We are brave, Your Highness

My brother in Christ we know he sleeps with his mouth slightly open

He snorts in his sleep sometimes

That even tho his belongings are falling apart the knots and stitches he puts around things are meticulously neat and tidy (controlling what he can control)

That after a full moon he’s so exhausted he can sleep all day

His voice is hoarse

He can do (or at least it’s implied) wandless magic to create flames

His first response to an attacker is to talk to it (and be real sassy with it)

He’s competent enough to get rid of said attacker

He gives away the cure to dementors but doesn’t seem to eat any himself

He smiles a whole lot, considering

He can go from asleep to perfectly alert in seconds

He’s sickly looking to the point “a good curse would finish him off”

He’s likely thin

He has his name on his suitcase but the lettering is old and worn suggesting he’s been called Professor before (likely as a joke but we can’t tell that quite yet)

He looks young despite grey hair, it’s noticeable that he’s been prematurely aged

He’ll take responsibility and check in with the driver

He’ll write to pomfrey to tell her that a student is hurt

The dominion of men has come, and men come at last to Fangorn. If they remember the old stories, they do not heed them, but perhaps they simply do not know. They cut trees to build homes. They cut to clear land. They cut for firewood. Slowly, then quicker, the forest dwindles.

Treebeard and the other Ents do not rise in wrath this time. They are too old and tired, and these are no orcs. These men have wives and children. They do not waste the wood. They sing as they build, and are grateful. There are just too many of them, and their lives are too short. They are careless, not cruel.

One night, as the axes ring, Treebeard knows the time has come. He takes a slow step, the first in a century, then another. Every step leads westward. Every Ent and Huorn who remains follows him. In the morning, the woodsmen find the forest strangely changed, but they do not understand what has happened.

Slowly, wrapped in shadow, the last march of the Ents crosses the land. Few see them, fewer take them for anything but trees in the distance. At last, they reach the sea.

They have no boats. They lift their log-like bodies on the waves. They float and swim, seeking the straight way. There is no Elf left in Middle-Earth who could guide them, but sometimes they can see a star.

Their bodies grow heavy with salt water. First one, then another, sinks beneath the waves. At last, even Treebeard goes down, out of the starlight of the world.

He wakes up on an unfamiliar shore. The few branches he had left are gone, and his gnarled skin is now smooth and pale as driftwood, but he feels much lighter. He stretches his ancient limbs, and finds them less stiff than he remembered.

A song he had not realized was not part of the wind and waves suddenly breaks up in laughter. He turns, and sees another shape, tall and lithe as sea grass.

“It took you long enough to get here, but then I shouldn’t be surprised. An oak takes longer to bear fruit than a berry-bush.” She looked into his eyes, with the green, sparkling eyes of their people, “I would have waited twice as long.”

He could not remember how long it had been since he last saw those eyes. He could not remember what she had looked like then, though he felt sure she was as changed as he. He wasn’t even sure if he remembered her name.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds h him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sisters are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i'm a hard t girly without deviation, and i have two reasons as for why.

the first is that - as i've expanded on a little here - there's no way that a child from tom riddle's background would ever have formally encountered the french language and its phonetic conventions, and there's no way this would have been remedied at hogwarts, since the school doesn't [appear to] teach modern languages.

but riddle could have taught himself [some] french from books, meaning he'd be able to read the language, but not necessarily speak - and certainly not correctly pronounce - it. that is, he wouldn't realise the "t" in "mort" should be silent, and would pronounce his new name according to english phonetics.

this is a very neat distillation of who voldemort is. someone who would seek out the linguistic knowledge which many of his pureblood peers - who would very probably have been taught french as children by their governesses - had by virtue of their births to create the french-inspired moniker he uses to demonstrate his blood-supremacist importance, but who is restrained by his childhood and his class background from getting it completely right.

poor thing...

except the second reason - which is my preferred explanation - is that the hard t pronunciation is both deliberate and correct on voldemort's part, because we aren't supposed to think of "voldemort" as a french name at all.

there seems to be a fanon tendency to assume that many of the pureblood families we meet in canon have close, recent ties to france - that is, that they have french cousins or second cousins, own property in france, and speak french fluently as a native or heritage language.

and i do understand why this is, since many of the pureblood surnames we meet in canon - malfoy and lestrange being the most obvious examples - appear at first glance to be french.

but here we have something that i suspect gets lost in translation for readers outside of britain and ireland - which is why the fanon of purebloods having recent french heritage has developed - which is that these names are not [contemporary] french.

they are anglo-norman.

this is term which stems from the linguistic development which took place after england was invaded in 1066 by william the conqueror, a nobleman from normandy in northwestern france, who overthrew the reigning king - harold godwinson - and took the throne for himself.

harold and his people were speakers of old english - a germanic language, from the same language family from which dutch would emerge - while william spoke old norman - a romance language, from the same language family from which modern french and other langues d'oïl dialects would emerge.

the crashing together of two peoples, speaking languages from different linguistic families, resulted in the strange mongrel language anglo-norman, which gave way to middle english, and then to contemporary english - and it's the direct cause of why english has such a broad vocabulary, with subtle distinctions between words with ostensibly similar meanings like "deer" and "venison", "sheep" and "mutton", "kingly" and "royal", "ghost" and "spirit", "hopelessness" and "despair", "woods" and "forest", and "thoughtful" and "pensive", where other romance languages [french included] do not.

[a point which borges made far better than i do.]

to secure his position on the throne, william elevated his fellow norman conquerors to aristocratic status alongside - and often above - the existing anglo-saxon nobility.

these parvenu families had names which persist in britain today - baskerville, beaumont, clare, courtenay, d'arcy, de vere, devereux, gascoigne, harcout, lacey, latimer, lucy, mandeville, percy, purfoy, sinclair, vincent, and so on - including among families which continue to hold aristocratic titles, and among families who are not titled but who are nonetheless rich and socially prominent.

[the common joke that the royal family are, by the standards of the aristocracy, nouveau riche upstarts is because they have a germanic name - saxe-coburg-gotha - rather than an anglo-norman one.]

and within the world of harry potter, many of the pureblood [or recently pureblood] families we meet in canon have anglo-norman names which were historically aristocratic or gentry - avery, burke, crouch, fortescue, gaunt, lestrange, montague, sayre, travers, and so on. malfoy is a name jkr invented, but it conforms to the same principles - since, it should be noted, it's a play on an existing anglo-norman noble surname, purfoy [which means "pure faith" where malfoy means "bad faith"].

so names like malfoy are intended by the text to communicate that the people holding them are from old, posh, and very probably wealthy families - but from families which are nonetheless supposed to be understood as historically and culturally british.

[although not necessarily english - burke is a name widely found in ireland, for example, due to ireland's own anglo-norman colonisation.]

and one reason why these names are understood as british is linguistic - they're not pronounced in english the way they would be in french, not because they're being pronounced wrongly, but because they're part of languages which have evolved separately over the course of a millennium.

[the best examples? beauchamp - pronounced "bee-cham" - and mainwaring - pronounced "manner-ring".]

we say "malfoy", rather than "malfoi", and "lestrange" rather than "l'étrange" for this reason. and so we would - if we want to think of it as an anglo-norman, rather than a french, word - say "voldemort" rather than "voldemore".

the canonical voldemort is, without a doubt, a sincere blood- and magic-supremacist. he genuinely believes that the malfoys and lestranges are superior to those with muggle blood [even if he doesn't consider himself to fall under that category], and that this should give them social importance and power over the muggleborn and mixed-blood underclasses.

but what he isn't is someone who is deferential to the wizarding world's established class system, which assigns social importance and power on the basis of name, financial status, and adherence to social custom - since, of course, he is directly disadvantaged by this because he's born "tom riddle" and he grew up in an orphanage, no matter the antiquity of his maternal line and the immensity of his magical talent.

blood purity and magical power is certainly a significant part of this class system. but we can draw out of the text that its significance is clearly not expressed in the way voldemort thinks it should be.

we see throughout the latter half of the canon series that voldemort loathes the death eaters - such as anglo-norman legend lucius malfoy - who pretended not to have served him post-1981. and we also know that what he particularly dislikes is the idea that these death eaters disavowed him in order to continue enjoying the comfortable lives the established class system afforded them, rather than committing to his clearly more radical vision for how power relations should work in the wizarding world by refusing to disavow him:

"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before him. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius... Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay... but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

a huge amount of voldemort's relationship with the death eaters is based in his distaste for the esteem in which they hold the established class system. but, above and beyond this, it's based in the pleasure he gains from mocking them for this esteem.

he squats in their houses, refusing to follow the social conventions expected of guests by commandeering their domestic space as he sees fit. he insults his hosts when in company. he emasculates the male head of the families he has insinuated his way into by behaving like he's the person in charge of the household. he fucks at least one of their wives. he regards their children as his to do with as he wishes. he has no interest in manners or deportment or "correct" self-presentation and behaviour.

he makes them call him - a half-blood orphan who could never hope to outrank them in the system they revere - "my lord", and bow to him, and kiss the hems of his robes, and debase themselves for his favour.

we know that - as a teenager - voldemort spent a huge amount of time researching wizarding genealogy. without a doubt, the etymology of wizarding names would have been mentioned by the books and documents he used to do this.

and so it stands to reason that - in becoming lord voldemort - tom riddle deliberately assumed a name he intended to be understood as having the same anglo-norman flavour as those of his pureblood servants. whether he knew how voldemort would be pronounced in modern french or not is irrelevant - even if the hard t comes from a poor boy's ignorance of french phonetics, it doesn't diminish the actual purpose of the name in the slightest...

because what calling himself lord voldemort signifies is his contempt for - and his mockery of - the death eaters. it takes something they're so proud of - that their names indicate antiquity and nobility; that they are conferred social importance on the basis of their names alone - and shows that he considers both of these things singularly unimpressive.

why - it croons - would someone like lucius be so proud of bearing the malfoy name that he'd lie to the wizengamot and pretend he never prostrated himself at lord voldemort's feet just so the family reputation didn't have to take a hit?

why would he bother? when lord voldemort can invent a name which alludes to exactly the same linguistic principles whenever he likes and have it afforded infinitely more respect [so much respect that people literally fear to speak it!] than any of his servants' names ever have been or ever will be.

Interviewer: What some of the coolest mementos you guys have got from sets?

David Thewlis: I’ve got a sword from kingdom of heaven, and I’ve actually got a ring, my wedding ring from Harry Potter. It’s the only thing I’ve got from Harry Potter. We weren’t allowed to keep anything, especially the wands; they were taken off us immediately. And there were two rings: there were doubles in case we lost one, so I managed to take one and keep it. And actually when I got married five years ago I had the ring copied in gold and that’s the ring (shows)

I’ve never told anyone that story, but my wife obviously knows that. But uh yeah such a nice, it’s a bit battered and grungy looking, so it’s not sort of perfect, but I kind of like that, so I had it copied in gold because it was silver 

For the relationship ask if you're still doing it: harry and remus, molly and remus, teddy and adromeda. I would love to see what do you think <3

noooo i love tonks! i had a ball writing her and think that @evesaintyves’ rendering of her is one of fandom’s greatest gifts 😭 i just find it very funny that harry thinks she should low key get a grip. and as a clumsy young woman who should myself get a grip, i say: get off her case, hjp.

ok the remus + tonks/black extended family universe... hyped for this one. delicious choices, thank you anon. (i have a few more in the inbox i'm going to take a stab at but am trying to avoid spoilery ones or ones where i risk boring you all again by repeating old talking points, so if i don't get to one pls forgive me...)

right — to business. we begin with everybody looking at remus lupin waiting for him to put his crippling self loathing aside to write (1) singular letter to his dead friend's son:

i jest (to an extent). but i do think the entirety of harry and remus' dynamic is best encapsulated in one singular scene in PoA:

“When they get near me — ” Harry stared at Lupin’s desk, his throat tight. “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry’s shoulder, but thought better of it.

thank you very much for the asks, anons!

while they are by no means my otp, i really enjoy remadora as pairing - and i think they’re fully up there among the canon couples in terms of being an amazing vehicle through which to explore all sorts of questions about life and love - which i am aware is a sufficiently controversial statement that it involves an immediate engagement with some discourse…

because remadora girlies [gender neutral] get an enormous amount of shit within the fandom, particularly from fans who consider wolfstar to be a more plausible pairing for lupin than tonks. i have seen remadora shippers called homophobes for simply enjoying the couple, justified with the bizarre idea that it disrespects remus' relationship with sirius [so... the non-canon one?] to put them together. i have seen tonks turned into a pathetic shrew who is trying to keep remus from the real love of his life by trapping him with an unwanted baby. i have seen remadora shippers get a lot of the usual stuff that people who prefer the canon-endgame couples do [that to ship a canon pair is boring, that it is indicative of a lack of talent, that it indicates an uncritical support for jkr] magnified to eleven because tonks has the temerity to be a barrier to remus’ relationship with the fandom’s favourite hot and brooding man.

obviously, this is bullshit - primarily because its unreasonable and cruel to invest so much time and energy being mean to people because of their harry potter shipping preferences [fandom should never be that deep].

but it’s also a disappointment to me personally because it means that it can be very hard to find the sort of remadora i like without looking like i’m coming to contribute to the pile-on. because where many remadora fans and i don’t see eye-to-eye is that i have absolutely no interest in thinking about them as a relationship which is actually functional. and, all too often, i find myself sifting through fics which do prefer to interpret them like this - as romantic and passionate and stable - largely, i think it’s fair to say, as a defensive move against the tide of “urgh, imagine shipping that” nonsense - even though all the evidence of canon is that they are… very much not.

i am aware of the pottermore article which smoothes the edges of lupin’s canonical reaction to tonks’ feelings for him in half-blood prince - but, while i read this as something of a retcon to make the relationship more palatable, i also don’t think that assuming that both tonks and lupin’s attraction to each other was sincere precludes them being as dysfunctional as they canonically are. i don’t go in for the common anti-remadora argument that tonks “forces” him into a relationship with her - it’s clear in half-blood prince that it’s not only her who has discussed her feelings with molly and arthur weasley, lupin is definitely flirting with her when they pick harry up in order of the phoenix, lupin is an adult man [no matter other power imbalances between him and tonks - such as the fact that she is an agent of the state which oppresses him] who possesses the capacity to refuse her advances, and - since teddy’s conception is not immaculate - he has no issue with enjoying a sexual relationship with her even if he then wants to run away from the product of that.

instead, what i like with remadora is that they reveal something which goes against the grain of the rest of the series: that love is not always enough. throughout the seven-book canon, we see time and time again the idea that love - and, crucially, love-as-noble-suffering and love-as-sacrifice - is enough to overcome any problem. entire civil service collaborating with a terrorist regime? don’t trouble yourself, love has won. your mother dying in childbirth leaving you to be neglected in a state institution? your own fault you’re not interested in love.

i understand the genre reasons for this, but i also love the way in which lupin especially exists on the margins of these genre conventions [just as he exists on the margins of wizarding society!]. i’m always struck in deathly hallows that he’s the only person who’s actually realistic about the demands of war - particularly when he tells harry that it is breathtakingly naive for him to think he can get through the fighting without having to shoot to kill - and that part of him having to be shuffled out of the way when harry tells him to return to the pregnant tonks is because, were the story focused on realism, the idea of a wanted man who is considered an unhuman by the state fleeing in order to guarantee the safety of his wife and unborn child becomes eminently reasonable and harry's defense of the nuclear family embarrassingly unradical.

and so i like the idea of lupin seeing tonks - and tonks seeing lupin - initially as just a bit of fun, as the two of them being just two chill single people who think the other is hot and interesting and want to bang because of it.

[which is something fandoms in general really struggle with as a concept. we like epic love stories - and you won't find me objecting to that! - but we're less good at thinking about casual sexual attraction or transient friendships, and how these can be transformative and meaningful without having to end up going any sort of distance.]

and i then like the idea of the relationship being forced into a profundity it doesn’t really have the juice to sustain by the sheer avalanche of grief which besets the two of them - sirius, dumbledore, mad-eye, ted - and by the pressure of the war and the fact that the order is scrambling and the hangover of remus' self-destruction in half-blood prince which makes each cling to the other as a life-raft. i like remadora as something codependent and messy and strange and sad, and i don’t think this prevents it being sincere and fun and based in mutual attraction, but instead that these positive qualities can exist in conjunction with the fact that, without the war, it would have been a summer of fucking and that was probably it.

It’s too much.

He gets a flat in London—Muggle London. Hermione and the Weasleys give him space. Kingsley ensures the wizarding world gives him privacy. Not that some aren’t reluctant. Rita Skeeter releases articles every day, wondering when their Boy Who Lived will return.

But Harry doesn’t see those articles.

He tries to forget who he is for awhile.

His flat is cozy. He stuffs it with plants and paintings and books. He has a cat (or three). He wears sweaters and blazers with corduroy pants. He goes to the market every morning to buy fruits and vegetables. That’s where he meets the kindly old woman who lives down the street.

She lived through World War II and so many other wars, wars that Harry has never experienced but can only imagine.

She goes to his house and she goes to hers. There’s always tea and small cakes and dinners and cocoa—apparently she believes that a teenager needs cocoa—and baking and reading and knitting.

Harry uses magic to brew the cocoa one day, not realizing that she’s standing in the doorway. She calms him by telling him that she knows all about magic. 

Their conversations shift after that. They talk about their favorite creatures and how hard it was to watch them perish before their eyes. They talk about the wall that seemingly gave way to let them enter the magical world. They talk about lions and friends and family and love and betrayals and life and death.

“When did you leave?” Harry asks one day.

She pauses, a hand resting on his cat’s head. After a moment, she looks up with a heaviness in her eyes, a heaviness that Harry sees when he looks in the mirror everyday. 

“I was young,” she says. “Younger than you are now. But I had already grown up. I didn’t want to leave, not really, but it became too much.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Some days I do, some days I don’t.” 

“Yeah…”

It’s a few months later, when he’s helping her shovel the first snow from her walkway, that he asks, “Did you ever try going back?”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t,” she says, shoving a cup of cocoa into his hands. “I was shut out as soon as I hesitated.”

He pauses, nearly dropping the cocoa, before whispering, “That’s horrible.”

“What about you?” She escorts him inside, her cane tapping against the floor that he’s magically heated to warm her feet. “Would you be welcomed back?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says. “Til they turn on me because they don’t like the color of my shirt or because I sneezed the wrong way or because—you name it.”

She laughs and he smiles.

“Imagine that,” she softly says. “Rulers of our worlds and we’re not even allowed in them.”

“Imagine that.”