianist,” he corrected peter, waving a fork and sounding all too confident for someone who’s wrong. “and it wasn’t his toe, it was his ear. and he cut it off because he was too depressed or some shit. which alright, we’ve all been there, right fellas? its just an extreme form of a depression haircut or something.”

—

HE KNOWS IT SHOULDN’T BOTHER HIM AS MUCH AS IT DOES. And hearing his boys, laughing, joking, it was enough to assuage the feeling of misery in his gut. “The gruesome bits are always remembered, aren’t they?” he said, a genuine grin. “Ear and painter, but we’ve got there as a collective. Quite proud of us, really, usually that would’ve taken a few weeks.” Teasing as if nothing was wrong, watching as if from another body as he hopped off the counter and took the fork from Sirius’s hand, Remus couldn’t help but feel as if they were acting somehow.

Mouth full of food, he continued, “Also, no one is cutting off their toes or ears, or any other body parts, yea? We’ll deal with depression in another way.” A pause while he stuffed more food in his mouth, only to pass the fork back to Sirius. “And by that I mean, not dealing with it at all, really.” Another joke, another maneuver around something that might resemble reality. He hated it, but at least here, he felt like he belonged in some way. Clasping his hands together, Remus looked at James with a raised eyebrow. “Lily joining us or is it a proper boys night?”

IF YOU ASKED REMUS, HE WOULDN’T HAVE SHOWN UP AT THE BLOODY SAFE HOUSE. It seemed a moot point now, as he stood on the front step, looking right out of place in the brightly lit Irish hillside. A grey speck amongst the lush hills. Why they’d hid James and Lily here, he’d have no understanding of, but Dumbledore had always worked in mysterious ways. It seemed even after his death, he’d had a few moments of madness still planned for them. The knock on the door was quickly answered by none other than James himself; a laugh from Sirius behind him. “Oi, did you lot give me the wrong time or something?” he teased, although a sense of uneasiness settled over him. Remus knew he’d been more absent than not lately, but he’d hoped that they wouldn’t think the worst of him. 

Still, seeing them all now, Sirius and Peter standing behind James like they were waiting for a photographer to take a picture, he felt his stomach drop. That, of course, was not something he could show to any of them. No, so he kept his head down, pushing past James as if nothing was wrong, and plopped the bottle of firewhisky and the pot pie he’d brought from the Leaky down on the counter. “Risked a lot getting those for you, so you’re quite welcome.” Remus had been here already, of course, after everything that had happened. The fear he’d hoped, would bring them all back together; restring their bond, so to speak. In this moment, he felt like he was on his own island; an island he desperately wanted to jump off. He hopped up on the counter, pointing to some of the cattle paintings on the wall. 

“Nice artwork you’ve got. Is that a Picasso?” Remus was grinning, trying his best to make this feel like they were all sitting around the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. “Dumbledore might’ve been a bit batshit but he knew how to pick a safe house.”