#<2500

      Septimus tenses. Mum and Dad almost never keep things from him, especially now that he's older and nearly done with school. He knows that Dad's often struggled to buy gifts for his many siblings (although, truthfully, Septimus figured that out on his own ages ago) and that sometimes helping the previous, fruitful generation has led to a strain on their own family's finances. He knows Mum's accessory-making hobby has turned into a side business that's eased that strain sometimes (and he's seen her work in Malkin's window displays—Septimus would offer his compliments if only Mum weren't so proud so as not to be embarrassed by the circumstances).

      So…if it's one of the few things they feel they can't tell him yet…or if they're prepping how to tell him…

      His stomach stops its rumbling and his parched throat is no longer a priority as new concerns replace his priorities. Septimus can't help but fear as he pushes the dining room door open and blurts, "What are you two doing up? Is someone hurt? Is someone—gone?"

      Mum and Dad jump in their seats nearest the door. Mum pales, white as a ghost, while Dad slaps a hand over his heart and settles his son with a wide-eyed stare. "Merlin's beard—! Don't scare us like that, Septimus!"

      "I'm sorry, but—is someone." He stops there. He can't ask again. He doesn't want to think of his cousins, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents—

      But Mum shakes her head vigorously and turns in her chair, reaching for Septimus' hand. "No! No, dear, no one's dead. No funeral planning. Everyone's in good health, I assure you."

      He lets himself be tugged forward, though he swipes at his eyes with his free hand as relief surges through him. "O-Oh. That. That's good then… But why are you awake?"

      With their hands connected, Septimus isn't fooled by Mum's excellent poker face (that's how she wins at Exploding Snap and all other card games), because her fingers go rigid around his hand. In response, she looks to her husband to explain.

      And that's when Septimus notices the ocean of parchment on the dining table. Scattered around and some cheaper than others, there's letter after letter, more than a dozen opened envelopes. He doesn't read the words, but he recognizes the handwriting right away, because he receives birthday cards every year from these people…from his loved ones. "Are these new?"

      "Relatively recent, yes," Dad answers.

      "Why's everyone writing us all at once?" Sure, no one's dead or dying, but perhaps the family of one of his uncles is in far worse shape than they thought.

      "Because…Septimus, it's past time, actually." Dad sighs and pinches the freckled bridge of his nose. "And…they didn't write to all three of us. Just to your mum and me. About you."

      His nerves wind up again, taut, at the revelation. "Huh?"

      Dad sighs again and Mum's shoulders sag, but they give him twin smiles of sympathy as she pulls their son between them and rubs soothing circles in the small of his back. "You've got two years of school left, yes, but it's also a good time to think about your future."

      "You mean—work?" Septimus ignores the uncomfortable way his pajama shirt keeps bunching where Mum rubs; the motion is more comforting to her than to him, anyway. "Reckon I'd follow in your footsteps…"

      Dad's smile is tight, but he shakes his head. His hair, once as red as his son's, is considerably lighter this past year, flecked with threads of gray and even sparse white; it's more noticeable by candlelight tonight. "No, Septimus. Not work, son."

      If not work, then—? Septimus freezes and snatches up the topmost letter, from Uncle Fen, Dad's eldest brother, and the words "arranged marriage" jump off the parchment at him. He doesn't even have to grab the other correspondences for the phrase to highlight itself, drawing Septimus' eye with a quick skim.

      "Nothing's set in stone," Mum rushes. "It's just talk. Ultimately we want you to be happy, Septimus."

      "Then why is anyone discussing an arranged marriage for me? I'm freshly sixteen!"

      Dad and Mum share a soft chuckle as well as a glance, and something passes between them in that fond moment.

      …oh. Septimus knows his parents love each other, a lot, and he's walked past their photos in the hall countless times. But he's never truly asked them how they met or when or why they got married, has he?

      So…perhaps he's the odd one out, being unsure of this arranged marriage business.

      Either way, Septimus knows how he feels about the topic and clears his throat. He backs away from Mum's ministrations, too, because he's not a child anymore. "What else?" he asks.

      His parents return from La-La Land, and Dad's usually happy-go-lucky countenance is nowhere to be seen. In fact, his blue eyes (the same ones Septimus has) drop to the spread of letters. "…there's discussion about making you a pureblood match."

      Keeping the Weasley family pureblood in the process.

      Septimus mulls over the thought, but it bothers him, the notion that anyone in his family thinks that's a worthy priority. The fact sinks into the pit of his stomach, where it sours and makes the back of his throat burn.

      …realistically speaking, though, he muses if the adults have thought this through. His father's generation was an abundant one and still all made pureblood matches, five brothers in total. Uncle Fen and his wife never had children, so Septimus is the eldest cousin, but…

      Unless their family stops only appreciating Muggles and Muggle-borns and starts marrying them, too, then won't they be right quick out of options? Especially when particular families have hated them for generations…

      As if sensing his train of thought, his parents sigh, and Dad shuffles the letters before tidying them into a neat pile to set aside. "Look, it's just a thought. There's—There's a Blishwick daughter, I think… Your Aunt Pea mentioned her cousin has a daughter, too, so that's the Max line. Or, with the right gift, I'm sure we could talk to the Bulstrodes or to the Macmillans—"

      "No, don't."

      His parents stop and focus their attention on him. If they were half awake while wading through this mess, they're fully awake now.

      But now… Now Septimus has his chance. He can voice every last thought he has on this bloody idea and put it to bed and then they can all return to bed, which sounds quite lovely at two in the morning.

      He licks his lips and swallows a nervous lump. They wait.

      "I…don't know any of those witches."

      They're his parents. They know to wait for the rest.

      "…and…I have someone I like."

      Their eyes widen. Dad's "Why didn't you say so sooner?" overlaps with Mum's "Oh, Septimus, that's lovely, darling!"

      He lets them coo and pepper him with basic questions, and he answers as many as he can while being as vague as possible. It's partly a stroll down Memory Lane for him ("When did you two start talking?" "Politely? First time…third year…properly, fourth." "Same House?" "No, different." "Does she like Wizard's Chess?" "Afraid not much, Dad, but I suspect that's because I keep winning every time I try to teach her." "That's no good, son, let a lady win once in a while." "We're allowed to have our own talents, Mum; she's an ace flyer, and I imagine she'd be great at Quidditch if her family would let her play." "Oh, a Quidditch enthusiast? She sounds like fun, Septimus! Why haven't we heard about her before?"). It's partly an exercise in keeping his privacy as well as hers…not just because she's asked him before, but especially now, with all this arranged marriage nonsense and wondering what the status of the Weasley line will look like in a generation or two…

      That's when it hits him.

      Septimus…doesn't want to stick a pin in his parents' and uncles' and aunts' meddling merely out of principle. He—He's thinking about his future, himself.

      And with her—Cedrella—in it.

      He blinks and shakes himself free of his stupor, amazed by this newfound clarity. He has half a mind to owl Cedrella right now…but, no, that would be unwise at this late hour.

      "…imus? Septimus?"

      "Mm?"

      Mum chuckles and reaches up, combing her fingers through his bedhead. "Do we even get to know her name, dear?"

      He reddens, which makes them laugh since red cheeks forever spotlight a Weasley's freckles, but Septimus sighs. "I…will tell you her name and more about her come Christmas break. Deal?"

      "We don't even get a hint?"

      Septimus turns on his heel, exhausted by the turn of events, but he pauses before returning to his room and muses on the irony of things. If how fondly, how deeply he's come to care for the kindhearted Cedrella, of the Weasley-despising Black family, is any portend of what sixth year, seventh year, and after Hogwarts will be like, then things look promising. So he replies with wry smile, "She's someone who ticks my—and the family's—boxes. Goodnight, you two."

      And there he leaves his parents pondering who their prospective future daughter-in-law could be.

Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #985: irony) in the HPFC forum on FFN. I've got a few old Weasley fam hcs and more are cropping up, thx to inspo from my pal, controlled climb (and srsly go read her Septdrellas bc they're SO GOOD TT-TT), and thx to working on developing some hcs for the Prewett fam at the same time. I realize, in hindsight, this one was more Septimus-centric with just mentions of Cedrella at the end, but that means some ideas not crammed in here turned into another fic, *LOL*. But for reals: If the Weasleys have been large, poor, but pureblood for generations…that's like…gonna be rly hard to manage? *dubiously eyes canon* Anywho. I still have more thoughts on this, hence a separate fic, which will show Septdrella front and center. :3c Also, truly ironic that some in the family would want to continue being pureblood, and Septimus thinks it's a non-issue…but marries a pureblood witch anyway. XD So! Here's to more hcs~ (And hence my marking this a Maydayverse fic, since it's part of my overall hc. :3)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

                Pronounced "HAH-ree-poe-iz-mm," this religion is centered on the universe and ideas tied to the Harry Potter book series by J.K. Rowling. A vast range of denominations caters to nearly every and any Harry Potter ("HariPo," for short—like Haribo gummy bears) fan, though several things tie all HariPoists together.

                In HariPoism, believers follow a doctrine centered on love. For believers, "love is all and we must yield to it, even in the darkest of times…even in the darkest of thoughts." It is practically their single commandment, for it is the driving force of HariPoism. This is not to say that all HariPoists are peaceniks or pacifists, but HariPoism promotes love in all of its forms. For HariPoists, love is absolute—no question about it, and followers live their lives with the purpose of promoting love everywhere.

                Love itself is worshipped in the unique forms of four gods. These gods were the founders of the four Houses of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and each specifies a different aspect of love. Godric Gryffindor is worshipped for love through bravery and strong will. Rowena Ravenclaw is worshipped for love through facts, knowledge, and the analysis of the real and make-believe sought together; she is certainly for the philosophical at heart. Helga Hufflepuff is worshipped for love through hard work, motivation, and loyalty, whereas Salazar Slytherin is worshipped for love through clever, shrewd means and one's own determination. No one god is supported above the rest collectively, though many HariPoists tend to favor one more than the others on an individual basis.

                HariPoism is unlike any other religion, though its followers can be found—as with many other religions—all over the globe. There is a concentration of HariPoists in the United Kingdom, where the books began, and in the United States, where the books' popularity flourished, but HariPoists are constantly on the move and continue to crop up in even the most obscure of places, such as Guam, Isle of Man, Bahrain, Tunisia, Malaysia, and Singapore. HariPoism touches nearly every continent of the globe!

                As mentioned above, there are large numbers of HariPoists in the United Kingdom, where the books were written. It was here that HariPoism was born, albeit quietly, yet it would go on to encompass millions and millions of fans and followers worldwide. Since June 30th in 1997, HariPoism has gripped the world and never let go, with over 734 million practitioners to date.

                Other typical parts of a religion are hard to address with HariPoism because it covers so many different denominations. There is no one ritual shared by the denominations, nor is there any kind of hierarchy set across the board. Also, symbols and ideas of the afterlife, too, depend on the denomination. Those that do believe in an afterlife either choose the afterlife Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks met—that is, an afterlife via deadly force—or the afterlife seen through the mysterious contraption known simply as the veil. No capital letter, no emphasis, the veil is the portal through which Sirius Black, Harry Potter's godfather, fell after being hit by a non-lethal spell, and HariPoists learned later on in the series that any physical interaction with the veil comes down to an instant death.

                Now, when it comes to denominations, no denomination is as great as that of the Quafflers, named for the red ball in the Wizarding sport of Quidditch. The Quafflers form the largest of the denominations for Quafflers are those who adhere to two or more of the other sects of HariPoism. Many people take a liking to more than one of the branches of HariPoism, and are thusly categorized into this denomination. Quafflers themselves follow the ideals and guidelines of their favored sects, so long as nothing is in conflict.

                As for the other sects, one might group several together for being tied to the real world. JKRners praise J.K. Rowling for the world she created; these people are known to adapt J.K. Rowling's habits in hopes of seeing the themes of her series—love and death—as she does. HPMies obey what are called "canon laws;" this means that they stick to the words of the movies as portrayed on the silver screen. (It should be noted that HPactoria is an offshoot of the HPMies, a split for followers who specifically worship the actors, like Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson.)

                Cauldron Dwellers are HariPoists addicted to the Leaky Cauldron forum. An online site for all HariPo fans, the Leaky Cauldron, also known as Leaky, TLC, and Leaky News, is one of the oldest Harry Potter fan sites, having originated in 2000, only a few years after the series' start. Cauldron Dwellers often raise money for charities to go towards literacy, and more than the site's fifty thousand members participate in their fundraisers.

                O.G.H. stands for "Our Good Headmaster," the HariPoism branch which remarks on the wise words of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Despite unrest over what was revealed in the end to be Professor Dumbledore's deceitfulness in organizing Harry to fight his foe, Lord Voldemort, practitioners still forge on, some even going so far as to dub themselves members of Dumbledore's Army (D.A.). The D.A. believes in an afterlife, such as the one Professor Dumbledore encountered at the end of his days.

                AVPMism and AVPSism are so closely related that some consider them one denomination, not sister sects. AVPM and AVPS stand for A Very Potter Musical and A Very Potter Sequel, respectively, the two plays which lampooned the book series to the delight of fans and non-fans alike. For followers of AVPMism and AVPSism, things such as the Zefron poster are important symbols, and not a day may pass without some reference to the plays—like "Rumbleroar" or "Supermegafoxyawesomehot"—being made.

                Flierism pertains to worship of the open skies and all the means—mainly magical—used to traverse them. There are two main worshippers of Flierism: Quodpotters, found in the U.S.A. and in Canada, and Quidditchonists, found outside North America. Flierists preach no afterlife, are led by the organizers of the Quidditch World Cup, and are expected to have one match per week on Sundays.

                Collectioners are for the more materialistic of HariPoists. Their focus is to collect every scrap of HariPo merchandise. Typically these HariPoists die penniless, and therefore boast no afterlife since all many of them would think of would be their debts…and collection.

                Potterpufferians are those who delight in the humor of the series. Every Potterpufferian must learn how to make Potterpuffs on the computer, and Potterpuffs made without wit or sentimentality are subject to ridicule and punishment. Potterpufferians do not have to watch the original Powerpuff Girls cartoon on which their art style is based, but they must learn from it to better their Potterpuff-drawing skills.

                Similarily, Potterpallasians delight in the humor of the series, as well, but they show it in a different manner. Potterpallasians must make puppets and animations to play on the series' humor and puns, as best demonstrated in the original Harry Potter Puppet Pals videos. Any prospective Potterpallasian also must watch the Harry Potter Puppet Pals video "Snape and the Mysterious Ticking Noise," found on Youtube; admission to the denomination is dependent on having watched this well-known short.

                Fanartastians are generally the most artistic of HariPoists. With skills ranging from portraiture to caricatures, Fanartastians provide visuals to go along with the written word. Fanart is an essential tool to convey what sometimes prose cannot. Fanartastians do not believe in any afterlife, but they do express the HariPoism commandment in their artwork.

                Linked to the Fanartastians are the Fanfictioneers. These followers write what is known as fanfiction and tend to believe the story's not quite yet over…and likely never will be. As long as they give credit for the Harry Potter universe to J.K. Rowling, Fanfictioneers may write anything they may dream using the HariPo cast. Further sects of Fanfictioneering include Canoniases, those who obey only what happened in the books and write solely based on that; Erring Erumpets, those who have a slightly altered look on the canon storyline (such as placing Luna Lovegood with Neville Longbottom, though Rowling revealed that they in truth did not end up together); and Deathly Hallowers, those who explore the realm of impossibility made possible (this includes putting any characters together and basically writing whatever comes to mind, as drab or questionable as it may seem).

                Some consider the Freeversians as followers coming from Fanfictioneering, but Freeversia is its own denomination. Freeversians love and understand the form of poetry best suited to HariPo: freeverse (also known as "free verse" and "fv"/"FV"). Freeversians are required to write at least thirty FVs a year—no less.

                Lastly we come to the third largest branch of HariPoism (the first being the Quafflers and the second being the Fanfictioneers): Wrockology—with a "W." "Wrock" stands for "wizard rock," the music about the series. Wrockology is for all music lovers, where the best songs of praise come to light, and it is for the fans, to the fans, by the fans. Wrockology itself began in Massachusetts in 2006 with the debut of the band Harry and the Potters and has spiraled nearly out of control in six short years. In fact, there are more sects of Wrockology than there are of HariPoism even! Some major followers of Wrockology include Harry&thePottersians, who worship where Wrock started and are found mainly in Massachusetts; Draco&theMalfoyans, who worship the darker and more disastrous side of things; M.O.M.ers, who follow the band Ministry of Magic and their '80s, dance, techno, and pop coverage of most of the canon events in the series; Godricans, who follow the band Hollow Godric, which is an understated yet dulcet tone; OliverBoydemians, who worship the end and the rebirth that comes with it; and many more groups who follow bands such as The Remus Lupins, The Moaning Myrtles, The Hermione Crookshanks Experience, The Butterbeer Experience, Roonil Wazlib, The Whomping Willows, Gred and Forge, The Parselmouths, Into the Pensieve, Catchlove, Tonks and the Aurors, Neville's Diary, Riddle TM, and many more.

                There truly is a religion for any HariPo fan. Even if one does not find acceptance in one place, he or she is bound to find acceptance elsewhere. HariPoism stands by such universality, especially since no HariPoist is forced to read the entire series. Even a fan who read one book can find a denomination suitable for him- or herself. As long as he or she promotes love in one form or another in how he or she worships, he or she will be a true HariPoist. HariPoists are united by that love—and they love to show it.

On a final note, I would like to reiterate that Harry Potter and related indicia are the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros, and no harm is intended. Also, real-life people/organizations that are mentioned have no ties to me or this fic-essay, though I do admire the actors, the Wrockers, Starkid productions, TLC, and my fellow artists and writers for all they contribute to the fandom! And thank you very much for reading—please, leave a review if you love HariPo! Don't just favorite!

So, if HariPoism existed…what would you be, reader? :}

-mew-tsubaki -w-

Addendum: A few more HariPoism denominations that didn't make the cut for my original essay (simply because they didn't exist in May 2011 when I passed it in, or they missed my attention in the first place, sorry)—

Pottermoreans: Those HariPoists who have joined Pottermore, the website dedicated to giving fans information and fun beyond the series. If you are a Pottermorean, you must treat your House like your family—because you're really at Hogwarts now.

myHogwartians: Those HariPoists who have joined the fan-created and -run site myHogwarts, in order to make Hogwarts more real through social-networking. Since it acts as a kind of companion to Pottermore, myHogwartians are often Pottermoreans, as well.

S.I.Y.E.ers: Within Fanfictioneering and Canoniase, S.I.Y.E.ers are the most devoted to the canon of the books, and they do not mess around with how things originally went, at all. S.I.Y.E.ers are dedicated to their beloved site, Sink Into Your Eyes.

Witches & Wizards of the Wizarding world: These HariPoists practically live in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter theme park in Florida. Once a week, every Witch and Wizard must ride at least seven of the park's rides, to symbolize the seven Horcruxes so crucial to the series. Also, the butterbeer served there is their holy drink.

Okay, now I'm done, haha! XD But siriusly—what kind of a HariPoist are you?

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

      "What's the occasion?" Arthur asked, and, before he could have an answer, Harry entered with five-year-old Teddy in his arms. "Ah, Harry, Teddy. Good to see you two boys."

      "Hi, Grampa Weasley!" Teddy exclaimed.

      "Now, Teddy," Ginny began, "he's not your grandpa. Call him 'Uncle Arthur' or something."

      When Teddy pouted, Harry gave her a look, and Molly waved it off. "Don't worry about it, Ginny. We see enough of this child to call him one of our own. You're a Weasley like Victoire, aren't you, Teddy?" the matriarch said as she scooped Teddy up from Harry.

      "Yes, I am!" he said, and he shifted his turquoise hair to match the shade of Molly's tresses. He even started to show freckles…but, when his skin started to turn brown instead, he grunted and stuck to having red hair.

      "His powers are something else," Molly commented to Harry.

      "Tell me about it. It's not always fun taking the tyke into Muggle Britain." He ruffled Teddy's hair affectionately, though.

      "I repeat, what's the occasion?" Arthur asked as Ginny hugged her father.

      "Oh, well, I was wondering if you'd had lunch yet…," Ginny stated, a bit sheepish.

      "An hour ago, Ginny," her father remarked, and he laughed. "You should've told us you were coming."

      "It's no trouble to make something, Arthur," Molly said, and she put Teddy on his feet. "In fact—Teddy, would you like to help me?"

      "Yes, Grandmam Weasley!"

      Molly smiled at his words, and she busied herself as Ginny and Harry took their seats at the kitchen table.

      "So we were thinking that the house is too quiet," their daughter said of her home with Harry. Following the war, Harry had cleaned up and seized ownership of his parents' house in Godric's Hollow and moved into it. Ginny had moved in with him more than two years ago, and they had nearly skipped over their engagement and gone straight to the wedding, almost too busy to set a date because of Harry's heading the Auror Office and Ginny's playing Quidditch—not to mention they oftentimes took Teddy off Andromeda's hands.

      "That house, too quiet?" Molly asked with a snort. "Teddy is just another little Marauder, isn't he?"

      "Grandmam, what's a 'muhrawder'?" Teddy asked as he held a pan for her.

      "Your daddy was a Marauder, dear, along with your great-uncles James and Sirius." Molly looked over her shoulder at them. "You were saying?"

      "I think we should get a pet," Harry said. He leaned on the table. "It's been years since…Hedwig… And I think it'd be nice for us—plus, it would help to start teaching Teddy responsibility." Harry cupped his cheek in his palm. "I do miss Hedwig…"

      "So you want an owl?" Arthur prompted, his Prophet long forgotten.

      Harry shook his head. "No, that's bit much. I was eleven when I got Hedwig, anyway. But I was thinking a cat or a dog."

      "No dogs—too much maintenance," Ginny said.

      "All right, so I was thinking a cat," Harry amended after her interruption. He looked at Arthur and Molly. "Which I think should be fine. I mean, my mum and dad had one when I was little. Mum even said to Sirius in a letter that I got along with it and it got along with me."

      "And, when Harry mentioned that to me, it reminded me of something," Ginny commented. "Didn't we, when I was really little, have a cat or something?"

      Arthur looked to Molly, whose hands had stopped, rested on the counter. He answered for his wife. "Yes, yes, we did, Ginny… Her name was Basil."

      "Ah, I knew I remembered her! She was this light brown color…," Ginny began explaining to Harry.

      "She was cinnamon-colored with bright green eyes," Molly corrected, and she willed her hands to move a pan of melted butter so that the contents didn't burn.

      The others were quiet, and the sizzling sound of butter filled the silence. Eventually Teddy began humming, and Molly found her voice again.

      "She was a sweet thing, and she had belonged to Gideon," she announced to the empty quiet. Arthur knew all that she was about to say and all that she was thinking and recalling, but she had a feeling that Ginny and Harry were a bit surprised. "He asked us to take care of her before he and Fabian went on…their final mission." She cracked a smile, her eyes dry, as she caught her reflection in the glass of the window above the kitchen sink. Funny how, in the light, she thought her reflection looked decades younger.

      "We had her until I was six," Ginny said quietly to her love. "It was kind of sudden when she went…"

      Molly said nothing, though she agreed with her daughter. However, Basil… Honestly, she'd probably just been unable to carry on any longer without her adoptive fathers. That was right—fathers. And Molly couldn't forget learning about Basil.

      "Isn't she great? She's so cuddly," Gideon had said back when they were barely adults. "Regulus got her for me, for my birthday."

      Molly had peered into the living room, smiling at how sheepish Regulus Black had looked at the mention of his name in such an affectionate way.

      "Her name's Basil, and she's all mine," Gideon had said with a laugh. He'd really loved the kitten, and it was another thing that Molly had been glad to see. Up until Gideon had formed a friendship and subsequent relationship with Regulus during his and Fabian's seventh year, Molly had wondered if Gideon spending too much time with Fabian had suffocated the twin a bit. But Regulus had done a lot to shape the Gideon that Molly now saw. Gideon had a flat, a kitten, a love—and they were all his.

      Molly had scratched the kitten's ear once Basil had hopped onto the counter. "Oh, my! She's awfully friendly, Gid…"

      Gideon had pulled a face. "Oh, bloody…! Regulus, see what you did! Basil just won't stay off the counter now…!" Gideon had given his sister an apologetic look. "He's always feeding her on the counter in the mornings, even though he knows it drives me nutters…"

      Molly had tittered lightly, and she had peeked into the living room again. Though Regulus hadn't joined them in the kitchen during Molly's visit, he at least had felt relaxed enough to laugh at Gideon's bickering. And all Molly could think was that Regulus had been good for Gideon, and Gideon had been good for Regulus, too.

      Bill and Charlie had loved Basil, as well, when they had visited with their Uncle Gid. But Molly had never thought of Basil being separated from Gideon until he and Fabian had turned up three years later at the Burrow's doorstep, Fabian looking guilty and Gideon looking quite upset.

      "Please, you've got to take her," Gideon had said. "We have to go away, and I don't want her to be alone. Despite what Fabian says, she can't fend for herself," he had added with a sharp look to his twin.

      "I didn't mean to say—" Fabian had tried.

      "No, no, it's fine," Molly had said, and Arthur had joined them at the door and taken Basil from Gideon. "Just be safe, Fab, Gid."

      "We will be," Gideon had said, and they'd grinned like mirrors before kissing either of their older sister's cheeks and departing.

      Of course, Molly had not seen them after that.

      Basil at first had seemed merely unaccustomed to her new surroundings. It had taken some effort to train her, but the children had been willing to help out with her as long as they could keep her. "Uncle Gid and Uncle Reg wouldn't want her coat to go unbrushed," Bill and Charlie had said on occasion. And they had taken very good care of her, even as the memory of "Uncle Reg" began to slip from their minds despite their having the most interaction with Regulus when he'd been with Gideon.

      But Molly knew, as the years had passed, that Basil was happy with them but not content.

      Often Basil had sat by the window in the living room, staring outside. Molly had initially thought that Basil had been watching insects flitting about or birds flying by, but she had later begun to realize that Basil had been waiting for Gideon and Regulus to come get her. Or maybe Basil had been looking for either one of them—as long as one came.

      Once, Molly had found Basil curled up on the couch with the chain of a locket in her mouth. The witch had worried that the cat would hurt herself, but Basil had been asleep, just cuddling the item. Molly had thought it odd that the cat would do such a thing, but then she'd seen that Basil had managed to get it open. It was Molly's locket that held a photo of each of her twin brothers.

      Molly's cause for concern, though, came the year that Basil disappeared. Molly had heard that cats often hid when they parted so that they retained their dignity, but Basil had acted strange right up until she'd left.

      Basil had taken to making off with Molly's locket enough times that Molly had given in and attached the locket to Basil's collar. That had made Basil happy for a while. But then she would go out and not return for hours; when she did return, she would carry a cigarette butt in her mouth.

      Their first reaction was to freak and hope she wasn't eating them. But Arthur and Molly both had kept an eye on her, and they had never seen her eat them. They had made sure their children understood not to touch Basil's catch, but, after taking the cigarette butts away hundreds of times, they had given up and written it off as a peculiarity of Basil's.

      Then one day she went out and didn't come back. Just as Gideon and Fabian had.

      Molly and Arthur had had one hell of a time consoling their children about the cat, but Molly had felt rather lost herself. Basil had been the last part of Gideon she still had…a memory of happiness that could come from what were supposed to be warring sides, because she had heard—a long time ago—that Regulus had been one of those hooded wizards…

      But the memory Molly had in mind would always be of her in the kitchen with Gideon, Basil on the counter, Gideon bickering about Regulus' bad cat habits, and Regulus laughing as though nothing could've broken their little family. Even though something had.

      Coming out of her reverie, Molly sniffled and sniffed—and realized she had burned the butter. She pursed her lips and remedied her mess, and Teddy tugged on her apron and hugged her leg without saying anything.

      "Mum?" Ginny asked, concerned.

      "I think a cat sounds lovely, dear. Just lovely." Stuffing one hand in her skirt pocket, Molly thumbed a closed locket on an old chain…and it just felt out of place when not on Basil's collar.

I can't believe… -.- Yeah. Heavy. But I wanted to do something for Basil… :'S *we miss you, Basil*

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2017 note: Honestly, 5yrs later, I can't recall if Mor gave Regideon Basil just bc in "we will be the last ones standing" or if it originally was her intention that Basil would become the Weasley family cat—at least, it inspired me to write Basil as such. Anyway, I deeply love this story, and I think it's interesting to write your ships thru the eyes of other characters, bittersweet tho it may be.

     It isn't bad enough that you've seen this once, but now it's twice, and, really, it's just starting to become an itch on your back that not even a good clawing can scratch. Every time her demeanor changes, every time her face lights up, you just wish it would sink to the bottom of the Black Lake, where nary a glimmer shines through the murky depths.

     "Dominique?" she asks as your second-eldest sister walks into the house, and it's as though Fleur never had a son.

     You don't leave the room but sit in the corner quietly with your book, reading a page but not absorbing the words, so you never get the chance to flip the paper over. You hear noises, but they don't register as words because what's the use? Fleur and Dominique have no use for you. They're too caught up in themselves and in each other.

     When finally you read the same page for the fifth (or was it seventh?) time in a row, you swallow the lump in your throat and excuse yourself to deaf ears before retiring to your room. Yeah, every time's like this, and all the next ones will be the same.

     Even in the peace and quiet of your room, your thoughts taunt you and keep your mind from shutting up long enough to sleep. Tossing and turning have never helped, and you know this, too; just as you know what to expect when one of them comes home, you know that you'll forever be feeling and unfeeling, and, oh, how like a soulless figurine you are.

     Bill, your father, loves his family very much…but he's so caught up in Gringotts and Curse-Breaking again now that all his children are nearly grown. Besides, he leaves all the hatred and reconciliation to Fleur.

     So you're back to her, back to wondering why the hell your parents even bothered having a third child when it's obvious they treasure the first two so much. It doesn't matter what Victoire or Dominique do—apparently they'll always be infallible.

     What seems like a long time ago really wasn't. Sure, more than seven years have passed, but years don't mean much…especially to Fleur. No, of course it doesn't matter that Victoire had an affair with her Herbology teacher. Of course it doesn't matter that Victoire graduated Hogwarts and unabashedly received congratulatory kisses from her family and from Professor Longbottom. Of course it doesn't matter that Neville married her and is now both your teacher and brother-in-law. Of course it doesn't matter that Victoire had a baby with her former teacher.

     No, there's no such thing as a screw-up in your family anymore, is there? Because your mother realized that's as good as it gets, and that's what she's got. So now Victoire's back in her good graces.

     Victoire can do no wrong, and it's all honky-dory from there. Delightful.

     It wasn't too long before Dominique grew up, either. And what better for your family than for Dominique to be the hurricane after Victoire's earthquake?

     Once upon a time, the princess admired the princess, and everything was glitter and sugar and big, kitten eyes.

     And you sat to the side, a jester made of glass—too fragile to move, so no use for entertainment.

     Good thing, too, because when Dominique was left behind as the only princess, she used it to her full advantage. She took, took, took, and never, ever thanked. Gratitude? What was that? You're sure that even to this day Dominique hasn't ever said "thank you."

     But she took and she stormed and she blew through like the perfect storm—harsh enough to leave you and your parents hurting and hating, and strong enough to make all of you wonder what went wrong…and what the word "love" was.

     And yet Fleur appears to have forgiven all. Because Dominique moved out, and she struggled on her own, and she's barely surviving on her own, but now she feels the need to call on your mother's sympathies—and worse yet, her ear.

     Dominique can do no wrong, either, and it's almost as though Fleur has the happy little family she'd oh-so desired once upon a lifetime. Wonderful.

     So when the morning comes and the bags don't leave your eyes, you choke on a sigh because you have no use for it. What's your job here on this earth anyway? You can do so much, and yet you can do nothing at all.

     You, too, were Sorted into Ravenclaw. You had more book smarts and common sense than Victoire and Dominique put together, and you've had the top grades all your years, and you know this last year of school you'll still be on top because you're never wrong and you've never had a wrong answer to any question ever asked of you.

     You head downstairs and find Dominique's not there. Instead your mother is sitting at the kitchen counter with her tea and the Prophet, minding her own business. You say nothing and move to grab something edible; you pause only to wonder if she has realized yet you are still in the same clothes you were wearing last night when your older sister breezed in. But you don't let it get to you. Why should it? This is what you've come to expect all your seventeen years.

     She turns the page, and you glance halfheartedly around the kitchen, a desolate place whose barrenness is heightened superbly by the otherworldly cleanliness that only Fleur Delacour (oh, yeah, Weasley) commands and demands. You finally give in to a moment of laziness (since when did being the perfect child not allow for breaks?) and grab a glass of water. Just as you go to exit the kitchen, simultaneously happy and saddened by the lack of interaction, she turns to you, and you see the remnants of her starry-eyed phase on her face.

     "Louis, 'ow are you? You went to bed so eairely last night…" She frowns and the thought strikes you that, hey, if she does that, she'll wrinkle, and morbidly you smile on the inside. She continues to stare at you with blue eyes that don't match your brown ones (ooh, another failure for the perfect child).

     You mumble something barely coherent and sip your water, hoping that's the end of the conversation. Because, after a sleepless night of thinking, Merlin knows what'll come out of your mouth if topics veer in the wrong direction…

     "Your sistair was so sad zat you did not see 'er last night…" Fleur pauses. "Louis, I love all my children. But I get ze feeling zat you are somewhat…detached."

     Oh, so she hits the nail on the head in one. Applause, Mother, applause, because this is just what you need. The words begin to well within you as she reaches for you, but her eyes flicker to an old family photo of all five of you. A smirk cruelly turns up the ends of your lips.

     "Louis… My Louis…"

     You stare at her, a hard look on your face, your jaw set (or is it clenched?). Only she would dare to keep your sisters in mind while she tries to "rectify" what's gone wrong with you. But that's just it. Something went wrong with you a long time ago…

     "My Louis…"

     You put your glass down and sneer. "I'm not 'your Louis.' I'm not even a Weasley, or a Delacour. Simply—I'm not enough."

     And, as you walk away, you can feel her eyes penetrating your back (and perhaps your heart), and that feeling–unfeeling part of you rises up to the surface. Because you can't be proven wrong, and it's the one thing you wish you could trade for anything in the whole, wide world.

X0 Ouch… I wanna hug Lou now, I think… :s The title is basically a mockery of things—they live in a magical world, and yet what ought to be simple family dynamics are probably the most impossible things to change. :( Another one done on my phone…just five pages this time, though. ;)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

     It's not a note of sadness or depression. Lucy Weasley has always seen it as a box, from the day when her little collection started.

     She would call them trinkets, because not one is alike. Though they're mainly small, not one has ceased to delight her. Well, "delight" may not be the best word choice, but Lucy's never felt the need to explain her…hobby before.

     When she and Molly were little, their parents took them to a Muggle carnival, at the insistence of their mother, Audrey. The electrical contraptions were fun and all, but the little booths caught Lucy's eye. Easy games and not-so-easy games, each bursting to the seams with prizes waiting to be won.

     One booth had the prettiest little handcrafted boxes—"pillboxes, or the like," Audrey had said—but that ended up being the only thing Lucy wanted. Out of the whole trip, Lucy just wanted that prize.

     Audrey loved her baby girl and therefore tried the beanbag toss. However, the rings seemed too small to possibly allow a beanbag through. She turned to Lucy, saying, "Sorry, luv, maybe—"

     But then Percy, Lucy and Molly's father, had stepped up to the booth wordlessly and slapped down the Muggle five quid. The booth operator presented Percy with three beanbags, and Percy picked one up, staring at it for a moment with a look on his face that said he didn't really like doing things below him. Nevertheless, he tossed the bag—and it went in on the first shot.

     On a whim, he threw the other two, both of which missed. But those shots didn't matter. Percy had gotten one in, and now Lucy had her pick of prizes. Automatically she reached for the silver box, only to discover it had something in it.

     "Earrings," her older sister remarked. "Flowers, gems, and owls."

     Lucy could care less what they were. She lifted out the cardboard insert and passed it to her sister, who had pierced ears. Then Lucy closed the box again, marveling at the roundness of the container and how perfectly the lid fit with the body. The lid she loved the most, for the center was a clear sheet of plastic through which she could see the silver inside of the whole container.

     And that was how it started.

     Birthdays, holidays, any time Lucy got a gift, she always told her family that the packaging mattered, not what was inside. Percy and Audrey would elaborate and inform the others that Lucy liked the trinket boxes best, so Lucy became the fun Weasley child to buy for, because her aunts, uncles, cousins, and parents were always on the hunt for a unique container that would bring her the most joy. It became a sort of contest.

     When Lucy got her Hogwarts letter, her family left to shop in Diagon Alley, and her four-years-older sister took her to buy her ink and quills while their parents got their books. "You'll want something to hold your quill shavings," Molly explained. "Dragging your quill across the page wears it down, and unfortunately you can't cast a spell on a quill that's been enchanted to hold a lot of ink for about one or two essays-worth. That's layering spells, which can be wonky."

     Of course, then the shopkeeper had found them and corrected Molly, showing them the latest quill that would stay sharp and hold about half a bottle of ink. Lucy wandered back to the shavings boxes, tuning out her sister's bickering with the owner and focusing instead on a lone, square box which she removed from the shelf. It was exactly square—the perfect cube—with a metal latch on the front to keep the lid closed. The outside was wrapped in a spot of green Chinese silk, with gold dragons weaved into the fabric; the dragons moved when she opened the box, to peer at the red lining.

     Sharp quills or not, Lucy knew she had to have this shavings box. Molly didn't argue with her, though she was slightly annoyed, knowing that her sister wouldn't use it for its intended purpose. No, it would go into Lucy's collection.

     Needless to say, Molly won that year.

     For her birthday during her second year, Audrey won with a wooden box the same size as the shavings box, the size of the palm of Lucy's hand. It was made from mahogany and matched the rich color of Audrey's hair. The lid was carved with a Celtic Tri-Goddess design, and the sides were etched with the letters of Lucy's name, the bottom possessing a curly "W" for her surname. Lucy turned this box around for hours, watching the cursive letters dance and spell out her name, kind of like a friend calling out to her. For her, it was a friend's beckoning, because her boxes never asked much of her, just that she keep them dust-free—and never open them.

     Yes, pretty box after pretty box, Lucy opened them once to look at the inside—silver, red silk, mahogany, crystal, mirror-glass, plastic, threadbare—and then closed it, never to open them again. No one in her family understood that, and so the contest became a competition. Whose present would Lucy love completely, inside and out? But they didn't understand that it would be a never-ending competition, for Lucy treated the boxes all the same.

     Third year, Christmas—the hexagonal gem box, crystal inlay: won by Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry.

     Fourth year, Easter—the kaleidoscope ring box, mirror inlay: won by Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill.

     Fifth year, for acing her O.W.L.s—the unicorn-head box, creamy white plastic inlay: won by Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione.

     Middle of sixth year, her seventeenth birthday—the toffee box, with a threadbare inlay that showed pictures of foreign continents: won by Uncle George and Aunt Angelina.

     Oh, she knew what the insides looked like. She knew them like the back of her hand. …she knew them like her own beating heart. How could she not? They were her treasures…and the proverbial skeletons in her closet.

     Every time she opened a box, she left something in it. No, nothing tangible, just a little fleeting piece of her, because not all her occasions had been the best of celebrations.

     The gem box possessed her smile. It took it when her cousins, Roxanne and Lily, vowed never to speak to her again, as she had accidentally blabbed that both of them were in love with Teddy Lupin. Sure, things hadn't been right between those two since Lucy opened her mouth, but they found common ground in despising Lucy. So she showed the crystal inside her pretty grin one last time—and then, click, it was never seen again.

     The ring box possessed her beauty. Or, according to Lucy, what little of it she might've had. Because when Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill gave her that box, she hadn't felt any plainer next to it than she had before. But that before was next to someone, not something. It hadn't helped that Victoire had once compared the two of them in a moment of testiness, and that Roxanne had snatched up Lorcan Scamander first, the boy whom Lucy had come to secretly love. No, Lucy might not have felt "beautiful," but whatever prettiness she had was in that ring box.

     The unicorn-head box possessed her sense. No longer could she make a move without screwing anything up. Whether it be telling Uncle Ron about Rose and Scorpius Malfoy, or telling Uncle Ron about Aunt Hermione and—no. She'd stop there. Often Lucy thought the unicorn held her hurt inside its tiny space, as well.

     The toffee box held her humor. Not only had Uncle George and Aunt Angelina given it on her seventeenth birthday as a gift to welcome her to the adult Wizarding world, but it was a sort of pre-gift for her getting her Apparition license. Uncle George regaled her with tales of his and his twin's past and how they used to scare Grandmam Weasley whenever they popped into a room, but both he and Aunt Angelina knew Lucy liked the pictures on the inside. There was a point to the thread-pictures of other continents. It had been known for years that Lucy wanted to be a kind of magical ambassador, traveling to other places to learn new kinds of magic. But surely Cousin Freddie and Cousin Al hadn't meant for a "fun journey" to turn out to be a trip to James' apartment, where she discovered her third-eldest cousin in a relationship…with his male former Muggle Studies teacher. Professor Finch–Fletchley didn't even have time to recognize her before James stomped after her, chasing her from his home. Oh, yes, Al and Freddie, what a funny joke you played on her. Perhaps her humor had to disappear since she'd long ago lost her smile…?

     But it's the older gifts, the beginnings of her collection which hold things most volatile. Molly's shavings box held her sadness. Lucy knew she'd never be like her sister, smart, pretty, charming, stern yet pleasant. For all their cousins complained about Molly's nagging, she was definitely one of them. Lucy, on the other hand, was not so sure of herself, and only after the shavings box would she build up years' worth of evidence to back the fact. But that box held her sadness and tears, and good thing for that, too…

     The unicorn head she liked the least, actually. She liked it on Uncle Ron's behalf and hated it on Aunt Hermione's behalf. So because she hated it in reality, she probably loved her mother's mahogany container the most. It held her happiness, and how could it not? She loved her mother dearly, because—when push came to shove—she knew that her mother would always be the one to love her. Godric knew that that love had been tested.

     The mahogany box was like a bad omen. For it was in that same second year of school when Lucy received it that Lucy had discovered her perfect little family wasn't as perfect as she thought. Her home was what she'd always imagined her future life to be—the dad, the mum, the kids...a nice two-story house, with a marble fireplace to Floo…a large front yard with an even bigger backyard specifically made for practicing flying…they had it all.

     Or so she thought.

     For it was not that long after the mahogany box when Lucy was home on break and saw what she couldn't believe: Percy and Hermione, kissing the ways mums and dads do, not the way siblings-in-law should. No, Percy and Hermione never saw her, but Lucy sent her mother into a panic when Lucy holed herself up in her room. For the rest of the break, Lucy spoke to no one, and, back at school, Lucy did everything she could not to speak to her family. Of course, this was before Roxanne and Lily stopped speaking to her, so her cousins and roommates fretted over her not saying a word. Eventually they gave up.

     At the end of second year, Lucy knew she had to go home, and things were tense. Little did she know that Audrey had found out, and she and Percy were trying to work through things. But Audrey could feel the pain coursing through her younger daughter, so when she entered Lucy's room with a knowing look in her eyes, the dam broke, and Lucy cried and cried and cried in her mother's arms, while Audrey patted her daughter's auburn hair and shh'd her.

     Perhaps it had been an even worse omen that in the first box, won by Percy himself, Lucy had locked away her love.

     It probably had been the worst choice, but when Lucy got the little silver box with its clear lid, all the size of the circle her thumb and index finger made when put together, the first thing she felt compelled to do was place her heart in it. It weren't as though she'd completely locked it away, as she had done with the other bits and pieces of her over the later years and the other boxes. No, with this container she could still view her heart, a memory of what it'd once been like to be human, whole…perfect…. Innocent.

     So she doesn't open her boxes more than once, but it's not a sad thing. She's able to view all that once made her Lucy. They're nice memories of times before certain things went wrong. If she opens them, everything will fly out of her control. When she closes them, she feels as though she has power over something. And that motivates her to keep adding to her collection, because she won't ever run out of the broken pieces of herself to hide away…

     …never to be seen again.

Very, very heart-wrenching… This idea came about because of that silver box, though. I got two for Christmas 2010, both of which had earrings in them. One box did have "flowers, gems, and owls." But then I got to thinking about how inconsequential a box seems…and ran with that idea. I also typed this on my phone notepad one whole morning. 7 pages on a BlackBerry keyboard—ouch. XD

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

     I shrugged, my hair wavering between its normal bubblegum pink color and a muddy mauve. I couldn't help it; my feelings influenced my Metamorphagus powers, so my hair was acting wonky, and my eyes were darkening. But I recalled something my mother told me when I first started training to be an Auror: Ooze confidence, even when you feel like the dumbest git in the room.

     Heh. I was oozing plenty of confidence right now, Mum.

     "I'll be fine," I replied, waving Kingsley off. "I passed all your tests. Even Mad-Eye's ridiculous 'examinations.'" I looked to the tall, huge, black wizard at my side. "If I can make it past Moody and his baby eyeball, then I can do this."

     "This is the first time we've taken you out on a raid, Nymphadora," Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody said from the other side of Kingsley. "This is very different from fooling around and fighting against your teachers and coworkers."

     I flared my nostrils, preparing to tear into Mad-Eye for using my first name, which I despised. Kingsley must've noticed, because he cleared his throat to interrupt. "We're here, Tonks, Mad-Eye. Wands out, Mad-Eye to the left, I'll be on the right." He looked to me. "Witches first, Tonks."

     I grimly smiled and marched up to the front door. Nice house, really. Too bad that, inside, lived a raving lunatic of a Dark wizard who sold Cursed, antique toys to boggle the local Muggle children. That, and we were pretty sure that he was a Death Eater. Nothing like a hoarder of Dark Magic stuff for the Dark Lord.

     I rapped once, and, when no answer came, I knocked again. "Mr. Lindquist Brisbane, the Ministry of Magic declares you are under arrest for possession of Dark materials. Please come out quietly."

     There were a few moments of silence, and I raised my eyebrows at Kingsley. He sighed and nodded, and, as I lifted my black-booted foot to the door, Mad-Eye grumbled, "I had a feeling this was how she was going to handle it."

     So, yes, I kicked in the front door. Quite fun, actually. The wood splintered, and I smiled. I just love it when the enemy is too thoughtless to cast the proper Charms against intruders.

     Mad-Eye went in first, followed by Kingsley. I repaired the door, and the three of us moved slowly and cautiously through the house. It was very quiet, and the interior was lit only by the dusky light coming in from the windows. We fanned out and secured the first floor and then moved up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I halted and motioned to my comrades behind me. "Do you hear that?" I asked lowly.

     Kingsley shook his head, and Mad-Eye grunted. Then the white-haired wizard froze. "Tonks, get out of the way!" Moody shouted.

     Things…happened rather fast then. A man, short with reddish-brown hair and crazy light green eyes, popped out of nowhere—he didn't even Apparate!—with a manic expression on his face. He pointed his stubby wand at me and screamed, "YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE!"

     "That's what we're here for!" Mad-Eye growled. "Tonks!" he barked.

     I flicked my wand. "Petrificus Total—WHOA!" I scrunched up my eyes, having already caught an eyeful of what was beneath his cloak. "Whoa, mate! No need to show that to a lady!"

     Brisbane howled like a madman…okay, so I s'pose he was a madman…and flapped his cloak around him like big bat wings, obviously showing that he thought he could fly away like that. Well, it worked—to a point. It distracted us enough that Brisbane was able to jump from the second floor landing and run out the front door…because I a) forgot to Seal the door, b) tipped backwards into Kingsley and caused Kingsley to crash into Mad-Eye, and c) couldn't get up fast enough to chase immediately after the loon.

     Crap. Mad-Eye would never let me hear the end of this.

     I scrambled up and ran out of the house, tearing down the street after the streaking man. Mad-Eye growled something behind me, but at least Kingsley had my back. Of course, I didn't feel so happy when he reminded me I had a wand. Heh. Oops.

     The first spell I cast was the Jelly-Legs Jinx, followed up with another Full-Body Bind. The duo seemed to work on Brisbane because he slowed and tripped before freezing up. I caught up to him and put my heel on his scrawny bum, and Kingsley joined me. "Why are you frowning?" I asked when I glimpsed his expression.

     Kingsley quirked an eyebrow. "That's not how we usually handle our targets."

     I grinned. "Last I knew, we actually have a 'shoot to kill' policy for when they run. I'm being merciful, Shacklebolt. I'm kind little Tonksy."

     Mad-Eye joined us then, securing Brisbane with a quick incantation. He held up a bag after. "A few items courtesy of this dolt here. I marked his residence as Ministry property, too. We're going to log a lot of hours helping the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office strain through the Dark slush."

     "Oh, office work? We can't get out for another round-up?"

     Mad-Eye scoffed, and Kingsley had to stop himself from gaping at me. "You do realize it might be just as nutters next time, right, Tonks?" the black wizard asked.

     I winked in response.

     We returned to the Ministry right after and headed straight to the Auror Office, where we passed Brisbane off to our fellow Auror, John Dawlish. Mad-Eye looked me up and down. "You really were fine with today's raid?"

     I shrugged. "It'll only get worse from here, right? I mean, You-Know-Who's back, Harry Potter's fought him twice now, hasn't he? I reckon the worst is yet to come."

     "You did a good job today," Kingsley commented with a smile.

     "Even if you did let him run in the first place," Mad-Eye snorted.

     "So shall we count today's mission a success?" I asked hopefully.

     "Well…"

"Hold it, you!" Dawlish yelled from behind us. "He's gettin' away!"

     Anyone know that little instant when something's happening and you just have to get a look? I turned around with the other two right as Brisbane stopped to round the corner. "Hey, little missy!" he shouted at me. "Try defeating this wand!" And I was flashed for the second time that day.

     Yup, I was right. The worst was yet to come.

*loool* XD I do love Tonks. I always thought of her as clumsy, yet saucy. It kind of balances things, you know? And this moment is just too brilliant to pass up. And yes, Lindquist Brisbane is an OC (with a rly good HP-sounding name, right? X3), but he's a pretty hilarious one at that. 'Sides, we all know that Tonks is a kickass Auror; she definitely got him. ;) Oh, yeah—calling Tonks a "lady" is most certainly a term used lightly here, btw. XD

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

i.

Life is my creation, it's my best friend

                  Things had a tendency to be iffy whenever Padma and Parvati went anywhere near Pansy Parkinson. Yet the twins' parents insisted on good relations with other pureblood families. It wasn't that the Patils hated Muggles or Muggle-born magic folk, but there was a certain peace to uphold with fellow pureblood families if the Patils were to retain their reputation.

                But here Padma was, Parvati by her side and Pansy standing across from them. All three had their heads bowed over the poor creature in the Patils' front yard.

                "Ugh, it's wiggling around!" Pansy moaned as she scrunched up her nose.

                "What do you expect it to do? It's in pain," Parvati retorted, sending Pansy a look.

                "It's disgusting, that's what it is," the brunette girl stated. She straightened up, and the twins followed suit. Pansy crossed her arms and sneered at the mangled form of the beetle. "It's missing a wing and a half."

                "We could help it," Padma suggested. "I mean, we all got our letters the other day. Hogwarts letters prove that we're witches. Maybe we can heal it, you know, with a simple spell. I'm sure Mother and Father have books we could use, Parvati."

                Parvati looked doubtful. "You want to go through their libraries? I thought you were the smart one, Pad. To get expelled before we even go…" She thought for a moment. "Well, we wouldn't. They wouldn't expel us. But let me handle getting into the ro—"

                Parvati stopped and Padma gasped when, with a sickening crunch, Pansy solved the problem by squashing the blue–black beetle. When she removed her foot, she smirked. "There. That's my answer."

                Padma grimaced, not at all liking what had just happened. "That was wrong, Pansy," she said quietly, her lower lip trembling. It wasn't the first time they'd seen a lack of compassion on Pansy's part. It wasn't the first time they'd wished for companions other than this cruel and insufferable girl.

                But Padma hoped. She knew things would change at Hogwarts. And there, she'd be able to save all the metaphorical beetles from people like Pansy…she just wasn't expecting there would be anyone worse than that pug-face.

  ii.

Imagination—it's my defense

                  Third year, Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Remus Lupin presiding. Lupin had everyone lining up to practice magic against boggarts.

                Padma…didn't like this task very much. Not only did some people have terrifying boggarts, but this was also an invasion of privacy. Everyone could see everyone else's deepest, darkest fears, and Padma knew she'd just have to trust her classmates not to use her boggart against her.

                Banshees, spiders, disembodied hands, Snape. They were all frightening things. It was only a matter of moments before Padma walked to the front of the line and came face-to-face with hers: a giant cobra.

                It scared her severely, but she steeled herself with her sister behind her and managed the Riddikulus spell, changing the snake into a jack-in-the-box. Once she saw her boggart become the toy, her fear just seemed small. As she walked to the back of the classroom with Parvati, she laughed that she'd been able to come up with something far from the horror of that supersized snake.

                Yes, Padma would use that creativity and fast-thinking to move forward. Her fear wouldn't hinder her. And, if her worst fear couldn't stop her, nothing could.

  iii.

And I'll keep walking when skies are gray

                  There were many things worse than Pansy. There were many things worse than boggarts.

                Padma was sure her boggart wasn't a giant cobra anymore.

                Dumbledore. Dumbledore. How could this have happened? Dumbledore, gone? He… He was Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake! He was practically invincible! Sure, he was modest, and he never claimed to be the most powerful wizard around, but Padma and her peers had always seen him that way.

                Now they knew they were wrong. Dumbledore was gone, felled by the hand of their very own Potions professor.

                The end of sixth year was a blurry, gray flurry of activity. Somehow, Padma finished. She soon found herself leaving the funeral of the former headmaster. Padma was glad she and Parvati would head straight home with their parents; the Ravenclaw wasn't sure she could talk with her roommates Lisa, Mandy, Su, and Morag at the moment. Tensions were high, and no one was truly in the discussing mood.

                With whispered memories of the D.A. between her and Parvati, Padma picked up her head and focused on the year to come. She and Parvati were convinced that Harry and his friends would come through and clear away all this darkness. After all, why else would Harry have survived You-Know-Who once if he wasn't meant to once more?

                "We'll be just like them," Padma told her sister when that obscure autumn came and they journeyed to Hogwarts one last time on the train. Padma felt that her words could give her all the confidence needed.

                "We can try," Parvati stated. The two of them stared out the window. Even though a heavy feeling settled over them as the castle came into view, Padma's mind churned with ideas. Depending on what the situation was, she would have an idea, somehow, to make it through. She always did. Her and Parvati. They'd always make it through. Always.

  iv.

Whatever happens was meant that way

                  A little bit, just a little, Padma wanted to forsake hope and give in to the pain of despair.

                She couldn't be here, not with the other heroes of the war. It had been five years since Harry had succeeded against Voldemort. Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione… They'd invited several of their close friends from their not-so-old Hogwarts days to a small memorial service that was followed by a kind of…reunion. A reunion was the best word of which Padma could think, though it was nowhere near appropriate. Many of them—herself included—didn't want to reunite so soon. The wounds were still so new.

                But her parents had encouraged her. "Enjoy some time with your friends," Father had said with a small smile.

                "You need to get out of the house, dear," Mother had stated. "Your training for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad is too time-consuming. Take a break, Padma."

                Her parents hadn't needed to voice their concerns. She'd been telling herself the same things, but she'd had a hard time following her own advice.

                "You all right?" a voice asked now, spooking her just a bit.

                Padma flinched, splashing some of her water on the ground. The party really should've been moved inside by now; it was getting dark and late, and the Moon wasn't any kind of sufficient light source. But at least she wasn't creating much of a mess inside the Weasley family's house.

                "Sorry," George mumbled. "I was just wondering how you're doing."

                The Indian woman pursed her lips. "…how do you do it?"

                "Move on?"

                She nodded.

                George grinned weakly. "You don't. It'll hurt like a bitch probably forever. And, when it's done hurting, it'll scar."

                Though she thought she'd pushed the emotions down, Padma could feel her eyes getting wet. "But no one has to see the scar."

                The Weasley twin grimaced and scratched his head, looking to the side. Padma followed his gaze and saw Angelina Johnson smile meekly and wave to him. "Sometimes," George drawled, "you should find one person to show the scar. It helps it to heal."

                "I'm not half of a whole anymore," Padma retorted.

                "Neither am I. But Parvati and Fred are gone." George smiled gently. "I like just to remember my brother as he was: a wizard, a joker, and the best bloody mate a person could have."

                Seeing and hearing his strength, Padma found a little courage herself and thought back on all the good times with her twin. A few even made her smile. Eventually, she nodded to George. "…thank you."

                He left with a tiny nod, and Padma pushed herself to mingle with the others after. As she shared memories of her sister ("Remember, Lavender, when the two of you were enamored with the centaur Divination professor, Firenze?" "Were not!" "Were, too. I have Parvati's parchment doodles to prove it."), Padma found her smile grew more and more. Maybe George was right, and she had to live focusing on the good parts.

                And, just like old times, she'd hold her head up and hope for what was to come. The darkness was behind them; that was why they were celebrating, even. So she'd move on, if not for herself then definitely for her sister.

                Padma thumbed at the base of her throat her "P" pendant, another thing that had once been half of a set. But when she cried this time, she cried happy tears, telling herself she hadn't once been half of a set.

                She still was half of a set.

The Patil twins are some of my favorite characters, and I like that I've had the chance to write more for them. Though this piece was sad, it's more of an encouraging work. I did this for "Hope," in my Pandora's Little Box of Terrors challenge, as well, and it's the theme that links these little vignettes together. Also, the lyrics (the whole lines of bold and italics) heading each section are from "The Creationist" by Kerli.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew