#rev intro

Pansy Parkinson disappeared after the war. Her parents were locked away in Azkaban, their house and assets were confiscated by the Ministry, all she was left with was the money in her Gringotts account. She pulled all of it out the day after the trial, and she left Britain. The continent wasn’t new to her, but dallying with French Muggles was. Then the dalliance turned into a relationship, and at the age of 20, she was married to a man that didn’t care about what her parents had done.

Jade came two years later, born on the exact anniversary of his parents’ marriage. His mother raised looked at the way she’d been raised, the ideals she’d been imparted with, and threw out the whole thing. He grew up with compassion and understanding, with his mother and father’s love, and with a thirst for vengeance. 

Beauxbatons smoothed out his rough edges, it taught him how to cast accio but, more importantly, it taught him how to charm. The latter of which ended up being the one that helped when he made his way to England.

The Ministry took everything from his mother, from the Parkinson name, so he graduated Beauxbatons and jumped on a boat across the channel. He knew about the brewing war, and Orion Lestrange promised him the Parkinson legacy back so long as they won. It seemed easy, and maybe that should have been his first clue that things were not what they seemed. 

It’s been 6 years since he joined the Wraiths. 6 years of hiding, 6 years of following a man that fanatically worships the worst thing to ever grace the wizarding world. Jade is tired. He’s no longer the bright-eyed boy that stepped off the boat and he knows that Lestrange is exactly the kind of person his mother told him not to trust. But it’s not as simple as walking away, not with the rune branding his hip. Orion can tell he’s no longer a loyal follower, and Jade knows that he cannot continue to pretend without slipping up. 

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「 PRESENT 」

[TRIGGER WARNINGS: implications of ptsd, death, 

ernie has been a professor at hogwarts for only a few short years- offered the position of professor of magical arts and literature by neville in his first year as headmaster, his job has become the love of his life

he’d never thought that the school could become home for him again, after the war was won he’d retreated into himself, unable to be near hogwarts, his friends, even the wizarding world for a time. muggle london allowed him the comfort to not be constantly looking over his shoulder. he never reunited with the da- despite holding onto his coin for all these years. out of his own perceived stubbornness, out of fear of falling back into that place if he was faced with the people who he’d clawed out of that dark pit with. out of keeping the memories of his comrades in arms: his friends afraid, in pain- just that, memories. in the past where they couldn’t hurt anymore. 

in muggle london he took classes at a community college, until he roped up enough credits for an undergraduate in art history. he spent his next years travelling, weaving in and out of the wizarding world here and there collecting art- specifically from the period of the war they’d just left. never keeping the same address for long. 

accepting the position neville offered him wasn’t quite out of necessity, but work wasn’t ever really consistent for ernie. he could feel his own panic when he returned to the familiar halls, regret tackling him at every corner, reevaluating every moment that brought him here (why he even thought he could be a teacher? he didn’t even like children-; though that opinion would change by the end of his first year of teaching.) hogwarts was able to feel safe again, to be home once more. 

while he never wanted to join the order, there is no such thing as neutrality to ernie. and he was not about to follow his parent’s path of turning the blind eye and so he joined- with the notion in mind that this was not the same threat they had faced as children. these were fanatics, old followers of the dark lord but he himself was gone. he never had many chances to go on order missions, but rather spent most nights pouring over the prophecy with neville into the late hours- despite not being fully convinced by prophecies and fate he dedicated his time into trying to piece together the impossible puzzle

 he stood strong by neville in the wake of the fall of the ministry, hating the familiarity of it all. hating the murmurs of revolution amoungst his students spreading like a plague- some in the name of potter, some not- that he convinced himself he didn’t hear. when they lost neville it became the crack in the crumbling wall. he wonders often if this is how his professors felt, unable to protect their students, unable to protect their home.