Look What they've done to my soul

Hello! My name is Mel. My main blog is @melbellelove.

I mostly write Jily/Marauder era fics but I dabble in most eras of Harry Potter. My favorite characters are Harry, Neville, Remus, and Sirius. I also sometimes make moodboards, write meta, and promote the House Elf Hotties initiative

You can find all my fics here or check out selected highlights under the cut.

Written for @jilymicrofics Prompt: Wink Word Count: 491

From his vantage points in the shadows of castle corridors, hidden passageways, and behind enchanted tapestries, Wipple had watched countless relationships unfold over the years.

Students became friends. Friends became sweethearts. Sweethearts became bitter enemies.

Enemies occasionally became sweethearts.

Yet no relationship had ever confounded him quite as much as that between Mr. Potter and Miss Evans.

To Wipple's eyes, they had a great deal in common. Both were unusually polite to the house-elves. They possessed a highly creative interpretation of school rules and they displayed an alarming willingness to hex, punch, or otherwise attack individuals they believed deserved it.

By all reasonable measures, they should have gotten along splendidly.

Instead, they seemed to alternate unpredictably between friendship and hostility.

One week they would be arguing loudly in a corridor. The next they would be laughing together. Then they would ignore one another entirely.

It was deeply confusing.

Then, several weeks ago, something had changed.

Mr. Potter and Miss Evans had emerged from the library together and proceeded down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. They had been talking the entire time, exchanging jokes and teasing remarks.

Most remarkably, neither had attempted to insult the other.

Wipple had been so surprised that he nearly walked into a suit of armor.

When they reached the portrait hole, Miss Evans turned toward Potter.

"You know," she said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "you're much more tolerable than I was led to believe."

Potter placed a hand over his heart.

"Evans, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"No promises."

She laughed softly.

"Good night, Potter."

"Good night, Evans."

She took a step toward the portrait hole, then paused.

"Oh, and Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"If you keep looking at me like that, people might start to think you have a crush on me."

Before Potter could form anything resembling a coherent response, Lily gave him a wink.

Just once. A tiny movement. Nothing more.

Miss Evans climbed through the portrait hole and disappeared. Mr. Potter remained standing in the corridor.

Completely motionless. His expression suggested that every coherent thought had abruptly abandoned him. Wipple had honestly wondered whether the boy required medical attention. Several minutes passed before Potter finally stumbled away, still looking thoroughly stunned.

Wipple never learned what transpired between them in the days that followed. What he did know was that shortly afterward, both students began appearing in the kitchens.

Separately and frequently.

Mr. Potter would sit at one table staring into space.

Miss Evans would appear on a different evening and do exactly the same thing.

Both seemed thoroughly miserable. And Wipple could not for the life of him understand why.

He had witnessed the entire incident.

There had been no shouting.

No dueling.

No crying.

Just one wink.

Written for @jilymicrofics Prompt: Creature Word Count: 582

All house-elves were supposed to perform their work unseen by the wizarding population. It was no easy task in a castle filled with hundreds of people wandering its corridors at all hours, which was why most house-elves did their work at night.

The arrangement had given many wizards the mistaken impression that house-elves were nocturnal creatures. They were not. Night simply offered the greatest opportunity to work without being observed.

Wipple was particularly skilled at navigating Hogwarts' maze of tunnels, secret passages, and hidden shortcuts. As a result, whenever the Office of House-Elf Relocation assigned a new elf to the school, it was Wipple's responsibility to guide them through the castle and teach them how to move about unnoticed.

It also meant that Wipple witnessed far more than most elves.

He saw students sneaking from their dormitories after curfew. He observed clandestine meetings, illicit study sessions, secret duels, and romantic rendezvous. He overheard whispered gossip, dramatic confessions, and elaborate schemes shared by students who assumed no one was listening.

The students rarely noticed him. It gave Wipple a great advantage in observing and learning about wizard behavior, studying the species up close without them knowing. 

"Hello, Wipple."

Wipple looked up to find Mr. Potter stepping into the passageway ahead. Unfortunately, Mr. Potter was not most students.

Wipple had long ago abandoned any attempt to hide from Potter and his friends during his nightly rounds. If he stopped to conceal himself every time one of them appeared, he would never accomplish any work. They seemed to spend almost as much time wandering the castle after curfew as they did attending classes.

"That's a rather large pile of laundry you've got there," Potter said, eyeing the stack balanced in Wipple's arms. "Need a hand taking it to the wash?"

"No, Mr. Potter," Wipple replied. "Wipple can manage."

"Of course you can," Potter said cheerfully. "But I'm happy to help if you need it."

As always, Wipple found himself unsure how to respond.

Mr. Potter was not like the other pure-blood students Wipple had encountered during his years at Hogwarts. Most barely acknowledged the existence of house-elves. Some ignored them entirely. A few shouted at them. Others treated them like pieces of furniture that happened to move on their own.

Potter, meanwhile, greeted elves by name. He asked how they were doing. He thanked them for their work. He spoke to them as though they were people.

Wipple did not know what to make of it.

Surely Potter understood the natural order of things. Every wizard child learned that house-elves existed to serve wizarding families. Yet Potter behaved as though that distinction did not matter.

At times, Wipple wondered whether Potter was playing some elaborate joke that only he understood.

Yet if it was mockery, it was a remarkably committed one.

Potter had somehow convinced Mr. Black—who was far more distant with the elves than Potter himself—to learn the names of every elf they encountered. On one memorable occasion, the pair had personally escorted a frightened young elf, newly assigned to Hogwarts, all the way back to the house-elf quarters after she became lost.

How they had discovered where the elves lived remained a mystery that continued to trouble Wipple. Most wizards never gave a single thought to where house-elves went when they were not serving meals or cleaning rooms.

Potter had apparently investigated.

Yes, Wipple decided as he watched the young wizard disappear down the corridor.

Office of House-Elf Relocation not House-Elf Liaison office. No Department of House-Elf Relations, and no equivalent agency dedicated to understanding, advocating for, or negotiating with house-elves as a people. Instead, there is an office whose purpose is to relocate them from one wizarding household to another.

House-elves are treated less as a sentient race and more as inherited property to be redistributed when ownership changes hands. Their unique and powerful magic is not celebrated as a cultural achievement or protected as a racial characteristic. It is simply exploited for the benefit of witches and wizards.

Compare this to the Ministry's treatment of other magical beings. Goblins, despite centuries of conflict with wizarding society, have enough recognized autonomy that wizards learn Gobbledegook and maintain formal channels of communication. Centaurs, merpeople, and other intelligent magical races are acknowledged as peoples with their own cultures and interests, even when those relationships are strained. They even have their territory and lands respected and regulated.

There is no comparable effort for house-elves. No ambassadors. No cultural outreach. No expectation that witches and wizards learn the house-elf language or understand house-elf society. The relationship is entirely one-sided: wizards issue commands, and house-elves obey.

Werewolves endure some of the most severe discrimination in magical Britain, to the point that their classification as "beings" rather than "beasts" has historically been debated. Yet the Ministry still maintains support services and legislation specifically addressing their circumstances. The system acknowledges that werewolves have needs, rights, and problems of their own, even if it frequently fails to address them adequately.

House-elves receive no such consideration. The Ministry does not concern itself with their welfare because the institution assumes they have no independent interests worth protecting. The only "service" associated with house-elves is the unpaid labor they provide to others. When a master dies, the government's concern is not whether the elf wishes to be free but where the elf should be sent next. Their future is treated as a question of reassignment, not self-determination.

The result is a system of perpetual, state-sanctioned servitude. House-elves are denied freedom not merely by individual families but by the legal and bureaucratic structures of magical Britain itself. The Ministry does not challenge the institution of house-elf slavery; it administers it.

And yet, Harry still gets to be the hero when he demands a house-elf makes him a sandwich at the end of his story.

Birthday Weekend

He grabbed his Quidditch bag and pulled out his wand. With a flick, his trunk, backpack, and the rest of his belongings rose into the air and floated toward the door.

Dudley's eyes followed them. "I thought you weren't allowed to do magic outside school."

Harry couldn't help smiling. "I'm seventeen today."

The trunk drifted through the doorway behind him.

"I can do it wherever I like now."

Harry headed downstairs, hearing Dudley's heavy footsteps following behind him.

When he reached the bottom landing, he found Sirius already collecting his things. Harry's backpack was slung over one shoulder while Sirius casually shrank his trunk and Hedwig's cage down to pocket size before slipping them into his jacket.

Uncle Vernon stood stiffly in the middle of the living room. Harry could tell he was trying to make himself appear taller and broader than usual, squaring his shoulders as though sheer stubbornness could stop him from being intimidated by Sirius's imposing presence.

It wasn't working.

Sirius looked completely at ease, one hand tucked into his pocket, as though he owned the place.

Aunt Petunia hovered near the corner of the room, lips pressed into a thin line. She seemed determined to avoid being part of the scene altogether, as though if she ignored it long enough, Harry's departure might simply happen around her.

"There he is!" Sirius beamed. "The birthday wizard!"

Written for @jilymicrofics Prompt: Liberation Word Count: 426

The Hogwarts house-elves were not accustomed to visitors in the kitchens.

Occasionally, a professor would wander in for a late-night snack, or a student would accidentally stumble through while searching for a bathroom or a secret passage. Those visits were brief and infrequent.

What the elves were not prepared for was the steady invasion of two particular students who, entirely independently of one another, had decided that the kitchens were the perfect place to hide, mope, and wallow in their feelings.

"Now, Tipsy," said Giggy, scrubbing a cauldron with far more force than necessary, "Giggy is not one for talkings of liberation, but if Miss Evans and Mr. Potter is coming down here for one more evening of sighing and staring into space, Giggy shall knit himself a sweater and be leaving."

"Don't be saying such awful things!" Tipsy squeaked, swatting him with a drying cloth. "Tipsy does not like hearing about elves leaving!"

Wipple looked up from the sink where he was polishing goblets.

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "it is not the elves who is needing liberation."

The kitchen fell silent.

"Then who is?" asked Tipsy.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Evans, of course," said Wipple. "They is trapping themselves in a terrible prison of feelings."

"A prison of feelings?" Giggy repeated.

Wipple nodded gravely.

"Mr. Potter sits at that table and sighs."

"He does sigh very loudly," another elf agreed.

"And Miss Evans comes down two hours later and sighs at the very same table."

"Sometimes at the same spot," whispered Tipsy.

"Exactly," said Wipple. "They is both believing their love is unreturned, when any elf with eyes can see different."

A murmur of agreement spread through the kitchen.

"It is making the soup taste sad," one elf complained.

"And the bread," another added.

"The whole kitchen is suffering," said Giggy solemnly.

"So Wipple thinks we should help them."

Tipsy's eyes widened.

"Help them?"

"Help them see what every elf in Hogwarts already knows," Wipple said. "Then they can be courting each other somewhere that is not the kitchens."

"Oh!" Tipsy clasped her hands together. "That would be a wonderful service."

"It would be a great service," Giggy agreed. "House-elves serves Hogwarts, and Hogwarts would be much happier if those two stopped moping near the pastry shelves."

"Hear, hear!" cried several elves.

Wipple straightened proudly.

"Then it is decided. Operation Liberate Mr. Potter and Miss Evans shall begin at once."

"And when they is finally together," Giggy declared, raising a wooden spoon like a sword, "the kitchens shall know peace again."

For @abihastastybeans and @blitheringmcgonagall

“Turn this stupid fat rat yellow!”

Ron jabbed Scabbers with his wand.

Harry leaned forward eagerly, expecting some dazzling display of magic. Instead, a white blur shot through his eyesight.

“Hedwig!”

Before either boy could react, the snowy owl landed squarely in Ron's lap, snatched Scabbers in her talons, and launched herself back into the corridor.

“My rat!” Ron shouted.

“Hedwig, no!”

I KNOW!!

James isn't sure if he failed or succeeded at online dating Written for May 2026 @jilymicrofics Prompt: Profile

James: Just so you all know, your “great genius idea” was complete rubbish.

Sirius: You’ll have to be more specific, dear Prongs. All my ideas are brilliant.

Peter: He made a WandMatch profile.

Sirius: No. You actually did it?

James: You told me it was the best way to meet girls who weren’t Evans.

Sirius: I didn’t think you’d actually listen to me! Show me.