#carriesdeath

“Okay,” Seamus had stewed on this long enough. He’d actually tried not making it an issue but it had settled in the pit of his stomach and festered in the way that Padma’s hand tremmored around her wand that day. “What the fuck is your problem, Harry?”

@carriesdeath

Padma found her footsteps slowing as she approached the hidden doorway to the Room of Requirement. It wasn’t because she was trying to discreetly look around to make sure that no one was watching her -- she was pretty sure no one was; lurking around this particular hallway was difficult these days. Luna, Seamus, and Anthony had spent several nights a few months ago bewitching the nearby suits of armor to react unhappily to the presence of disillusionment and invisibility charms and devices, and Professor McGonall had so far been “utterly unable” to explain why so many of the armor suits were “glitching” like that, or to fix the jinx, despite the virulent whinging of both Professors Carrow. (The D.A. hadn’t asked for her help, but much as during the administration of Dolores Umbridge, the majority of the Hogwarts teachers had developed an inexplicable case of ineptitude quite contrary to the range of skills they usually demonstrated).

No, Padma wasn’t slowing down because she was afraid of unfriendly eyes. She was slowing down because she wasn’t sure she believed what she’d been told, wasn’t sure that she was ready to believe it -- Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts. It wasn’t like Padma was some silly fourth year girl mooning over “the Chosen One” or anything; she didn’t know Harry all that well and she didn’t like him all that much either. But he was more than just some boy, more even than the boy who had taught her how to cast a Shield Charm and a Patronus and an effective Expelliarmus; he was Undesirable Number One. He might even have been “the Chosen One,” after all -- but whether he was or not, You-Know-Who certainly thought he was, which was almost the same thing in the end.

One her third pass down the hallway the door swirled out of the sturdy stone walls and Padma ducked through and shut it behind her quickly. She paused over the threshold, her eyes flicking across the familiar room to the suddenly-unfamiliar face of a boy whom she’d shared classes and meals with for the last six years. He was scruffier than she remembered, more haggard -- but wheren’t they all? Even her sister Parvati, usually a paragon of elegance, had been slipping a little these days, her braids sloppy and her make-up imperfect. As for her own beauty regimen, well...Padma supposed she’d have been slacking a little over her N.E.W.T.s anyway. That’s what she told herself, at least, to make it feel less terrible...

The room was empty aside from Harry, everyone else tucked away in their dormitories (or off doing something they shouldn’t be but had to, to upset the Carrows and keep the fight going); now that Harry was here, Padma supposed there was less need to set someone to guard the Room to make sure it didn’t change when they were gone and let one of the Carrows’ creatures in. Since Harry couldn’t exactly go dropping back into his classes, he could watch the room overnight...but Padma was a prefect, which meant that she was responsible for patrolling the school hallways after dark. If she chose to duck into the Room of Requirement on her way back up to Ravenclaw Tower, who would know to try and stop her?

She could have waited for tomorrow, for a decent hour -- but she’d had to know if it was true, what she’d been told. Had to know if Harry Potter really was back...and there he was, also not sleeping although it was after midnight, his head bent low over a shabby length of parchment, a scruffy looking wand held loosely in one hand. Padma’s hands slipped free of the doorknob and she walked forward stiffly, moving on automatic, her eyes wide and fixed on the almost anticlimactically-ordinary boy sitting on the other side of the room. She opened her mouth to say something welcoming, something profound, something clever--

Four Headcanons for @sawtruth:

The first witch in her year that Tracey met was Millicent Bulstrode. The second was Daphne Greengrass, who made less of an impression on her than Millicent had done with her terse smile and perfunctory (but strong) handshake. Within hours, that initial assessment had shifted: it would have taken a much less observant girl than wide-eyed and wonder-struck Tracey Davis to detect the hierarchy in Slytherin House, and who was at the top. Not understanding the pattern behind it, and realizing quickly that no one else was as awe-struck by the castle as she, Tracey resolved to keep her mouth shut until she figured it out – and once she did, it didn’t take a genius to realize that Daphne Greengrass was the girl to watch. Not as mean as Pansy Parkinson but on or at least near her level socially, it was Daphne whom Tracey tried to emulate; Daphne whom Tracey made a point of eavesdropping on. She soon gave up her attempt to mimic the more refined, old-fashioned style of speech that the pure-blood students (and many of the half-bloods) demonstrated, figuring that anyone with brains could spot her for an imposter when she tried, but the rest of it – the attitude? The opinions? The casual blood-supremacy? All of that, Tracey drew from Daphne – her unwitting guide to Slytherin House.

She watched Daphne for her cues in Flying Lessons, too. Of course their first day of lessons was horribly botched due to those stupid Gryffindor boys -- the one who fell, and the one who started a fight with Draco Malfoy. But that was only the first lesson; there were many to follow, and Tracey was transfixed. Magic was amazing, of course, all forms of magic -- but this was flying. There was nothing like it, nothing like it in the world -- but after those first few giddy, heady moments of being airborne, she realized that Daphne, floating a few feet over, looked almost bored. Flying was passe to her, commonplace. Ordinary. Feeling like she’d just swallowed a pint of poison, Tracey dragged herself back down to earth and shoved her elation off to the side where it wouldn’t be seen, where it wouldn’t get her teased. She kept her eyes on Daphne instead, mimicking the other girl’s casual attitude and lackadaisical flight-style as best she could. Eventually it stopped being a pretense, and by the time she was old enough to try-out for the Slytherin team Tracey had convinced herself that it wasn’t worth bothering -- not because she was ashamed at her lack of experience or worried that she wasn’t good enough (although both were true), but because it wasn’t all that interesting after all. Daphne didn’t seem to think so, anyway -- and Daphne was surely right.

When Daphne complimented Tracey’s dress robes in fourth year at the Yule Ball, Tracey thought she could have walked on air for the rest of the night, no wand required – until she walked past a second time and saw Daphne, Pansy, Draco, and his two bookend-bodyguards laughing their heads off. Maybe they weren’t looking at Tracey specifically; maybe it wasn’t her robes they were mocking. But that’s what it felt like. Tracey retreated from the dance floor (it wasn’t like she knew any of the music anyway – although she had been enjoying listening to the unfamiliar songs, trying to memorize as much of them as possible for her later reference) and kept her distance for the rest of the evening, shooting back down to her dungeon dormitory as soon as the dance was over and stuffing her horrible robes into the very bottom of her trunk where nobody (especially not gorgeous, fashionable, elegant Daphne Greengrass, prettier than anyone else there save for only the Beauxbatons champion herself) would ever see them again.

Setting: Shortly after Cedric Diggory’s Death

Ernie took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was only days after Cedric had been murdered, and Ernie was feeling a flood of emotions. He couldn’t recall ever being so sad and so angry at the same time. Ernie didn’t know the details, but rumours were swirling around. What he did know, was that he was hurting something fierce.

Watching Cedric compete had been incredibly uplifting for Ernie. For once, Hufflepuff wasn’t the butt of the joke between the houses. For once, he felt that his house was getting the recognition it so rightly deserved. As soon as the candle of pride had been lit, it was snuffed out. Those golden days of fun were gone. Cedric was gone. And there was nothing Ernie could do.

Ernie wanted to march right up to the Gryffindor Tower and beg Harry to tell him everything that happened. Ernie was a Hufflepuff, and he deserved to know the truth, damn it! Ernie was rarely one to not act on such intense feelings, but he found himself rooted to the bed in his dormitory. He was willing his muscles to move, but they remained as still as stone. His body hadn’t felt this stiff in a long time. It was almost as if the muscles in his body were paralyzed with grief.

Ernie was alone in his dormitory, which was why he was allowing himself to cry. He didn’t like to show such emotions of weakness and grief, but he figured that if he was alone, it was less not okay. Ernie was going to miss Cedric dearly, and could not believe that a Hogwarts student would actually be killed. Sure, there had been some close calls–it was a magic school after alll, but no one had ever died.

After a half an hour of sitting still like a statue, Ernie’s muscles finally allowed him to get up from the bed. He made up his mind. He was going to find Harry and demand to know what exactly had happened. Hufflepuff was still in the dark, and that was absolutely not acceptable! No! He was going to get to the bottom of this, even if it made Harry Potter hate him.

Moving into the Common Room with leaden limbs, Ernie didn’t exactly know how he was going to do this. It had to be done! Had to be done for Cedric. He owed that to him! Sure, they weren’t close friends or anything (minus a schoolboy crush harboured by Ernie), but loyalty was the most important thing in the world…right? That transcended everything, right? Then why was Ernie’s body seeming to rebel against him? He trudged to the exit of the Common Room and placed his hand on the door. He took a shaky breath and pulled on the handle, opening the door just a bit.

Seamus think’s Harry is a tosser and a nutter both–but in the frustrated, semi fond, way a guy see’s a friend he’s garnered by the proximity of living with him for several years. Although at this point he may not be seen as particularly kind to Harry, he’s generally not trying to be outright nasty and does believe there is a good chance Harry will end the war. The War. Not the Hogwarts situation.

Seamus would be the worlds worst choice for seeker but, as an avid fan, he is the tiniest bit jealous of Harry’s skills in this arena. In a more mundane world without the potential for murder every year, this may have been enough cause for a bit more fond feelings in their upper teen years… though Harry picking Dean for the team over hm would have stung a lot more in that world, too.

Seamus’ main bone to pick will be Harry’s choice to come back to school but not for the other kids there. While logically he can sort out why and whatever it is Harry is looking for is important, Seamus’ main emotional response will be tied to the other kids he’s been hiding out in the Room of Requirement with or the younger kids. Knowing others have held hopes and expectations, however unfairly, on Harry Potter makes it harder for Seamus to swallow that he was right in his expectations. When Harry is gone, everyone has to carry on.

Four Headcanons for @carriesdeath:

The first person who told Tracey Davis about Harry Potter was Draco Malfoy – not deliberately, but he was complaining and she was listening; it wasn’t hard, because he complained about Harry Potter a lot, and often loudly. It is perhaps no wonder, then, that Tracey’s initial impression of Potter was less than favorable; the fact that the first time the Boy Who Lived had a direct impact on Tracey’s life was when he ruined her very first flying lesson did nothing to improve her opinion. The absolute travesty of the Leaving Feast at the end of the year – when Tracey and the other Slytherins walked in giddy and gleeful, eager to celebrate their eight year of winning the House Cup (important even to the first years, who had been explicitly cautioned not to do anything to ruin Slytherin’s chances), only to have Professor Dumbledore deliberately (it had to be deliberate; no accident could have resulted in him giving precisely enough points to change the results!) take the Cup from right under their noses and award it to the Gryffindors instead, due entirely to Harry Potter and his friends – left Tracey absolutely devastated, and in completely agreement with Draco: Harry Potter was horrible.

Second year things go worse. The Chamber of Secrets was opened by their Heir of Slytherin and, while many of Daphne’s housemates seemed to find this event more fascinating than fearsome, Tracey was terrified. She was a Muggle-born herself, after all, even if no one at Hogwarts knew it – but would that keep her safe from the Heir? She did her best to hide her fear but it bubbled over before long; fortunately the first to be attacked had been Mr. Filch’s cat, and Tracey had been able to pass her fear off as resulting from the fact that she was descended from Squibs and she worried that the Heir would consider her a fair target, too. No one seemed to suspect anything odd about that explanation, but keeping her secret intact didn’t mean Tracey felt any safer. When Harry Potter was revealed to be the Heir during their first attempt at dueling club, Tracey had gone back to her dormitory and cried for three hours, certain she was going to die. It didn’t matter how much Draco complained that Potter couldn’t be the Heir; Tracey didn’t believe him. Even if she had, so what? Someone was hunting down Muggle-borns, which meant they were hunting her. The rest of that year was a blur; she could barely shake-off her terror enough to focus in class and her grades took a significant dip from her first year. When everything was finally over, and Harry Potter exonerated in front of the school (and awarded another obnoxious round of points), Tracey didn’t feel much different towards him; he had been involved in all the nastiness somehow and Dumbledore had not given much in the way of explanation. Once again, Tracey decided Draco had the right of it.

When the Goblet of Fire spat out Harry Potter’s name, Tracey was hardly surprised. Of course that bloody boy would be in the tournament, never mind that the rules said it was impossible – when had rules ever mattered to him? Frankly she was offended that Dumbledore had had the gall to even act surprised; even if he hadn’t set this up for Potter (and she was rather convinced he had), he had been rewarding the boy for his rule breaking since day one. Of course Potter would find a way to get himself into the tournament – and of course Tracey and the rest of the Slytherins would do their best to make him miserable for it. Tracey had been thrilled to wear her “Potter Stinks” button (she had hardly ever bothered to switch it to “Support Cedric Diggory” unless a teacher was looking) and by the time the year ended – with Potter once again mucking everything up, this time resulting in someone else actually dying, never mind that Dumbledore refused to blame Potter of course – she had several extra buttons stashed in her trunk. The Triwizard Tournament was a one-year even, but Harry Potter? He would surely find a way to ruin things for everyone again next year. Tracey was sure the buttons would come in handy another time.

@carriesdeath

Draco sprinted across the grounds. Cold air seared his lungs with each rapid breath. The grassy route was longer, but more even underfoot, enabling Draco to move quietly towards his target. No one had a reason for being out here this late--absolutely no one--so whatever they were up to spelled trouble. And the fact that they were lurking around Dumbledore’s tomb... It had to be one of his own. A Slytherin looking to piss on the grave, and thus the name, of Albus Dumbledore, as if the wizard hadn’t done that adequately enough himself. Draco had only known one person who dared desecrate a grave; now they were barely human, inhabiting a body built from the flesh and bone of corpses and odious rats like Wormtail. Wasn’t it enough that Dumbledore had been killed in his own school? Let the dead rest, for Merlin’s sake. 

Draco slowed as he drew closer, crouching in the underbrush that lined the border of the Forbidden Forest. It was pure chance that he had looked out the window towards the shore of the Black Lake at just the right moment, seeing darkness shift around their body. Perhaps it was folly to come alone. Draco did most things alone these days. He had learned what he’d always suspected; friends wouldn’t save you. Not from humiliation, shame--not even death. 

Waiting for his lungs to steady their breathing, he squinted. What were they doing here? The moon wasn’t full, and yet the white tomb shone like it was bathed in moonlight. And people accused him of vanity. Draco inhaled through the nose--he hadn’t been this close to the tomb since... well, never. Snape had cast the final blow, but that was merely a technicality. It didn’t make Draco feel spared. He had disarmed the headmaster. Not Snape. Him. He had given Death Eaters entrance into Hogwarts. And what for? Only to prove he was weak. Then Snape had gone ahead and killed Dumbledore anyway.

Draco pulled up the hood of his cloak so his hair wouldn’t betray him. Wand poised, he slowly stood up, stepping out from the underbrush. The figure moved... and there was something familiar about them, but that was the nature of school--you recognised people without even knowing their names. Focus. It was difficult with the White Tomb staring him down; knowing Dumbledore was inside, likely a rotten corpse by now. Nausea washed over Draco as if he could already smell him, but he swallowed the feeling, the figure moving again. Now wasn’t the time for disgust. It wasn’t the time for weakness. 

[ Harry Potter | Situation, Action, Outcome ]

A reading for @carriesdeath. Card interpretations are from the Golden Thread Tarot app.

[ Situation | Knight of Swords ] Action, Speed, Ambition. The power of an idea to overwhelm is represented by the Knight of Swords. Filled with the vision of an idea, he is propelled forward with unbridled ambition. Though is energy is great, there is also a warning associated with being unconscious about consequences and obstacles.  

[ Action | King of Pentacles ] Abundance, Power, Security. The fruits of worldly ambition have brought financial success, a sense of abundance, stability and security. The King of Pentacles is a fatherly figure that provides all of those things, and is also someone that is happy to share what he has accumulated.  

[ Outcome | Queen of Wands, reversed ] Selfishness, Jealously, Demanding. You are either surrounded by or embodying an aspect that represents all of the negatives of a determined, bold character. What internal insecurities are making you act jealous, angry, or resentful?