we'll set fear on fire

I been reaching from the ground up To the highest heights I been cooking up a shit storm And I feel alright Slytherin. 6th Year. Pure

[wiltcdrose-deactivated20191005]

“Oh, eat shit, Carrow.”

Gwenog needed no reassurance of her worth from the likes of Amycus Carrow - the rational, much less wand-happy version of herself knew better than to give into his urging. She knew he was goading her, she knew that he was enjoying the sight of it, her riled up, chest heaving, shaking from her boots to the very ends of her curls — but Gwenog couldn’t help but seethe. How many seconds had passed since she first drew her wand? Two? Ten? Every moment that passed had her slipping away from good judgement. She had always been the type to punch first, ask questions later, much to the chagrin of her parents. Even now, she could hear her mother whispering comfort in her ear: “Hush, Gwennie. Sticks n’ stones, love. You’ll prove them all wrong with that big, beautiful brain.” Every nerve of hers was on fire, razed and burning hotter with every word that slid out of that snake’s mouth.

(And it hurt. God, she would never admit it out loud, but each time he referred to her as no better than the scum on his shoes it was as if she shrank to  n o t h i n g .  Defenseless, scared, a child cowering in fear of the monster lurking in the cupboard.) 

He got close again, enough for her stomach to lurch and to see every pore along his cheeks and nose, feel his hot breath coast along her face, looming, imposing, close enough to jab out an eye, break his jaw, hurt him if she wanted to. And she wanted to.  

—hot metal poured into her mouth. With no time to register what he was saying ( war? what  w a r —) she flung her arms out, one to shove Amycus away from her personal space and her right to cast a stinging jinx right at his face – but she stopped at the last second, the jinx dying on her tongue before it even began. “Protego.”  There was a flash-bam-boom! of sound and a hazy, translucent shield popped up in between them, strong and pulsing in the sunlight that streamed in from a nearby window. Gwen didn’t even care if he laughed at her next or flung a curse back Dark enough to land her flat on her back. The satisfaction of doing something was enough. “Stay away from me,” she said, cringing at the way her voice broke with fear and loathing. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

(The metal in her mouth was blood. She’d bitten through her tongue.)

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Amycus stumbled back unfazed, eyes following her sharp movements, gearing himself up for whatever attack her innocent mind could conceive of. But it didn’t come. A shield had been raised between them, obscuring her image with every pulse. Amycus stared at her through it, hair caressed by sunlight, fear etched across her features. He stared at her and he could not bottle the contempt that rose within him. It wasn’t the attack he had been wanting. It wasn’t an attack at all, just a defensive move, proof that she was weak. He had overestimated her and he hated her for it.

“A shield charm?” he said through gritted teeth, and in an instant his wand was drawn. If she wouldn’t inflict pain, Amycus would have to do it for her. He slashed at the shield with his magic. Not a single incantation left his lips. Anger untapped Amycus’ magic. It was when he was at his strongest. He didn’t need to say these words, not after a summer of practicing. Say the incantation aloud and your opponent knew exactly what was coming. Amycus couldn’t transform a goblet into a candlestick without effort, but this? This he could do if he was driven to it. Gwenog Jones had done just that.

“If you think a shield charm is going to protect you against the likes of me, then you are sorely mistaken, Jones.” The shield emitted a crackling sound with every jinx it deflected. Locomotor Wibbly, the ear-shrivelling curse, the stinging jinx; any spell that could cause either discomfort or humiliation he cast upon her, but none of them got through. Gwenog might have lost her thunder, but her shield charm was not distinguished so easily.

There was nothing, nothing, Amycus loathed more than loss of power. He had so little agency over his own life. Amycus Carrow would only receive the Mark when the Dark Lord deemed to grant it. Amycus Carrow would not marry for love, but for politics. Youth itself had been taken from him and what for? Because people like Gwenog existed, soiling the wizarding world. War was a double edged sword; Amycus craved it, craved the profits he would reap from it, but if the world had simply seen sense maybe Amycus could have gotten everything he wanted without it.

“Densaugio... Calvorio...” Each spell dissipated the second it hit the shield, but he didn’t stop. He was breathing hard, his magic thinning with every failed attempt to penetrate the shield. Amycus didn’t know if he wanted to hurt her or scare her. Amycus didn’t know anything in that moment, only that a wall had been placed between them rendering him powerless. The taste of bile hit his tongue. He gripped his wand tighter, trembling with hatred; for Jones, and for himself, for anything that stood in his way. “Crucio,” he cried, slashing the air with his wand one last time.

[wiltcdrose-deactivated20191005]

Gwenog could see her future as a professional Quidditch player just beyond her reach, but she also saw doors slamming in her face, saw every “no” as an unspoken “you cannot do this because you are lesser”. She’d fought through barriers all her life, against people who denied her opportunities based on her race, her womanhood, her blood. Her professors always commented on the quality of her drive; her unflappable ability to push herself on the pitch and in the classroom beyond any reasonable limit. She thrived on the respect she could earn from others, glowed with pride every time she learned a new spell, because each triumph stood as a glowing reminder that this, magic, was a world in which she belonged. 

“Oh, mudblood, filth – have you got any insults longer than two syllables, Amycus? That would require more than two brain cells, you know.” Fuck it. He wasn’t going to listen to her anyway, no matter how much she shouted, or clawed his eyes out the way she wanted to. Her wand was out of her sleeve, then pointed at the offending article in question, and then it was a pile of ash on the table. “God, just–fuck you. I make my own success, you fucking prick, I’m–” Her wand was out, she could just hex him and be done with it. 

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Gwen could insult his intelligence all she liked. Amycus didn’t care for that anyway. What did it mean, coming from her? What did it mean in here, where his strengths weren’t given the appreciation they deserved, where they were perceived as flaws, faults? Amycus wasn’t using those words as insults anyway. He was merely speaking the truth. Her blood was mud, she was filth. She could insult his intelligence all she liked, for Amycus barely cared what his Slytherin peers thought of him, let alone a mudblood like Gwenog Jones. She was good at Quidditch, he’d give her that. She was the best player in the school actually, whatever that article claimed, but the fact that she didn’t belong here meant all her talent counted for nothing. She had no right to a wand and no right to ride a broom. Simple as that. 

The article lit up and ignited his senses. The sweet, smoky tang conjured memories of mutating fires, coiling and contorting, a novice’s attempts at Fiendfyre but greater than any spell he’d cast before. The sight of her wand, which she held as if ready to wield it against him, flooded his heart with a thirst that demanded to be felt, every beat heavy against his rib cage. Gwen exuded emotions all too familiar to Amycus. He had reduced her to something resembling himself, a hot ball of rage and resistance. It had been too easy.

“Do it,” he spat. Slowly, he held out his arms. He could feel his wand where he’d placed it in the pocket of his robes, but he had no intention of drawing it. “Do it. You think you’re more than the mud clogging your veins, prove it.” 

Every second that she didn’t, Amycus’ anger merely soared. He wanted her to. He had dealt pain often, but he never felt it for the right reasons. He wanted a fight. He wanted a fair fight. He wanted an opponent that didn’t merely defend, but attacked. He wanted to be struck. He wanted pain that he deserved, that he had earned. Every second that passed and Gwenog Jones didn’t hex him, Amycus’ disappointment swelled. “You can’t, can you?” he said, stepping forward, bringing his face close to Gwenog’s. Then, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper, husky and laced with malice; “how the fuck do you even expect to survive this war?” 

[lucius-malfcy-blog]

Lucius’ smirk deepened. He almost felt bad for the poor soul, knowing there was no way Amycus would let this go, save the person begging on their knees. And even then, it was unlikely. “Or rather, return the favour twofold. You know my father’s favourite saying. ‘We won’t just stoop to their level, we’ll stoop lower and beat them at their own game.’” He knew Amycus had likely heard something similar from his own parents. It seemed as though all their parents were cut from the same cloth. In a way it was reassuring, as if they spoke a language many others would never understand.

“Go on,” Lucius insisted, eager to hear Amycus’ plots for revenge. He frowned slightly at the first, knowing that whatever filth had dirtied his robes wouldn’t be likely to care about it. As he continued, Lucius nodded appreciatively. “I like it. The fuck with one of us, we fuck with all of them.” Subtly would be a plus in this situation. First starters, the ignorant slob who had messed up Amycus’ robes wasn’t likely to name Amycus as the assailant, if he hadn’t considered his actions a wrongdoing. And secondly, a less personal attack could lead to any number of Gryffindors being outraged, and that was always fun to watch. 

His smirk widened as he let out a dark chuckle. “I’m surprised that wasn’t your first choice. A hex, a threat, public humilation are all perfectly sound options. It just depends on how much planing you’re willing to put into this.”

[amycusscarrow-blog]

A hex was always Amycus’ first choice and over the summer he had almost doubled his arsenal. He awaited the opportunity to use the new curses he had learned, to practise them, to hone his skill and sharpen his magic. But he had come close to expulsion in the past. Too close. Home-schooling had never appealed to Amycus. Durmstrange might have been a fine fit for Amycus, but he would never find out. Even if his parents could scrape enough together to send him there in the event of expulsion from Hogwarts, Amycus wouldn’t go. He had never been separated from his sister for a significant time, let alone distance. And he hoped he never would. But that meant he would have to temper his rage on occasion. Besides, Amycus was certain he’d have better reasons to bring pain to the corridors of this castle in the coming months. 

“Wise words,” Amycus said, using his smirk as a mask for any other emotion he felt at the mention of fathers. His own father stooped often. To retrieve his goblet, or his wand. He stooped rather than stood. His own father couldn’t beat anyone at their own game. He was a slave to his disease. He was all talk and no action, hence why Amycus only spoke of what he intended to see through to the end. Confiding in Lucius might have set his nerves on edge if he wasn’t confident in his ability to destroy. 

"No more planning than the bastard is worth,” he said. Planning wasn’t one of Amycus’ strengths. He favoured brutality over cunning, the sword over the pen. In truth, the boy wasn’t worth any planning at all, but only a few days into the year and Amycus was already growing restless. Petty his plans might be, but they were something beyond the mundanity of classes. “If I deliver a hex, having a prefect on hand could be invaluable. The right prefect anyway. I won’t get off without some kind of punishment. What’s the worst they’ll give me?” He looked at Lucius for the answer, then quickly shook his head. That wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. “No. What’s the most I can get away with without getting expelled?”  

[squadleadcr-a]

“They certainly do seem to know what they are doing,” Ophelia responded a sip of Pumpkin Juice later. “Poor things probably put their hearts into everything that make.” She found herself wishing that her mother was a better cook. The woman did what she could, preferring to cook her own meals and to do her own chores to clear her mind. Apparently it was therapeutic but Ophelia hadn’t quite gotten the point.

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Amycus couldn’t care less if they put their hearts into it or not. A zealous house elf was also an annoying house elf. They weren’t people, capable of nuanced feelings and emotions. They were born and bred to serve witch and wizardkind. The elves at Hogwarts each fulfilled their life's purpose. It was more than he could say for the elf at home, which meant only one thing; it was utterly worthless. He couldn’t fathom why his mother refused to see that. “I can’t believe old Dumby actually pays them,” Amycus said bitterly. “This is the wizard in charge of our education.” It sickened him the way their Headmaster deviated from tradition. It appalled him that for the next two years this was what he had to put up with. The food was some compensation, Amycus would admit, but not nearly enough.

[viennasms-blog]

                   nimble fingers curl into a clutched fist && finding the will to allow a small breath of smoggish air to flow down barricaded lungs. it hadn’t been all that long since the beginning of the school year started and the thought of burning flesh was fresh on her conscience. the filthy little rat was etching at her patience and time was clicking so slowly && a fuse was about to burst. ‘ i’m gonna sew the outer corners of your lips together if you don’t quickly find the will to shut your muddied mouth. ‘

@amycusscarrow

[amycusscarrow-blog]

“As you can see, my sister has quite the sense of humour," Amycus cut in. "Although I’ve seen her do it. The poor bastard wasn’t laughing.” He looked at the mudblood lazily, took in the finer details of the moment; how they cowered before Alecto, cruelty pouring from deceptively delicate features. Amycus always enjoyed watching his sister at work. She put the rest of them to shame. 

“I pity the fool on the other end of your wand.” He addressed Alecto this time, eyes lingering on hers, drinking in her anger. Over the summer holidays, Amycus was overcome with the desire to protect the sister he loved, from their parents most of all. Not that she needed his protection from anything. But this? This was the fix Amycus had hungered for; pure and unadulterated fun, save for the mudblood tainting everything in its path, the very air they breathed.

[wiltcdrose-deactivated20191005]

Keeping her composure was difficult. Gwenog searched Amycus’ face as long as she was able, looking for some deep-buried compassion, an ounce of care, a shred of humanity. His eyes were slate, cold, sparkling deep within with some sort of hate that Gwenog couldn’t comprehend. How could she, as the object of it? How could she, when looking into his eyes was enough to convey the fact that he wanted her dead. 

His shove sent her stumbling backward – and the laughter made her anger flicker under her skin, flames licking around her heart and jump towards her tongue. “You think you’re special? You think you’re better? You. Know. Nothing,” she spat, jutting her chin up. “You know nothing about the world outside this castle and your gold and your purity nonsense. I’d love to see you try and survive one hour without your wand and your bravado. You’d crumble.” 

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Special was a word Amycus wouldn't dream of attaching to himself. There was nothing special about him. That was the problem. All he had was pure blood in his veins and a taste for pain that needed to be satiated. The Carrows didn’t have gold. Not enough of it to make a difference. It pleased him that she thought he did. He did his job well if that was what she saw when she looked at him. But the suggestion that he didn’t know the world outside this castle was laughable. Amycus knew it better than most. He ached to be in the world outside this castle. Hogwarts bought him freedom from his parents, but half the magic he excelled at wasn’t even taught here. Stepping back into the school for his sixth year, Amycus felt his world shrink. It was maddening.

“Maybe I don’t know anything about your world, mudblood,” he snarled. “But I know enough of this world to see your days here are numbered.” He took a step backwards, eyeing her up and down, taking in the damage he had wrought upon her already. She was angry, defiant. Amycus’ eyes were alight, lips still curled with dangerous mirth. He liked a mudblood that put up a good fight. It made it all that little bit more worthwhile. He nodded towards the magazine, still open on the article. “How long until they ban your filth from playing in the big leagues altogether?” he said, sensing he had struck a nerve. He would strike it again, and again, however many times it took to make her break.

[lilyev-archived]

“Actually, that line’s about the importance of duality in magic,” she corrected him, glancing at where he was pointing. “And what then, exactly, should girls ‘like myself’ waste all their time on?”

[amycusscarrow-blog]

“Something more fun?” he said. Anyone with any remote connection to Amycus could have guessed ancient runes was as far from his idea of fun as it came. “If you’re falling asleep in the library you’re clearly doing more than enough of this.” He flicked the book between them.  It wasn’t like she relied on her intelligence to get by, the way Amycus relied on his own strengths. “But if Ancient Runes is your life’s calling then by all means, don’t let me stand in your way.” He leaned back in his chair in a show of surrender, a smirk playing on his lips.

[blackasafvneral-deactivated2016]

Wealth was not something Bellatrix cared about. Father had taught her to only think of strength and purity when choosing an alliance, not riches, birthright or superiority. Mother, on the other hand, had avidly disapproved of their father’s teachings and tried to press the seed in deeper - marry rich, marry for a name. But Bellatrix never worried for that, not when there was a war brewing about the horizon, beckoning her into the thralls. She didn’t mind the Carrows, or their lacking funds because that simply meant nothing to her.

Perhaps she was the lucky one.

“Kill the thing,” She responded, letting her fork slip from her fingers and onto the half-eaten dinner below. “They’re fucking useless creatures anyway. Can’t cook to save their own lives.” Her right shoulder lifted into a nonchalant shrug before she leaned forward onto her elbows. If she had a semblance of empathy, perhaps she would have watched her words and been more sympathetic. But it was no secret that Bellatrix lacked that ability. 

“Certainly, I’ll write her immediately and describe all of the horrors you’ve endured.” This time she laughed, the tone sweet and unfamiliar. Coldness was reserved for the people she truly despised. “Something needs to be done about this school, Amycus. What are the corridors going to look like without us around?”

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Amycus’ laughed with her. Kill the thing. Her words were spoken like a death sentence.  He must have vowed to kill it plenty of times in his head, but never actually considered carrying out the act on the creature himself. That was a job for the executioner. If there was ever proof he still had a lot to learn it was this. He hadn’t actually taken a life before. Given that he still had the trace on him, he had to be careful what spells he practiced over the summer. A Killing Curse in the home of the Carrows would flag the attention of the Ministry. Killing the elf simply wasn’t practical unless Amycus wanted to get his hands dirty. And his robes, the kitchen tiles, whatever tool he’d used to do the job. Amycus could almost feel the warm wash of blood on his hands as he considered it. That was something he’d felt before; blood, the thrill of inflicting pain on another. It was enough to know the first time he took a life he wanted it to mean something. When he finally undertook that rite of passage it would be something truly special.

“They breed like fucking rabbits,” Amycus said, glowering. “Every year there’s more of them.” It was impossible to avoid them, so Amycus intended to make each and every one he came into contact with regret ever boarding the train. It angered him to no end that this was the extent of his power in this school. It wasn’t enough. Amycus wanted to do something that mattered. He wanted to serve the Dark Lord as he rose to power. And yet he didn’t. Not yet, at least. Not unless Alecto came with him, and she would never do that. He’d never let her. Unlike him, she was too intelligent to leave this place. Unlike him, she could actually achieve something here.

“You’re lucky,” he said, looking down at his plate, shifting the food with his fork. He hardly took notice of it anymore. It was simply something to do with his hands. “You’ve only got another year and then you’ll be free of this place.” Mudbloods spoiled everything they touched. They took what wasn’t theirs, tarnishing it for those for whom it was their birthright. They didn’t belong at Hogwarts, Amycus knew that, but the way Slytherins were disrespected by their peers it was almost like it was the other way around. It would take more than a strong hex to set that right.

[wiltcdrose-deactivated20191005]

Gwenog scanned the pages for an author or editor at the end of the article, frowning in disappointment when all she could find was a set of initials. Her stomach sank as she read the words over and over – noting, in the back of her mind, that the text bore a strong resemblance to the articles her father brought home when he conducted research on regimes and genocides. Articles like this, with thinly-veiled hate speech that you could dismiss as a one-off thing until it became societal belief – this is how it starts. 

She scoffed at the sham of a graphic on the page, though inside she knew the clean lines and statistics would look convincing to the average reader. “Correlation does not imply causation.” 

The chill that his implication sent down her spine was not enough to stop Gwen from lunging forward and capturing the front of his robes in her hand, holding his face in front of hers with all the strength of a beater. 

“You should have better sense than to insult a lady like that, Amycus. Where are those precious pureblood manners?” 

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Amycus looked at her, really looked at her, for what must have been the first time. Sure, he’d seen her up in the sky, zipping around on her broom, with the rest of the school. He’d seen her in classes, even talked to her on occasion. But that was different to this. He’d never been face to face with her. He looked at her, at the fist clenching the front of his robes, and he laughed. He couldn’t help himself. She was strong, he’d give her that, but that only made him laugh harder.

“Excuse me, but you are no lady,” he said, closing his hand over hers and tightening his grip until her sharp knuckles dug into his palm. If she wanted to play, he’d play, but the thing about Amycus Carrow was that he never played nicely. Lady. Another huff of laughter escaped his lips. “And my pureblood manners are perfectly intact. They simply do not apply to you.” He held his face even closer. She didn’t stink like she ought to. She actually smelled rather pleasant. But his nose wrinkled regardless. She was everything he had been taught to despise. Hating her and her kind served his interests and so he would hate her viciously. He ripped her hand from his robes, shoving her away from him.

[lucius-malfcy-blog]

Lucius’ eyebrow raised at Amycus’ suggestion. He wasn’t naive enough to assume Amycus was planning something any professor should or would know about, and he had no doubt that someone was probably going to get hurt. But he also knew it was time to step up and help his acquaintance. With a smirk, he pulled his wand out of his pocket, and held it casually by his side. “Extra wand at your service,” he said, with a slight nod of his head. Too late to back out now. 

“Who did what to you, and what are you doing in return?” he asked with light curiosity.

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Amycus’ chest rose as he took in a deep, slow breath. It felt good to have Lucius on his side. This kind of solidarity from his peers only served to remind him why he was the way he was, so eager to get out of school and into the real world, to wear his mark on his arm. Amycus enjoyed being a part of something bigger than himself. It never felt like that at home. At home, he was reduced to simple actions like taking away his father’s goblet, slapping his cheek to sober him up before important social calls... There was Alecto of course, but Amycus swore to do what he could to protect her from their parents and in that he was alone.

“Who isn’t important,” he said. It was just another worthless Gryffindor, their blood pure, their politics pure rot. “He got his filth on my robes almost the very second I walked into the Great Hall. I thought I’d return the favour.”

As if he could still feel that greasy hand on his shoulder, he rolled it back just slightly, unfolding his arms. He had magicked his robes clean immediately of course, then changed as soon as he got to the dormitory, throwing the robes into the laundry basket despite the fact they’d only been worn for a few hours. But a nerve had been struck. Amycus did the best he could with what he had. Looking at him, no one would think he could enchant a needle and thread to sew a hem. But he could. He had to and he had to do it well if he wanted to look the part in time for the new year at school.

“I’ve been pondering two ideas,” he continued. “Either I target the laundry room, assuming they care for the state of their robes which...” Amycus’ eyebrows knitted together in revulsion as he pictured the person in question, “they don’t. Or I could defile the Gryffindor table in the kitchens underneath the Great Hall.” Neither idea was direct, but Amycus considered that a plus. He would gladly see the entirety of the house suffer. Honestly, he hadn’t put much thought into the matter. All he knew was that he was bored and desperately needed to stretch his muscles. “Of course, I could always hex the scum, see how he likes that.”

[viennasms-blog]

“ I wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. I want you to be happy, and it doesn’t seem like their arrival at any point, especially to our home, would make you happy. “ && she wasn’t going to push the subject anymore. She understood his ill feelings towards their parents, in fact she shared them. There was never a time in history in their childhood home where she actually felt like her parents were part of her family. That’s all. And in regards to having an certain allegiance to them? She didn’t. The only person that mattered in her bloodline was her brother. 

All she had really wanted to do was get a few moments alone with him before everyone was escorted off to bed. She felt extremely exhausted and overwhelmed with her arrival back to Hogwarts, all the new fresh faces, the old ones. It had seemed that everything within the day had happened really quickly too, rather than a matter of hours, it felt like just a few moments ago they were back home, packing up their luggage. A slender hand brushes through chestnut locks && eyebrows arch. “ Better ways. “ it was a cute tease before the witch slid off of the bench, peering towards the sea of people scattered about. 

Surely they wouldn’t be missed, not with the chaos unfolding. So many excited faces, new youth. The dark haired beauty sighed, making her way to a point where she could stand my Amycus’s side, pressing her shoulder gently against his as she made her way towards the arch of the exit. Once they were far enough out where eyes couldn’t find them, she gently slipped her hand between his && laced their fingers together. “ I don’t care where we go, just as long as we’re alone. “

[amycusscarrow-blog]

They were never alone, not really. At home, their parents slept just down the hall. Amycus had been a noisy child, as likely to destroy his toys as he was to play with them. The walls of his bedroom had been enchanted to smother the raucous and as far as he knew they were still in place but that didn’t buy them much privacy. And when he was with Alecto he couldn’t be too careful. There was a tiny voice in his head that said this shouldn’t be; he felt like there were eyes everywhere and in this castle that couldn’t be too far from the truth. if he let himself go for just a second he’d blow everything to hell.

He doubted anyone in this castle would approve, or even forgive this transgression. The Carrow name had bought them a place among the right crowd. Over the years, Amycus had built friendships within that group. Rodolphus was the older brother Amycus had never had, never particularly wanted either, but he looked to him for guidance more often than he liked to admit. What would Rodolphus Lestrange think of something like this? Or the others?

Amycus imagined their eyes turned on him for a change, full of contempt and mockery. He couldn’t afford to let his guard slip, especially around Alecto, and yet the longer her hand spent in his the closer he came to dropping his guard altogether. There was something about this place; Amycus could feel the distance their living situation imposed on them already. All he wanted was a few minutes alone with her. It was all he needed before the year began and they were swept up in whatever drama and pettiness the year held for them. Just a few more minutes of home.

“Don’t do anything for me,” he said, the matter of their parents still on his mind. Alecto did so much for him already. Besides, where their mother and father were concerned, Amycus was guided purely by years of resentment. "I don’t want to stand between you and happiness,” he said, “ever.”  

As they walked, Amycus glanced over his shoulder. The castle was empty, everyone still in the Great Hall. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles. Then, pulling it gently, he drew her to a tapestry, brushing it aside to reveal a hidden corridor lit by the soft glow from a torch on the wall. “Your happiness is my happiness, remember?” he said, stepping closer to her.

It was true and Amycus was certain it would never cease to be true. The summer had been painful, watching their parents open the house to every eligible young wizard they could name. He didn’t like being faced with the idea of the future. Dreaming up a future of their own making was one thing. But the reality was something else. How much longer did they have? How much longer until someone came along and gave his sister everything he couldn’t?

[brbcallie-blog]

“It’s a party song and I don’t bloody know where it’s coming from!” Lily was trying not to get angry but this song put her teeth on edge. She began walking around to hear where the music got louder. She eventually found a book on ‘exotic’ birds that the song was screaming out of, she quickly uncharmed the book and sighed. “James is not my boyfriend. Besides I stopped the music so you can stop talking now.”

[amycusscarrow-blog]

“This is a party song?” Amycus asked, eyebrows raised in shock. “I want to find the person responsible for this atrocity and sever his fingers from his body one by one.” You couldn’t make music without your fingers, could you.

When it ceased, Amycus released a long steadying sigh. This is what happened when he came to the library to get a head start on assignments. And he’d been sitting near the mudblood this entire time. Amycus slammed his book shut. He wasn’t going to get any studying done this afternoon. Certainly not here. "I don’t need your permission, mudblood."

Merlin, he could still here it. He pressed his fingers to his temple.

[wiltcdrose-deactivated20191005]

“—the notion that “muggleborns make inferior quidditch players” has no basis in facts or knowledge, and also has the spectacular effect of making me want to punch myself in the tit,” gwenog spat, flicking her copy of  quaffle monthly with a frown. “can you believe they publish this rubbish?” 

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Amycus couldn’t, actually. Not because it wasn’t true - mudbloods made inferior anything - but because few papers actually printed the truth these days. You wouldn’t find these truths in the pages of the Daily Prophet, carefully edited to deliver facts without condemnation or praise for either side. Curious, Amycus peered over her shoulder, hand on the desk, leaning in to read it.

“Are you sure about that?” Amycus said. “They’ve done their research. They’ve even got a diagram, look.” He pointed at the chart, showing the correlation between blood and success in the pitch. “I hope you weren’t planning on making it pro,” he said, dropping his voice slightly, into something sharp, cold. Of course in just a few years mudbloods like Gwenog Jones would likely be dead, or at least monitored and contained, somewhere well away from the pure and worthy. He released a huff of laughter, pushing off the desk.

[brbcallie-blog]

“I didn’t turn it on.” Lily muttered looking around for where the music was coming from, the sound of it driving her insane. “And for the record, this is not day to day muggle music.”

[amycusscarrow-blog]

“Then what the fuck is it and where is it coming from?” Amycus spat. “I’m trying to study, you know. This is a library for Merlin’s sake.”

The mudblood seemed to genuinely despise the music as much as he did, but he was holding her responsible anyway. It wasn’t like there was anyone else around and she recognised it enough to know it wasn’t day to day music. Music, my arse, Amycus thought bitterly.

“Is your bloodtraitor boyfriend around? This is his idea of prank, isn’t it?” Juvenile, petty, and as annoying as a troop of pixies. 

[brbcallie-blog]

[amycusscarrow-blog]

“So this is what muggles listen to,” he said in utter disgust. He didn’t think it was possible for his opinion of them to get any lower. Then again, he’d never heard anything as obnoxious as this. His ears were bleeding. “Make it stop,” he said. Or I’ll make you stop.

[lucius-malfcy-blog]

Lucius let an eye roll slip, before gathering his composure. “No one cares because we all know who will win. But if we give up and don’t try, we lose the right to say the old man has a problem with us all. The least we can do is play the game, and prove a point,” Lucius pointed out. Dumbledore didn’t do an amazing job of hiding his disdain. But Lucius figured that if they came to the ceremony with 0 house points accumulated, they’d look like the fools- not Dumbledore. How the prejudice bastard had a problem with them always seemed ironic to him.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he started, with a light tone, “but I’m hardly going to go looking through your shit, Amycus. There’s far too many mudbloods around here to put in their place.” His words strongly mirrored his parents’. At this point, he didn’t even hesitate to think about what he was saying. “And if I hear anything about our estranged headmaster deciding to check our dorms, you’ll be the first to know,”Lucius promised. The boys might not have been close, but Lucius’ loyalty to his house and more specifically, his dorm mate, meant he’d help him the best he could with his new position. 

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Lucius had a point. The best way to stick it to the headmaster was to expose his prejudice for what it was. Not that Amycus would get involved in this. He couldn’t remember the last time he had won points for his house. Losing points was his area of expertise. Talking back to his professors, failing to hand in homework, attacking other students in the corridors; there was a place where Amycus’ qualities and behaviour were admired and he had been lucky enough to find it, or more accurately, be found by it. It wasn’t here.

Amycus nodded, and at the mention of mudbloods, a cruel half-smile worked it’s way onto his lips. This was the Lucius he liked. This was the Lucius he looked up to. Amycus’ parents had never been good for anything beyond the name Carrow and the purity they passed on to the next generation, him and Alecto. He envied Lucius on occasion, with his robes tailored specifically for him out of the finest fabrics, the wealth he was born into. Did the Malfoys have anything to gain from this war beyond preservation of what they already had? Amycus wanted money. He wanted power. He wanted lots of things and the war was how he intended to get it.

“In that case, maybe you’d like to assist me,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I could use an extra wand for what I’m about to do and if that wand happens to belong to a prefect, all the better.”

[viennasms-blog]

Ah – that was a sound that would never get old. His laughter is such sweetness, masculine to say the least, but sweet && comforting. If she were to make a list of things she absolutely cherished about Amycus, the list would most likely be endless. Pages and pages of wondrous qualities listed in no particular order.  One including the fact that he wouldn’t mind a furry friend around. An excited hum slipped past her lips and slowly the witch’s brows rose. “ Yes I must. I’ve wanted one since we were small. “ She plucked her lower lip with her newly painted claws, tugging at the flesh as she whispered softly. “ Everyone has a pet, it wouldn’t be so terrible if I had one too. “ But the cat had her thinking, perhaps more..panicking.

The future. So many things could happen before they graduate and the thoughts that swells her mind tend to terrify her. She couldn’t imagine a life without him, there is no life without her dear brother. To others, their type of love was extremely taboo; forbidden even. Not that anyone could do any certain act to keep them apart, politically speaking. But she fears how their relationship could affect how they are seen, how they’re respected. Or, perhaps she just worries too much. 

 Scrunching facial features play over her features as a sudden chill ran down the curvature of her spine. Her thoughts were torn, thick lashes fluttering, peering down towards her plate. 

“ Oh, they’re not so terrible. Everyone’s parents are bloody mean to them at times. It doesn’t mean that they are without love my darling brother. “ The words that fell were to paint an illusion rather than explain how she really felt. Aecto despises that woman, despises her with the entirety of her heart, however there is a pint of hope hidden in there that wants to believe that perhaps she and her mother’s relationship might be able to grow once they graduate. She is a critical, caniving bitch, but would it be fair to just..abandon them?

“ That woman had better keep her distance from Bog. “ The utterance was small, flickering her gaze up, and fixating her stare in his hues. “ Of course not, especially a kitten. You might roll over him and suddenly we don’t have a little Boggy anymore. && In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a crafty witch. I was thinking I could make him a little bed. And when he grew we could come back to the subject of his sleeping arrangements. “ Pushing out her lips to form a perfect little pout, she tilted her head and slipped her hand down the table, offering it for him to grasp. “ We should go somewhere a little less crowded. “

[amycusscarrow-blog]

Amycus’ eyes flickered to the long table at the far end of the Great Hall where the faculty were seated. Students hadn’t been dismissed from the feast yet, but no one was paying him or Alecto any attention. No one would notice if they vacated their seats and slipped through the open arched doorway. It’s not like the room wasn’t chaos, people hopping from one table to the next, grabbing food as they went. The clatter of cutlery on plates, the constant conversation; Amycus might have been pleased to be back at the castle on more than one level, but the suggestion that they go somewhere less crowded had never been more appealing.

It’s not like he could resist his twin anyway, not when she looked at him like that. He wanted to brush those perfect lips with his own, seeking her permission before he went for the kill, kissing them, kissing her, letting her warmth envelop him. Instead, he gently took her hand, thumb brushing the silken skin at her wrist before slipping it free again. He drained the water from his goblet.

“If I want to see mother and father I’ll visit them in their home,” Amycus said. Then when father gets drunk he can pass out in his own bed, not ours. Amycus didn’t think he could get his father home by apparition, portkey or floo, not in the state he liked to be in. Of course there was always a chance he wouldn’t get drunk, that he’d wait until he got home to slip his flask from his pocket. Either way, Amycus longed for a place where none of that existed, where the illusion he and Alecto constructed while they were at Hogwarts could be real. It was childish, to think he could ever ignore the pull of familial ties and forgo his obligations to his parents, but Amycus had had enough. He loved his parents, obviously, but he had given up hope on them ever being the kind of parents he and Alecto needed long ago.

“But if you were to invite them for dinner I wouldn’t stop you,” he continued. He merely wished she wouldn’t, not while they were speaking hypothetically. Amycus rather liked the version of the future they had conjured up for themselves, just him, Alecto and Bog. “Though I can think of better ways to spend our evenings.”

And with that, he stood, swinging a leg over the bench, and waited for Alecto to follow. He didn’t look at her then, though the smallest smile lingered on his lips. They’d gotten away with it every time in the past, all the sneaking off together, but he swore that was because they were careful. They were twins, so it surprised no one they were close. How close was something only they could know. Amycus shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes. It was not where he wanted them to be. He itched to hold her hand again, its frame so delicate in comparison to his own.