#fallacyintro

PRE-HOGWARTS  !!

andromeda  &  her  mother  have  what  u  can  call  a  strained  relationship.  from  her  moment  of  birth,  druella  saw  everything  andromeda  did  as  an  act  of  rebellion,  whether  it  was  a  childish  question  asked  in  the  wrong  place  at  the  wrong  time,  or  getting  so  absorbed  in  a  book  she  forgot  to  come  down  for  dinner,  or  a  bit  of  accidental  wandless  magic  born  out  of  a  moment  of  frustration.  every  day  was  a  trial  against  andromeda,  with  her  parents  acting  as  the  judge,  jury  and  executioner,  &  over  and  over  again  she  was  found  guilty.

andromeda  never  meant  to  defy  her  mother,  at  first,  but  no  matter  how  hard  she  tried  to  please  druella,  nothing  she  ever  did  was  quite  good  enough.  there  was  always  some  fault,  whether  it  was  a  lock  of  hair  tumbling  free  from  its  pin,  a  corset  come  unlaced,  posture  ruined  from  hunching  over  a  book.  her  wrists  were  too  bony,  her  lips  were  too  thin,  her  skin  too  easily  flushed.

[  ABUSE  TW  ]   it  didn’t  escape  andromeda’s  notice  that  every  flaw  her  mother  criticized  was  one  druella  shared  as  well,  and  when  she  grew  older  she  realized  her  mother’s  dissatisfaction  with  andromeda  was  merely  a  product  of  her  own  dissatisfaction  with  herself.  but  that  didn’t  feed  her  the  nights  she  was  denied  dinner  for  her  ‘ misbehaviour ’.  it  didn’t  take  back  the  days  andromeda  went  unable  to  speak  thanks  to  a  punitive  silencio,  and  it  didn’t  grant  andromeda’s  wish  to  have  a  real  mother  who  loved  her. [  END  TW  ]

did  druella  love  her  children  ?who  knows.  maybe  she  did,  in  her  own  twisted  way.  but   druella  was  first  and  foremost  a  business  woman,  and  her  main  trade  was  her  daughters.  andromeda  grew  up  listening  to  endless  warnings  that  her  mother  would  “ never  be  able  to  find  andromeda  a  husband  if  … ”  and  then  came  whichever  grievance  she’d  chosen  to  focus  on  that  day.

it  cannot  come  as  a  surprise  that  andromeda  learned  to  live  in  the  shadows,  away  from  her  mother’s  disapproving  glare;  that  she  learned  to  rely  on  herself  and  herself  only,  that  she  learned  to  watch  &  observe  &  test  the  waters,  to  think  before  acting.  (  of  course,  druella  did  not  approve  of  this  either,  and  informed  andromeda  that  no  man  would  want  a  girl  who  was  so  serious  all  the  time.  )

her  parents  often  dragged  her  and  her  sisters  to  various  pureblood  functions,  where  andromeda  stood  off  to  the  side  in  uncomfortably  starched  dresses,  disappearing  like  smoke  any  time  someone  looked  like  they  were  heading  over  to  strike  up  conversation.  she  would  explore  the  pureblood  manors,  all  silent  footsteps  &  watchful  eyes,  making  observations  on  how  the  wizarding  world’s  elite  lived  their  lives,  noting  separate  beds  in  the  master  bedrooms  &  half-empty  whiskey  bottles  in  the  washrooms.  it  seemed  like  everyone  was  only  looking  out  for  themselves  in  this  world,  trying  to  further  their  own  social  status  and  wealth.

at  home,  she  would  escape  to  the  roof  with  a  book,  whether  it  was  a  history  of  warlocks  or  the  kind  of  torrid  romance  novel  druella  pretended  she  didn’t  read,  dark  eyes  hardly  looking  up  as  the  sun  sank  lower  in  the  sky,  fingers  blackened  with  ink  by  the  time  she  closed  her  book  and  descended  into  the  house  to  face  her  mother’s  wrath  that  she  missed  her  piano  lessons.

is  it  strange  that  such  a  cynical  girl  could  have  such  a  yearning  for  beautiful  things  ?  or  would  that  merely  be  a  side  effect  of  cynicism,  to  long  for  something  to  thaw  a  hardened  heart  ?  andromeda  loved  beautiful  things,  perhaps  a  bit  too  much,  but  she  did  not  trust  them.  nothing  beautiful  was  made  to  last,  and  if  it  was,  it  wasn’t  truly  beautiful.  sunsets  faded  to  darkness,  books  ended,  lovers  grew  apart.  the  inherent  transience  of  beauty  made  andromeda  crave  it  all  the  more.  

HOGWARTS  !!

hogwarts  was  a  breath  of  fresh  air  for  andromeda,  the  chance  to  experience  life  outside  her  parents’  regime.  to  her  inquisitive,  probing  nature,  an  ancient,  magical  castle  full  of  history  &  secrets  was  paradise,  let  alone  all  the  classes  it  housed.  and  the  people  —  andromeda  had  never  seen  so  many  people  in  her  lifetime.  hundreds  &  hundreds  of  students  filled  the  castle,  all  with  their  own  thoughts  and  lives  and  desires.  

an  introvert  by  nature,  she  didn’t  interact,  merely  observed.  she  made  best  friends  with  the  library  &  the  constellations,  sneaking  out  of  the  dorm  to  sit  with  her  legs  dangling  over  the  fifty-foot  drop  of  the  astronomy  tower,  eyes  finding  her  constellation,  andromeda,  and  wondering  if  her  fate  was  written  in  the  stars  too;  drunk  on  the  beauty  of  an  untamed  scottish  night.

the  unidentifiable  yearning  she’d  always  kept  tucked  inside  a  corner  of  her  heart  ballooned  until  she  could  hardly  stand  it.  it  was  a  yearning  to  be  something  more than  the  perfect  pureblood  wife  her mother  was  trying  to  groom  her  to  be,  a  thirst  to  prove  herself  in  some  way  she  didn’t  even  understand  yet,  and  it  was  this  ambition  &  drive  that  got  her  sorted  into  slytherin.

if  druella  &  cygnus  had  thought  andromeda  was  unmanageable  before  hogwarts ,  when  she  wasn’t  even  trying  to  be,  she  was  downright  wild  when  she  returned  for  winter  break  in  first  year.  now  that  she  knew  life  could  be  better  than  what  she  was  currently  living  at  home,  she  buzzed  with  a  restless  energy  that  alarmed  her  parents.  andromeda  may  have  been  troublesome  before,  but  this  was  bordering  on  dangerous.  druella  made  the  decision  that  andromeda  would  not  be  returning  to  hogwarts.  [  ABUSE  TW  ]  this  sparked  one  of  the  worst  fights  they’d  ever  had,  and  culminated  in  a  rare  but  unforgiving  physical  beating.  [  END  TW  ]  

eventually  druella  conceded,  and  andromeda  was  allowed  to  return,  but  she  was  much  more  cautious  now.  she  only  made  friends  who  her  parents  would  approve  of,  she  kept  her  nose  clean,  and  at  home,  she  played  the  part  of  the  dutiful  daughter.  there  were  still  small  rebellions,  though  —  long  curls  cut  short  with  a  silver  flash  of  the  kitchen  scissors;  a  nicked  pack  of  her  father’s  cigarettes  smoked  cross-legged  on  the  roof,  coughing  into  her  fist  so  nobody  would  hear.  as  she  got  older,  she  paired  the  cigarettes  &  book  with  red  wine ,  the  finest  she  dared  steal  without  risk  of  being  caught.  this  was  her  escape,  her  small  patch  of  beauty  in  an  ugly  world.

andromeda  keeps  to  herself  at  hogwarts  as  much  as  she  can.  the  only  people  she  spent  time  with  were  those  her  parents  approved  of,  and  she  didn’t  like  most  of  them.  she  threw  herself  into  her  schoolwork  instead,  easily  landing  herself  a  spot  among  the  top  students.  

but  she  loves  hogwarts,  loves  it  with  all  her  heart,  as  so  many  abused  children  do  –  it’s  a  safe  haven,  a  place  where  she  can  at  least  pretend  she’s  free.  she  loves  learning  everything  that  she  can  (  in  fact,  she  was  very  nearly  sorted  into  ravenclaw  ).  her  favourite  place  to  be  is  the  astronomy  tower,  and  she  still  escapes  there  whenever  she’s  feeling  a  bit  too  claustrophobic.

she  was  chosen  to  be  a  slytherin  prefect  for  her  year  and  although  she  thought  she  wouldn’t  like  it,  she’s  grown  to  enjoy  the  position.  not  for  the  power  it  gives  her  over  her  fellow  students,  but  for  the  escape  it  brings.  she  can  associate  with  people  she  would  normally  never  talk  to,  and  roam  the  castle  freely  past  curfew.  and  andromeda  isn’t  a  naturally  nurturing  person,  but  she’s  found  that  she  enjoys  talking  to  and  helping  the  younger  years.  she  sees  their  wonder  at  hogwarts  in  their  eyes,  the  same  wonder  that  she  felt,  and  has  grown  quite  protective  over  quite  a  few  of  them.

she’s  technically  in  slug  club,  due  to  her  prowess  in  potions  and  her  illustrious  family  name,  although  she  hardly  ever  goes  –  she  does  not  like  slughorn  at  all,  nor  most  of  the  people  he’s  selected  to  be  in  his  little  club.  other  than  that,  however,  andromeda  doesn’t  make  a  habit  of  joining  clubs  or  teams  or  anything  that  would  involve  her  being  forced  to  interact  with  people.

PERSONALITY  !!

those  who  don’t  know  andromeda  might  say  she’s  aloof,  proud,  detached,  all  flint  eyes  &  sharp  edges.  and  they  wouldn’t  be  wrong.  andromeda’s  habit  of  keeping  to  the  shadows  has  carried  on  into  her  hogwarts  years,  and  as  an  introvert,  her  solitary  nature  can  sometimes  come  off  as  downright  anti-social.  she’s  naturally  pensive,  and  her  pensive  face  just  so  happens  to  look  pissed  off.  

she  finds  it  hard  to  trust  people.  she’s  so  used  to  a  world  shaped  by  selfishness  that  she  rarely  meets  someone  she  doesn’t  suspect  of  having  ulterior  motives.  after  all ,  beautiful  people,  like  beautiful  things,  are  temporary.  everyone  turns  ugly  sooner  or  later;  everyone’s  claws  are  eventually  revealed.

andromeda  carries  an  unmistakable  air  of  wealth  that,  although  entirely  unintentional,  can  rub  people  the  wrong  way.  she  has  a  taste  for  the  finer  things  in  life  —  an  aged  wine,  a  silken  scarf  —  and  sees  no  reason  why  she  shouldn’t  enjoy  them.  she’s  well  read  &  well  bred,  and  has  a  vocabulary  and  accent  that  can  seem  pretentious  to  some.

i.

the carrow family had amycus, so it wasn’t a total let down when alecto ilse carrow was born and was born a girl. but if everyone was being honest, there wasn’t any real thrill there for her either. if they loved her, it was in a rote way and if they cared for her, it was in a rote way. their distance and cool removal from her life spoke more than anything they ever did for her. 

later, there would be attempts to pit brother and sister against each other; and there was at least a passion of feelings in that bloodthirsty desire. alecto imagined that was the closest thing to love she ever got from them. 

the carrows, historically, were not the most refined when it came to the most sacred. sure, they were one of the best families  —  but their machinations never seemed to be the sort that won the hearts of a people; their plans, never the ones put to action. they had wealth and connections enough, bloodlines going as far back as any of the other twenty-eight’s; but they were not half so perfect.

alecto didn’t like people not expecting perfection from her. her parents saw so little when they looked at her, and it grated to see the same lack from the people they were surrounded by. so she made changing that expectation her mission at, in all honesty, too young an age.

they thought carrows weren’t the ones to beat. fine. wasn’t she one to beat all on her own? wasn’t she enough to change the tides of her family’s reputation?

she’d decided this at a precocious eight years old after a particularly disastrous dinner party. her parents, they were darkly amused; let her try, for soon she’d realize that she was a girl, and would always, always fall short of expectations. at the time, this mission of hers started with presenting a flawless front to anyone looking at her expecting another carrow wildcard. she’d always been precocious; she knew what game they were all playing and just how to play it.

( didn’t they all know how easy it was? to become like them? )

ii.

around the same time she reached this decision for the path she’d tackle the rest of her life, her aunt dulcinea died and crushed alecto’s heart.

aunt dulcinea and uncle anatole were distant carrow relatives and in alecto’s weaker, punishable, childish moments   —   she’d wished they’d been her parents. she wished it stupidly, in place of wishing for her own parents to love her.

at the reading of her aunt’s will, alecto received dulcinea’s wand  ( 12 ¼", griffin feather and aspen, quite flexible and carved with a loving hand ).  and though she wasn’t of an age yet to use magic, her uncle practiced dueling with her using sticks found in the gardens on the carrow estate. even before she could legally utter a single spell, alecto was a skilled duelist. she tucked this into her back pocket like a secret; would let out shining peals of false, childish laughter if ever anyone asked about those dueling lessons. her, dueling? no, no, no. she was itty, bitty, and ladylike, faint at the very idea of fighting. her uncle anatole had simply been indulging her silly games of make - believe.

maybe all he thought was that a husband in their circles would like a wife with some use in the war effort. but alecto liked to imagine he thought she was worth teaching as just alecto, not someone’s future betrothed. 

iii.

she made friends greedily as a child; ostensibly so she could have the connections, the network, that was so vital to the lives of adults in pureblood society. but the small truth was that alecto just fed on human connection. she loathed how much liked people to like her and resented that she needed people at all. but it was true, and it could be useful.  

she tried, at times, unthinkingly, to imitate the distance her parents had with her. she loved talking and hated talking all at once, but she did pride herself on being able to fill hours of conversation with no substance at all. and it better cemented the idea that she didn’t actually desire the friends or acquaintances she had   ---   if every interaction was hollow, what could prove she thrived on them? how would anyone know much she relished the meandering words?

she could be very cruel to those around her   —   not necessarily on purpose, but also not not on purpose. there was a threshold, where acquaintances shifted into someone alecto would trust with her life. at that threshold she tended to turn mean, to turn people away, and it was a horrible habit and one she wouldn’t break.

but all the feigned distance in the world couldn’t keep her from finding actual friends, and she would kill for those she cared for. reckless all or nothing thinking like that was just the carrow way. true,

fierce friendship was an earned thing, but a warm-looking smile from dear alecto cost her nothing at all.

iv.

she was sorted into ravenclaw; perhaps it would have disappointed her family, if they’d had expectations high enough to disappoint in the first place. when alecto was fourteen, and wrote home with news of the sorting, she knew she’d lost any chance of being the favorite   ---   slim as the chance had ever been. oh, her parents had indulged her goal of making a name for herself. she was their daughter; clever enough, pretty enough, to indulge. but they’d never seen that indulgence yielding anything, and her sorting only confirmed it for them.

( she suspected they wrote to her brother more, while at school. no, of course she never asked him. she was a ravenclaw, smart enough to know that some doors need not be opened. )

imagine: a little carrow in ravenclaw tower, all alone amongst peers of all blood statuses and backgrounds. she thrived there, much though she hid that fact from her parents. they certainly never imagined her thriving. she had her aunt’s wand and her uncle’s scattered owls, friends she made cautiously and recklessly in equal measure, a feeling of total abandonment gifted to her by her parents’ abandonment. it was heady, and dangerous.

she kissed people her parents would have been scandalized to know she knew at all, linked arms with girls from families her father had long disparaged over breakfast. joined the quidditch team and shared sportsman-like handshakes with any opposing player she could hunt down after matches.

her grins were sharp and wicked and her laughter soft and surprised and she knew   ---   she knew!   ---   that the home she felt in the castle could never last once outside of it.

it was a home, and that word just didn’t mean anything for girls like her.

alecto was just a girl, darling little thing. the carrow daughter with a whip-sharp mind   —   that she made sure to only show in carefully curated fields, that was a problem all the same. she could picture her mother’s disapproving look as she caught alecto reading one evening, told her that the mind on her made it hard for the family to imagine setting up an enviable match. she would never find it easy, being a trophy hanging off someone’s arm. she tried. alecto always tried.

her parents may not have cared for her any more than they had to, but they knew her better than she ever thought they did. she did not bend or bow to anyone for all that she acted like she could, and that would make her life harder than her parents thought it had to be.

the lives of pureblood daughters could be easier than breathing, in the new world they had hopes of cultivating. if only alecto would let things be easy.

v.

her parents might have thought she had an allergy to the simple route. and maybe she did; maybe they were right, and she was wired all wrong. her mind was a tricky place   —   all those forbidden books snuck into her lap, they had an impact. perhaps on a stronger carrow they’d have been nothing when compared to the things her family had told her all her life. perhaps she was weaker than she’d ever cared to admit. but she acted like they were no stronger carrows, and pretended like the act didn’t cost a thing.

when her parents and their cohort went and joined a dark lord who whispered of war, alecto learned to pretend like lots of things cost her nothing at all. after a lifetime of such acts, she could even pretend to herself that pretending cost nothing.

at night, in ravenclaw tower, she dreamed of a world where she didn’t have to pretend.

little alecto, the sweet-talking carrow daughter, blossomed into a young woman who had high hopes of an easy life. she dreamed bigger than that; of a room of her own tucked with books and cauldrons and coin she earned of her own mind, family that consisted of no one but her brother. alecto always dreamed impossible things. 

but she lived in reality. and reality had studying her heart out for a million jobs she’d never apply for. it had her learning to enjoy the refined burn of shots worth more galleons than some would ever see. she learned to love glittering adornments, and tossing her hair, and beguiling with a single flash of her pearly-white fangs like it was all she was good for. she lived as if school would never end, as if the real world wasn’t just about to knock at her door. she was good. except when she was bad. and loathe though she was to admit it, she could still find enough ancient carrow in her to be very, very bad  …  when she so chose.

badness could very easily be written off as youth, except by those who shared alecto’s youth with her. to them, well, it was her typical carrow tendencies coming out to play. it was her growing tired of the never-ending act she’d started years and years ago. it was her doing very reckless things, perhaps unknowingly   —   or perhaps awaiting the mess she’d leave in her wake. she’d have to fix the mess, of course, and in that fixing would lie the cool reminder that while she looked like any of the rest of them, she would always be a carrow. and carrows are too sharp, too much, and so alecto is, too.

( the secret was she was too much alecto to be anything, really )

vi.

she didn’t even like pureblood society that much; up close, it didn’t glitter like she’d imagined as a child, on the outside looking in.

she resented the idea that she’d have to marry some man eventually, who she likely wouldn’t care about and who likely wouldn’t appreciate her for all that she was. but if she wanted to be more than a wife or mother she knew she’d have to show her hand   ---   reveal that she had a mind for strategy, that she knew a thousand wicked things. sign herself away to the war for a side she didn’t believe in. it would surprise no one to learn that both action and inaction held steep consequences.

but alecto didn’t want to fight; and in the meantime, no one was asking her to, not really. she threw herself into her school work and talked about a boring future, gushed of jobs that required little wandwork and received little notice. uncle anatole gave her questioning looks when she continued to act as if battle terrified her, as if she didn’t have ambitions. but the rest of her family continued ignoring her, most of the time; neglecting to see any real usefulness. and there was safety in that   ---   she might yet make it to a disappointing marriage without any blood on her hands.

in a perfect world she could lay down in neutral ground and not move a muscle for either side. not have to enter some loveless future, either. but what would that make of her family loyalty? the last thing she wanted was more disappointment from her parents. more proof that she’d never been what they wanted. for all that she despised them, she couldn’t help but want her parents to love her; and deserting their side would not inspire love.

this was, of course, no perfect world. alecto was not the sort of girl who lived in happy endings. so while she didn’t want to join the war, had no desire to loan her mind to the dark lord’s cause   ---   she knew she would. she would have to. she was a carrow, and so of course she’d join the fight.

the plain and simple fact of the matter was that there was no possible path for her that didn’t beat her heart into bloody submission. so that life, that planned future, was better than nothing at all. right?

vii.

alecto couldn’t be paid to give two shits about blood status. she knew her family fought tooth and nail along with all their peers for the glory and triumph of blood purity   —   and regrettable as it was to dwell on, it was background noise she would ignore because she could afford to ignore it. just because she could care for, or befriend, a muggleborn with no internal struggle didn’t mean she’d ever actively do anything to help them. this was the life she’d chosen.

she didn’t have much exposure to people of other blood statuses as a child and that’s when she set her heart on winning at life in pureblood circles. sometimes goals like that were hard to let go of. so while her stomach curled at the lack of intelligence she saw as inherit in blood purist ideologies she could never actually  …  fight the fact that pureblood circles were run on purist ideologies. life was just easier if she didn’t fight it.

she’d rather break her heart and throw herself into a cause liable to kill her than become her own person separate from the life she’s wasted years building.

viii.

no one needed to know she hated this; softness was worse than wildness, in alecto’s eyes. her wildness couldn’t be helped, but she’d die before anyone saw her weak. let them see a ruthless game-player with a heart carved from crystalline ice. let them see a girl, damnably neutral while she still could be, cards always held close to the chest.

the almost-war for blood purity waged on as it always had, with new challengers rising every day; it was as unchanging and constant as the warmth of ravenclaw tower still was, in her last year in its embrace. as the consequences of adult life began to fall around her, alecto shut her eyes and plugged her ears and imagined a world where she could stay on the sidelines. she shut her eyes and plugged her ears to the whispers of how useless a dainty carrow daughter was, too.

for a little while longer she could pretend she wouldn’t prove them all wrong sooner or later; it was a kind thing to pretend.

but a kind mask was still a mask. and alecto knew masks, could pluck one from her shelves and put it on in her sleep. it was easier, after all, to not think; some part of alecto had always known this, long learned how to turn off her racing thoughts, her conscience, her heart, in order to do what needed to be done. she hated it. but she did it.

sooner or later alecto would give in  ---  in a way that could never be undone. or, perhaps, she’d come to hate feeling her family’s belated pride resting on her head like poisoned laurels. prove even herself wrong and desert them and their pitied crowns.

edward tonks took his first breath as the last of the summer winds blew through london. michael and maggie tonks wrapped their son in the only good blanket in the house, and a mere four hours after his birth, while he was sound asleep in a bedside drawer turned crib, the new parents were fixing the same leaking tap they were before their son decided to make an appearance. 

living in east manchester meant that there were too many PEOPLE, too many mouths to feed, but not enough money and not enough jobs. the tonks’s twenty year old council house was crumbling down around them, and ted’s parents job at the local factory meant that they were the lucky ones, and they seemed to be the only people in beswick who managed to hold down a steady job and keep their dingy dwellings.

ted was never at home much. one of his parents would work during the day while the other slept and this would swap during the night, so his time was much better spent outside. it’s not that his parents didn’t want him milling around the house, but wherever ted decided to roam was never a quiet place for long. indeed it seemed that ted had the whole of manchester in the palm of his hand, and he intended to roam every alleyway and slip road, every ginnel and byway, even if it was just to ensure his mum and dad got some rest. there were WORSE reasons people were on the streets.

ted was a GOOD KID, truly he was. he was polite, and any trouble that followed him never passed his front doorstep. he held open doors for people and helped anyone who needed it, yet despite this, his quasi-nomadic tendencies often offered a less than savoury pathway, and once ted took one wrong turn down it, it seemed he couldn’t get off it. he quickly turned to petty crime, yet he was never sure if it was out of necessity or boredom. he would pinch food from local shops at first, but then it turned to toys, sheets, soap and other things he could slip into one of his dad’s old jackets. he’d then trek the long walk to ashton market once a week to flog his wares. ( the extra couple of pounds he made a week were stored in an old wine bottle his grandma had gifted them one christmas, and when it was filled it was left for his parents. ) 

it was at the age of nine he witnessed his first fight, and he ran home soon afterwards. the image of the boys he looked up to, the misguided idols of his youth, bloodied and bruised scared him stiff, and the faint wail of police sirens was the final push to send him running. it dawned on him, under the scant safety of his rough duvet, that he was going to end up exactly like them. he would loiter and steal his way through his teenage years, and if he was lucky, he’d spend adulthood behind bars instead of six feet under. the realisation lay heavy on his shoulders, and the first time he ever prayed the same way his mum did every night, he wished and wished for a way out, for some miracle to come to him to save him from the backstreets. this miracle came two weeks before his eleventh birthday, in the form of a tall man with a grey beard sitting on his couch, sipping cheap tea from a chipped mug and eating the good biscuits with the chocolate on that his mum saved for when the priest came round.

he hadn’t even batted an eyelid before ted found himself sat on the hogwarts express, in the first new uniform he had been bought since he was eight, fitting almost perfectly, but there was still some room for him to grow into his jumper. tears sprang into his eyes when he saw the castle, his NEW beginning, and he was quickly sorted into hufflepuff. within a few weeks, he had proudly garnered a reputation as being loud, happy-go-lucky, and in one rare slip up from one professor, ballsy. a small part of him knew it was too good to be true, but ted drowned it out with potions and gobstones, and pumpkin juice. 

that was, until, his third year, when his perfect illusion was shattered. he was called out of his astrology lesson and was asked to make his way up to dumbledore’s office. when he got there, he found dumbledore, mcgonagall and his head of house, a mixture of PITY and HURT present on their faces. when dumbledore stepped aside to reveal his parish priest, rosary beads in hand, dressed in black, he fell to the floor, tears streaming down his face, a scream caught in his throat. 

his father had been killed in an explosion at the factory, dumbledore explained, caused by faulty, cheap wires. his tears had just about dried when he got to his mother; the portkey from hogwarts didn’t reach his house quick enough in his opinion. for the first time in forever, ted was silent. he felt like a chunk of his heart had been wrenched from his chest, but he still couldn’t find an excuse for the feeling that something was wrong and that somebody wasn’t telling him SOMETHING

he returned to hogwarts sixth months later, and there was no denying that ted just wasn’t TED anymore. he didn’t want his grief to change him, and he let on that everything was fine, but his laughs were forced and the twinkle of amusement seldom lit up his eyes anymore. he was barely going through the motions, and his whole life was a dull cycle of eat, sleep, pretend, repeat. 

life got easier for ted. his grief, as grief does, faded from a sharp pain to a dull ache, and eventually, the light returned to his eyes and his days became a lot easier to get through. until it wasn’t.

his mother told him what really happened, what DUMBLEDORE had told her had happened. that ted’s dad wasn’t killed in an explosion- he was followed home from work and struck dead. the couple who witnessed it spoke of green light and long, thin weapons, and were written off with shock by the muggle police. the aurors who came along after took one look at the body, at the MUGGLE SCUM carved across his forehead, to know exactly what had happened.

his mum had barely finished speaking before ted left the house. what happened after that was a blur. he KNOWS  there was a pub, and a crunch of a nose under his fist, and he woke up in a holding cell. how fucking TYPICAL, that he gets an out, finds a way to a better life, and nobody wants him to fucking have it. he got out of the station two days after and didn’t go home. he was drifting between to worlds, the one he left for and the one he left behind, stuck in purgatory with no way out.

he almost doesn’t returns to hogwarts. the only thing that pushed him over was the fact that he didn’t want to go home to his mum. not like this. he snuck in while she was at work and took his trunk and made his own way to kings cross, jumping the barrier at piccadilly station and fighting tears the whole way to london.

he’s different now, and there’s no point in hiding it any more. he’s quick to anger, slow to soothe, and done fucking PRETENDING. there’s a change in the air, knows it as sure as the streets of salford, as sure as he’s failing charms, and as sure as he knows he doesn’t belong anywhere.

OKAY HERE GOES NOTHING. lemme give you the lowdown on bb ted. this is not gonna be very long but im just gonna spew what i can.

Slytherin, total asshole not because he doesn’t have a heart but just because he’s so damn tired of giving a single fuck. story goes like this: his dad, pureblood LEGEND. he was set to go the distance get married into a prestigious family and keep popping out pureblood babies like everyone is supposed to. that’s how it goes isn’t it? everyone has to bow their head and do what is expected of them. the thing is, the guy was about as stubborn as they come. and he did NOT appreciate getting told what to do. which just so happened to lead to a breif escapade to muggle brighton, where the esteemed pureblood prince ended up falling for the one person he shouldn’t have. a quickwitted waitress with eyes as blue as the sky. a muggle. he fell so hard, he was willing to leave behind everything, his money, his magic, his family, all for her. and he wanted to keep it that way! that didn’t make anyone in the magical world happy. tbh he basically dishonored his whole family it was a big deal, a big nono ( open plot idea, if ted’s dad was supposed to marry your characters mom?? AMAZING drama. )

so when ted came along, they were pretty freaking happy! their little family was humble but joyous and it seemed like there were no troubles in the world. back then, ted’s dad meant the world to him. he was like his superhero! they did everything together, from playing football after school to taking walks on the pier, to cooking breakfast on sundays. but things started to change around his eleventh birthday, when his letter from hogwarts arrived. that’s when ted’s dad had to face the music… and tell them everything. ted’s mom, super forgiving. her family had faced a lot of hardships in the past so to her, his sacrifice only showed her how much he really loved her. ted on the other hand… wasn’t as thrilled. see he inherited something major from his dad, his stubborness. it didn’t help much that he was uprooted to hogwarts and taken away from his normal. back in brighton he was popular, loved for being an athlete and an all around cool guy. at hogwarts he was looked down at, shunned and often attacked for his blood status, for the house he was placed in and the disgrace of his fathers actions. it basically created some pretty deepseeded trust issues and hatred for the purebloods. now he has an issue with them all.

he wasn’t a stellar student through his first years at hogwarts, not by a long shot. but the injustice he witnessed on a day to day basis fueled his anger for the ones that thought themselves to be better than everyone else. don’t mistake this anger for empathy. he really couldn’t care less about the war because his heart is softened for those suffering. it’s pretty unique… but he wants to succeed to prove blood purists wrong, not to save those that are like him. deep deep down, he does care. he’s just forgotten that side of him, too consumed by the disdain he carries for a certain group of people. if you really push past those barriers, you would see that like his mother, his heart is always in the right place. his family knows what it’s like to be persecuted for something you can’t control. and if they survived once, he’s damn sure certain he’s gonna do so again. 

SEE WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS, right about the time when the announcement about the aurors office was released there were a ton of ‘unrelated attacks’ against muggleborns and muggles associated to wizards right? and ted was already iffy on coming back. so unfortunately, word got around to some pretty popular people that ted was alive and what his father did, stepping out on a pureblood to shack up with a muggle whore, well people did not approve and they decided to do soemthign about it. so TW: DEATH ted came home just seconds after his mom was brutally murdered and well.... ruined in a couple of not nice ways.. and he is traumatized and very much ANGRY. thats really why he decided to even go back to hogwarts, to learn how to be the best wizard and hunt down the people who killed his mom. his dad did not react well, the total opposite shut down kind of like katniss’ mom in hunger games? yeah like that SO DRAMA BABY.

he’s a funny guy tho, laid back, doesn’t really provoke fights much. enjoys his fair share of flirtatious comments and toys around a bit just so no one can see his more emotional and scarred side. he hasnt told many people about his mom yet but you can tell he gets tense when its brought up.  

he’s also taken up swords as a passion as of late. he loves them, got obsessed with learning how to wield them and let’s just say he’s getting pretty good. figures it might come in handy some day.

Whaddup demons, it’s me, ya bitch. This here is Marlene, my neurotic, selfish, and slightly crazy baby. 

Ya ready to read about this mess of a lady?

Marley is the epitome of someone born and raised in the sixties and seventies. Despite the old power attached to her name, she thrives under new experiences. She has a thirst for knowledge that simply can’t be quenched. Her parents, despite being extremely well known in the community (and so very obviously feared given their mob/gangster tendencies), support her through all of her endeavors. They encourage their wild daughter to test the waters and dive straight in.

She is always up for something new. If there is a trend on the rise, she is on top of it. If there is a new record that is hot on the charts, she is listening to it. She wants to experience life and everything it has to offer.

She is incredibly vibrant and witty. Having a way with words is something she seems to have inherited from her parents, and she uses it often. There are few things she can’t speak into existence. Many have described her as being able to charm a rabbit out of a hat.

Changes her hair color often. Obviously. Because why the fuck not?

Despite her family not being one of the Sacred 28, they are very well known. Annnnnnd, uh, not for the best reasons. Piss off Papa Mckinnon and your ass may be, for lack of a better phrase, sleeping with the fishes. Marley may not be some cliched posh totty, but she is definitely her father’s daughter. She can play the game if need be. Driven and undeniably proud, Marley has a habit of being ruthless when in pursuit of her goals.

She tries to be a good friend, but there are times when she becomes blinded by what SHE wants. She needs a best bitch who will put her in her place, lest she find herself dead, or worse, EXPELLED. lawl ignore me, bye.

Marley is big on henna tattoos. Her wrists and hands are normally covered in beautiful eccentric designs, and she often tops them off with bracelets and rings.

She has a younger brother who she absolutely ADORES. He is 15 and staring his second year at Hogwarts. Mickey struggles with confidence given his weight, and he often finds it hard to make new friends. It doesn’t exactly make it easier when their grandmother constantly makes snide comments about the way his pants look too tight or how his chin somehow doubled in size. Naturally, Marlene is extremely protective and will often be seen hanging out with him in lieu of her school friends. And don’t worry about dear Mickey, this lovable dork has made two best friends who would do anything for the bastard. 

She loooooves Cheap Trick. Not sure what it is about them, but they immediately make her feel better. Like when you’re sad and you decide to walk through Target and things suddenly seem alright. 

She is very street smart. Very clever and manipulative; however, she struggles when it comes to school work. She can kick ass in a duel, but her test scores leave something to be desired. So in theory, she would be an excellent Auror, but she lacks the academic prowess to make it into such a program. 

This is a big issue for her. The embarrassment she feels over how difficult it is to simply SIT DOWN and write out an impressive essay or answer a question in class is ridiculously high. That and she is too proud to ask anyone for help, so she basically suffers in silence and then has a major freak out once she reaches her boiling point. Hmm, that must be the Irish seeping through from her dad’s side. 

She is one of the Quidditch Commentators and wow, is it a surprise she hasn’t been fired yet. Marley is notorious for sneaking in other messages when breaks occur. Students LOVE the way she does her job, but it lacks professionalism. You can ask (or pay) her to make shoutouts, you can send her letters with crazy stories that she might reference during the game. Basically, her commenting has become more like a popular podcast that centers around several things, mainly the Quidditch game. 

hoo boy hi!  i am mark, i’m 24, he/him and in the est.  i’m a gryffindor, a taurus and a theatre gay so i apologize for being the way that i am.  anyway i’ve never really played james before so bear with me!!  

change and progress are not linear, and they are not one size fits all.  james has learned this, is learning this, and will continue to learn this.

james isn’t the same spoiled, arrogant kid that rode the boats in across the great lake so many years ago.  he’s made friends, enemies, met new people who have changed his world view.

he’s not some perfect golden boy superhero though.  he’s still outspoken, mischievous, he still gets that glimmer in his eye when trouble is on the horizon.  

but he’s trying to be more responsible, he doesn’t want to let dumbledore and mcgonagall down after they made him head boy.  he wants to do better, be a better person.  he’s even trying to give severus the benefit of the doubt.  that’s growth, babey.

and it’s not just to appease lily.  he’s not that shallow.  like, sure, does he do dumb things to impress her?  absolutely.  do they work?  probably not.  but if he was changing just for her, it wouldn’t really be genuine, now would it?

[TW for parental death, grief]  his parents came down with dragon pox right after he left home for the start of sixth year, he wrote to them constantly and panicked and fretted but they told him to focus on school and keep studying and not to worry 

unfortunately they took a turn right before the christmas holiday.  dumbledore gave james permission to go before he even had a chance to ask, had a portkey to st. mungo’s ready to go. they both passed in their sleep that night, james at their bedside

the marauders are his life, obviously, that goes without saying.  they’re genuinely and truly the brothers he never had.  their friendship really helped him keep his head on straight during the rest of sixth year, into the summer, and even to this day.  he’s especially thankful for sirius, staying by his side at home through it all

they never got to see james get the letter appointing him head boy, but every day he tries to make them proud regardless.  every match he plays for them.  [end tw]

he’s a gryffindor through and through, though he mostly tries to treat everyone with the same dignity and respect he would like to be treated with.  mostly.  

peter  pettigrew.  born  in  sheffield,  england  to  a  muggle  father  and  a  magical  mother.  he  lived  in  a  small  brick  house  with  old  fashioned  furniture.  his  family  has  always  been  catholic,  and  so  every  sunday,  he  dressed  up  in  his  nicest  hand-me-downs  and  went  to  church  with  his  parents  and  younger  sister.  

the  pettigrews  are  what  you’d  call  a  working-class  family.  money  has  always  been  tight  with  them.  it  wasn’t  uncommon  for  his  father  to  be  working  holidays,  or  to  overhear  a  whispered  conversation  between  his  parents  using  words  like  mortgage  and  foreclosure.  their  clothes  were  always  just  on  the  edge  of  shabby  no  matter  how  often  his  mother  darned  and  ironed  them.

perhaps  because  of  this,  or  perhaps  because  he  was  a  wizard,  he  didn’t  really  click  with  the  muggle  kids  in  his  neighbourhood.  he  was  more  a  mama’s  boy,  helping  his  mother  dust  and  vacuum  and  fold  the  laundry  and  set  the  table  for  supper  every  day.  his  parents  were  worried  that  he  wasn’t  a  very  social  child,  and  that  he  wouldn’t  make  many  friends  at  hogwarts.  they  even  considered  holding  him  back  a  year,  but  ultimately  decided  against  it.

but lo and behold, when he went to hogwarts he made friends! remus, sirius and james to be specific. and it was gr8 and they brought out this whole other side of him that he’d never shown before

this  mischievous,  snarky  boy  who’ll  yes  ma’am  and  no ma’am  your  mum  to  her  face  but  just  as  soon  make  a  your mom  joke  when  she’s  out  of  earshot.  his  smile  is  either  shy  and  endearing  or  the  cheekiest  lil  shit-eating  grin  you’ve  ever  seen.  he’ll  laugh  at  the  worst  of  jokes.  fluent  in  sarcasm.  he’s  great  at  seeming  more  innocent  than  he  is  (  a  power  that  is  used  and  abused  during  prank-pulling  ).  and  yeah,  he’s  an  enabler  –  his  friends  do  stupid  stuff  and  he  doesn’t  stop  them.  but  so  what  ?  he’s  a  twenty  year  old  boy.

his  room  is  surprisingly  neat.  would  never  admit  it  but  he  kind  of  likes  cheesy  cliches  (  he’s  watched  gone  with  the  wind  with  his  mum  enough  times  he  can  quote  it  off  by  heart  ).  he  wants  to  be  a  dashing  hero  like  in  the  dog  eared  comic  books  he  still  has  in  a  box  under  his  bed.  wants  to  sweep  a  girl  off  her  feet.  wants  to  be  something  more  than  the  sidekick,  at  least  once.  

peter  loves  the  1977  star  wars  movie  and  is  very  excited  for  the  sequel  coming  out  later  this  year  !  he’s  rooting  for  luke  and  leia  (((:  sure  hope  nothing  in  the  future  movies  will  ruin  that  ship  !  (  yes,  this  is  his  villain  origin  story  )

sometimes  he’s  trying  just  a  bit  too  hard  to  impress  other  people  because  he  cares  a  lot  more  about  what  other  people  think  of  him  than  he  likes  to  let  on.  slightly  self  conscious  because  he  had  a  growth  spurt  over  the  summer  –  he  used  to  be  really  short  but  now  he’s  all  long  limbs  and  stupid  grins  and  dimples  and  tousled  blond  hair  and  he’s  grown  quite  attractive  but  doesn’t  realize  it,  thank god.  and  hey  –  that’s  just  part  of  his  charm.  because  he  is  charming.  he  just  doesn’t  realise  it,  compared  to  james  and  sirius.

he  compares  himself  to  james  and  sirius  a  lot.  peter  has  always  been  prone  to  insecure  thoughts  and  nervous  tics  –  during  exam  season  his  nails  are  always  bitten  down  to  stubs  and  his  skin  breaks  out.  and  in  the  times  he’s  feeling  particularly  unhappy  with  himself  he  looks  to  his  friends.  and  this  can  go  either  one  of  two  ways  –  either  they  make  him  better  and  build  him  up  (  and  really  he  should  be  able  to  do  that  himself  but  he’s  always  been  dependent  on  other  people.  always.  first  his  parents,  then  the  marauders.  )  or  he’s  feeling  insecure  and  he  looks  to  his  friends  and  sees  how  much  better  they  are  than  him.  how  unattainable  their  status  is.  and  he  feels  like  a  useless  burden,  dragging  them  down.  those  are  his  bad  days.  but  they’re  relatively  infrequent  –  at  least  for  now.

he  has  ways  to  dispel  these  thoughts.  for  one,  he  drinks.  not  the  best  coping  mechanism,  granted,  but  whiskey  burns  his  throat  and  the  inside  of  his  chest  like  the  fire  he  always  wished  he  had  burning  inside  of  him,  and  it  makes  him  feel  stronger  and  it  makes  him  feel  braver  and  his  friends  are  drinking  with  him  and  soon  they’re  all  laughing  and  doing  stupid  shit  together  and  then  the  alcohol  washes  away  any  doubts  peter  has.  and  it’s  good.

and  sometimes  he  gets  into  fist  fights.  he’s  gotten  better  at  it  over  the  years,  ever  since  sirius  taught  him  that  your  thumb  isn’t  supposed  to  go  inside  your  fist.  he  feels  strong  when  he  fights;  he  feels  a  reckless  sort  of  freedom  that’s  as  close  to  confidence  as  he’ll  ever  get.  and  sometimes  he  picks  fights  he  knows  he  can’t  win,  but  hey,  that’s  part  of  the  thrill,  right  ?  because  he  also  knows  that  his  friends  can  bail  him  out,  and  he  also  knows  that  the  black  eye  he’s  going  to  have  in  the  morning  will  make  him  look  tougher,  and  people  will  fuss  over  him  and  ask  questions.  and  it’s  good.

if  you  asked  peter  what  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world  is  to  him,  he  would  say  his  friends.  and  he  would  say  his  family.  not  once  would  it  ever  occur  to  him  to  say  himself,  or  his  own  health  or  happiness.

he  puts  a  lot  of  value  on  interpersonal  relationships.  and  sometimes,  that’s  a  good  thing  because  he  values  those  relationships  and  cherishes  them,  and  he’s  a  wonderful  friend  and  very  intuitive.  he  can  always  tell  if  someone’s  upset,  and  he’s  a  great  listener.  but  also  sometimes  it’s  a  bad  thing  how  much  value  he  puts  on  those  relationships.  because  he  builds  his  own  personal  value  off  of  them,  and  off  how  much  people  like  him  and  support  him.  like  i  said  –  he’s  always  been  dependent.  he  doesn’t  know  any  way  else  to  be.

and  deep  down,  peter  is  an  optimist.  it’s  his  fatal  flaw.  how  ?  because  no  matter  how  badly  things  are  going,  he  thinks  to  himself  that  it’ll  all  turn  out  fine,  in  the  end.  something  will  happen,  in  the  end.  someone  will  save  him,  in  the  end.  for  instance  –  he  has  no  idea  what  he  wants  to  do  after  hogwarts.  and  sometimes  that  worries  him,  but  most  of  the  time  he  pushes  it  to  the  back  of  his  mind.  he  can  think  about  that  later.  because  in  the  end,  it’ll  turn  out fine.  because  it  always  does  for  the  good  guys.  right  ?

idk  what  else  to  say  man  …  i  love  peter  but  sometimes  he  makes  me  sad.  this  quote  from  buffy  always  reminds  me  of  him

BACKGROUND

Born January 12th in Wales to two half-blood parents who are primarily engaged in Wizard culture rather than Muggle culture

Still, they raised him with an understanding of the Muggle world as equal and important like any other culture

He is an only child

He grew up fairly well off but his family name/their history is nothing notable

SCHOOL LIFE

Caradoc is proud to be a Gryffindor, he feels its where people who truly want to make something great of themselves are most likely to go

He is a book smart student and rather athletic too, however, his actual magical ability is below average

Still, his work ethic and general rule following made him good for the role of Prefect

He works a lot more than he plays but doesn’t find it hard to have a good time

PERSONALITY

Caradoc is not a sentimental person, he is the type who just tells others to “get over it and move on”

It’s common for him to fake it until he makes it in many aspects of his life and often works beyond his abilities to gain success

This has given him a false sense of superiority 

He is the kind of person who is there for the good times but not the bad. He’s friendly, but it’s often rather impersonal

Being around him is not ever quite relaxing whether it be due to his energy, his intimidating work ethic, or his pretentious attitude