Tracey Davis

Roleplay blog for Tracey Davis from the group StillRecruitingRP

[lavender--brown]

Smoke and Mirrors: [ Tracey | Lavender ]

Though Lavender was known to have her head in the clouds – because how else can someone be fooled by Ron Weasley’s intentions the year prior? – it was new for her to be this clumsy. If only she had heeded Draco Malfoy’s words to watch where she was going; her bag hooked onto an oddly angled sword of a statue, snapping the strap and letting all of her things inside clatter. The bag opened, revealing a storm of scribbled notes on tea leaf readings, a small tablecloth, and a crystal ball that tipped ever so slightly in the wrong direction.

Lavender was frantically shoving her school supplies back into her bag; if she wasn’t quick enough, Crabbe or Goyle would be just around the corner looking for an easy target. She cursed herself for not avoiding the statue, since it’s been nearly seven years and everyone had always known to stay at least half a meter from anything that had a point or looked like it could move.

The crystal ball rolled off in the opposite direction from where she was going, and Lavender hissed. Everything else was in order enough that she was sure she could dig out her notes and sketches for Divination later that day, even if most of it was crumpled and smudged back into her bag with the now-useless strap. Her wand was somewhere at the bottom of the bag, but she’d rather deal with just carrying everything across the castle for now instead of actually repairing anything haphazardly.

Since when had it been a good idea to carry that crystal ball around? Lavender didn’t use it as often as she was really supposed to; all of her effort had been put into projecting anyway and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen anything in a while except her own reflection against the smoke. She quickly lifted herself back on her feet, dragging the bag with her as she chased the crystal ball along the wide passageway.

@muddysnakedavis

[muddysnakedavis]

Tracey had never understood why so many of her housemates had such a fondness for Potions. Oh, she understood why they enjoyed going to the class, because Professor Snape was generally entertaining and prone to favoring his own students, in contrast to so many of the other teachers -- like the late and, in Tracey’s mind, overly-lamented Professor Dumbledore -- but even that had to be weighed against the fact that their potions lessons had always been shared with the Gryffindor students, and watching Snape put them in their place didn’t make up for the fact that they had to share the lessons. Tracey had been delighted to finally have the chance to drop the class after O.W.L.s -- so why had she let herself get roped into helping two fourth years with their potioneering?

Her protest that she had barely scraped an A on her Potions O.W.L. didn’t deter them, since she was the only post-O.W.L.s student they could bribe to help them with whatever scheme they were cooking up (Tracey hadn’t asked; had been very careful not to ask because then she couldn’t be blamed) and they needed someone who’d made it to the next level of lessons -- and the fact that she had made it through Professor Snape’s fifth year classes, rather than Professor Slughorn’s, certainly had something to do with the regard they held her talents in: while Slughorn wasn’t a slouch as a teacher, he played favorites worse than Snape ever had, and his style of playing favorites didn’t entail snarky commentary and overly-critical judgement of those he disliked; when he played favorites, he ignored the other students, and their academic progress suffered accordingly.

Tracey had a feeling that Slughorn himself was going to be the recipient of the noxious brew the two fourth years were cooking-up. Given how dismissive her new Head of House had been toward Tracey the few times their paths had crossed, she couldn’t be upset with that.

What she was upset about was having to talk Professor Carrow into giving her a note to access the Restricted Section of the library for the book the fourth years who’d bribed her needed -- and the fact that she was the one who was meant to analyze the potions recipe that they were going to be working off of, and translating its instructions down to a pre-O.W.L.s level. It was tedious, and difficult enough to give her a headache, and she had enough work to be getting on with already. But a deal was a deal -- so Tracey trudged down the hallway with her head bent over the messy sheaf of notes she’d made so far, trying to puzzle-out whether she’d finally gotten it right. So she wasn’t paying as much attention as she should have been and, consequently, the sudden arrival of a large crystal ball rolling down the hallway went completely unnoticed until she tripped over the heavy thing and almost plowed face-first into the flagstones.

Swearing, Tracey braced herself against the wall and wobbled back to her feet. She planted one foot roughly on the crystal ball to stop it rolling farther, and looked around the hallway with a furious glare on her face. “Who the hell is responsible for this bloody hazard?” she demanded of the world at large. “You’re lucky nobody’s broken their neck!”

[muddysnakedavis]

procidensdraco:

Draco made a half-arsed attempt at glancing over his shoulder, catching only a glimpse of firelight and the dark silhouettes of his friends before giving up on the idea. “If Crabbe and Goyle were any slower, they’d be going backwards.” Perhaps that’s exactly what was happening. They were deteriorating into their Pre-Malfoy states, mere children playing at war while the rest of them became weary soldiers. Or corpses.

“At least where literacy is concerned,” he added. They were leagues ahead of Draco in other regards. Not in skill or talent though. Only in recognition. It should have annoyed Draco, but instead it worried him. They took pleasure in the role more than he did. What did that make him? What did that make them? They might not have the sharpest minds, but they were still his oldest friends and he was losing them. They never used to question him before, never had any issues following his lead. Last year, they were happy to assist him with his mission. Now Draco found himself increasingly without their company, and when he did need their help, he had to talk them into it. It stung.

“But they know better than to insult me with such crass insinuations.” Draco knew their weaknesses. If he thought for a second they were responsible, he would have dealt with them already. It wouldn’t have made sense for them to do it, for reasons Tracey had no inkling of. Why would they tease him about some “crush” on Potter when they knew where his obsessions really lay?  “Whoever it was, shouldn’t they have more pressing matters to occupy themselves with? Half the school is subjected to torture daily, and this is their retaliation?”

Which meant it had to be someone in Slytherin. Who else would have an interest in defaming him in such a manner? Not only must they be in his house, but they had spent enough time in this castle to know Malfoy had once paid a little too much attention to Potter. But that was over a year ago. Draco hardly remembered interacting with Potter after smashing his nose in on the Hogwarts Express.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at Tracey. He had never paid her much attention. Her name was unfamiliar to him, which told him everything he needed to know; she wasn’t worth the attention. Otherwise Mother would have arranged playdates with the Davis family well before invitations to attend Hogwarts ever arrived. And yet you didn’t spend six years in the same house as someone without getting to know them on some level. Perhaps she was the person behind the message on that window. Luckily for her, he wasn’t lying; he really didn’t care. It made him curious though, how much enjoyment she seemed to take from the whole thing. Every Slytherin had their secrets. What were Tracey’s?

“Now that’s something I haven’t tried. Perhaps I should go to the Seventh Floor and serenade him with a verse of Celestina Warbeck. He’ll come out of wherever he’s hiding and what then, I wonder? He’ll give up his wand and surrender? Expelliarmus the Dark Lord to death? Ha.” Draco’s expression hardened. He hadn’t seen Potter since he threw his precious headmaster over the ledge of the Astronomy Tower. The only kiss he could expect was the cold one of the Killing Curse.

Draco leaned forward, pushing his book aside to make space for his folded arms. “Why areyou so interested in this particular piece of gossip?” She was awfully talkative too, but everything that came out of her mouth was nonsense. What was she up to? “If you’re trying to make a name for yourself and you think taking me down is the way to do it, I’d think twice about that. If the Dark Lord was going to kill me or my family…” He let the words sit, taking a deep breath, inhaling through his nose. It took effort to bluff like this. “Don’t you think he would have done it already?”

In this war, all you had was your name. Sometimes you didn’t even have that.

Tracey couldn’t help giggling at Malfoy’s description of his friends for all that she couldn’t tune-out the little voice in the back of her head sneering that she was acting like Pansy, gushing over Draco Malfoy’s witty observations -- but while this one wasn’t particularly witty, or even requiring of a great deal of observation, the mere fact that Draco would openly insult his friends to someone like her was enough of a surprise to conjure a few giggles. Maybe it shouldn’t have been; maybe he talked like that all the time. Tracey had never paid him much attention (she had had other pure-bloods to study in her attempts at assimilation, and her private little obsessions hadn’t required secondary players) and certainly they had never been prone to sharing confidences -- so she couldn’t say whether this was characteristic venom, or something new.

It made her giggle, regardless.

It was slightly more surprising, and much less amusing, that Malfoy didn’t sound particularly proud or pleased about the fact that so many of his classmates were being regularly tortured. Given his position at the top of the pecking order, and his family’s now very public affiliations, shouldn’t he be happier about that? Tracey was intrigued in spite of herself, and sat forward a little to get a better look at the pale, pure-blooded prefect. It meant meeting his eyes straight-on as he inspected her in turn, as though she wasn’t afraid of him at all -- and just in that moment, Tracey was too curious to be afraid. (That was the sort of thing that was going to get her in very deep trouble someday -- but pragmatic prudence could only carry a person so far. Sometimes a little risk was required...and sometimes, it was simply more entertaining.)

“So you think that’s what it is? Retaliation? A smear campaign against your reputation -- or against Parkinson’s?” Tracey shrugged. “Both of you at once, maybe? Or maybe it’s one of those nasty rebels trying to drive a wedge between the two of you. That’s what I would do, if I were in their filthy shoes.” A risky statement to make, but Tracey wasn’t in league with any of Neville Longbottom or Ginny Weasley’s nasty little friends and she wasn’t overly worried that Malfoy would think she was. As long as he didn’t know the truth of her blood-status, he wouldn’t think she had anything to gain from allying with those idiots -- and so far, it didn’t seem like she did have anything to gain from them, regardless of her lineage or lack thereof. She wasn’t sure she was ready to take the risk of throwing in her lot with Malfoy’s side, but if push came to shove and she had to pick a side, she expected she’d be better off with them than against them.

She grinned again at the image of Draco Malfoy crooning some wizarding love ballads to Potter, like the wizarding equivalent of a lovesick ex showing up with a boombox on his shoulders. Too bad there was no chance of him understanding the reference if she tried to share it. Instead Tracey settled for a nod and a smirk and a dry, “That might be the way to do it, actually. He probably wouldn’t be able to help himself, attention-seeking twerp that he is.” Her smile widened as she added, “And we know he likes your singing, given how thrilled he was by that tune you wrote for his ugly ginger friend in fifth year.” True, the Gryffindors had managed to take Weasley Is Our King and make it their own, which had been a great annoyance -- but it had still been a clever song. It had reminded Tracey of a football clubs’ chants -- yet another reference that she didn’t dare share with Draco Malfoy.

Tracey was abruptly reminded of how dangerous talking to him really was when he suddenly sat forward, threatening -- or at least warning her. She recoiled, cringing back in her chair like a skittish first year, and couldn’t even be embarrassed by the cowardly behavior. “No,” she said quickly, holding up her hands -- whether to fend-off an imagined blow or to show that her own hands were empty, harmless, she didn’t know. “No, that isn’t -- that’s not at all what -- no.” Tracey swallowed, hard, and forced herself to meet Malfoy’s pale eyes with her own wide, worried brown ones. “I was just...talking. Really. I’m not...I’m not that ambitious. That sort of thing is...it’s too big for me. I would never.” Maybe she sounded pathetic, stammering about her own lack of consequence like that -- but better pathetic than put on the list of people Draco Malfoy considered a threat, wasn’t it? These days he didn’t even need to call for Crabbe or Goyle to pound his enemies into paste for him; one idle gesture in class, or a whisper in the ear of Professor Snape or one of the Carrows, and Tracey would find herself in a world of pain at the next available learning opportunity.

"I just thought...” She hesitated, wondering if she’d already pushed her luck too far and if it would be better to just retreat. But she’d gone too far for that, hadn’t she? The only way out now was through. “I thought you looked like you wanted to talk, that’s all. Sorry if I intruded.” She shifted, hands on the armrests of her chair, ready to push herself to her feet for a quick exit if he snarled something dismissive -- or to throw herself sideways out of range if he went for his wand. But she didn’t move yet, waiting on his reaction. Because if he did want to talk...well, even if all he wanted to do was throw a few insults at her and laugh, that would still leave a favorable impression of Tracey as somebody who was amusing to have around, wouldn’t it? And she could use all the favorable impressions she could get these days, regardless of the state of her dignity afterward -- especially from a boy who was rumored to be a Death Eater already, and certainly well on the way to joining those ranks even if he wasn’t.

If she thought she could get away with ingratiating herself via a groveling apology, she’d have even confessed to authoring the tart observation on the greenhouse window -- but that would doubtless do more harm than good. Better to keep her mouth shut...or better yet, find a scapegoat. Tracey made a mental note to pick one of those right away.

[lavender--brown]

[ Tracey Davis | Past, Present, Future ]

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

[ Past | Nine of Cups, reversed ] Greed, Smugness, Dissatisfaction. There seems to be so much to celebrate right now, as you are able to have almost everything you desire. But there is the lingering feeling that something else is still missing. It seems that there is no end in sight to what you still want. Or perhaps, there is some key element that is still not within your grasp.  

[ Present | Judgement ] Reflection, Reckoning, Inner Voice. Judgement indicates the cusp of rebirth. In order to achieve that, you must look back upon your deeds and come to an honest evaluation of yourself. This leaves to the awakening that signals a new way of life.  

[ Future | Eight of Cups ] Walking Away, Disillusionment, Leaving Behind. There is a feeling of disappointment and loss associated with this card. One has taken a retrospective of their situation and has decided to leave it behind. Something is abandoned, and through that abandonment, one feels the loss of a part of themselves.

Have Lavender read your cards here.

[muddysnakedavis]

👫

Four Headcanons for @lavender–brown

The fact that Tracey is living a lie that is so close to Lavender’s truth ought to be something to bring them together – or at the least, something to inspire Tracey to get to know the other witch better, if only to better plagiarize her history. But Tracey, terrified of exposure, has kept her distance from Lavender Brown out of a (perhaps misguided) sense of self-preservation. After all, if anyone is going to expose Tracey as not being a descendant of Squibs, surely it would be a girl who really is?

It isn’t just the Squib thing and the threat of exposure it potentially brings that makes Tracey uncomfortable with Lavender’s background, though; the fact that she had two mothers is disturbing on levels that Tracey doesn’t want to think about too closely. It’s easier to tell herself it’s because she agrees with the (Muggle) majority that relationships like that are morally wrong, and certainly not a healthy environment to raise a child in, than it is to admit that she might be more than a little bit curious about how a romantic partnership between two women works…

Jealousy has driven a wedge between them too, although it’s probably not a jealousy that goes too ways, nor a wedge that Lavender is likely to have noticed – but Tracey can’t help but resent Lavender for how accepted she is, especailly by certain of her housemates. Why is it that Parvati Patil is practically attached to Lavender’s hip as though she were her twin sister rather than Padma, when girls like Daphne and Pansy – Parvati’s peers, by any definition of the term – can barely find it in themselves to acknowledge Tracey’s existence? What is it that Lavender’s doing that Tracey isn’t? Is it just because Lavender actually has inside knowledge of the Wizarding World due to her Squib mother, while Tracey’s merely faking it all? Or is it something more that she’s missing?

Lavender doesn’t hold the same level of fascination for Tracey that Daphne does, but out of the entirety of Gryffindor House (a bunch of annoying, self-absorbed brutes, as far as Tracey can tell) she’s by far the one whom Tracey finds most interesting. In any of their classes with the Gryffindors, it’s Lavender whom Tracey gravitates toward -- not for friendship, but for observation. After all, if she’s going to play the role of Squib’s granddaughter, shouldn’t she try and pick up some tips from a girl who really was raised by an outcast from the magical world? Tracey doesn’t know if Lavender has noticed her watching her -- and she doesn’t much care, either. Lavender Brown isn’t the sort of person whose opinion Tracey needs to worry about...not as long as Lavender doesn’t return the favor and start poking around her background, anyway.

[lavender--brown]

[ Tracey Davis | Situation, Action, Outcome ]

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

[ Situation | Knight of Wands, reversed ] Anger, Impulsiveness, Recklessness. When you are filled with boundless energy, it can be difficult to run into obstacles that delay your progress forward. Because of the passion that the card represents, the emotion here is one of anger. Looking around for options, you are tempted to act without regard for consequences.  

[ Action | Six of Pentacles, reversed ] Selfishness, Stinginess, Debt. Others find themselves in a time of need, but there is unwillingness to led support to those that need it the most. Alternatively, perhaps you have been giving, but reflect on your intentions for why you do so. What are you trying to gain by such actions?

[ Outcome | Nine of Pentacles, reversed ] Mistakes, Obsession with Work, Setbacks. Though perhaps you spent much of your energies working hard, you might find yourself in a position where setbacks and mistakes have blocked your way to your goals. Though you might not have been lacking in will, diligence, or ambition, these mistakes might have cost you. Where did you go wrong? What can you do next time so that this does not repeat itself?

Have Lavender read your cards here.

[muddysnakedavis]

Crossed Paths || Tracey & Daphne

[muddysnakedavis]

sawtruth:

The smoke had been hazy and the blood only providing snippets of scenes. Daphne hadn’t even gotten a feeling upon breathing in the fumes. Nothing. It was a blockage that was frustrating, though she knew it was only because the moon was waning and the stars would be hidden by rainclouds tonight. It wasn’t perfect conditions for the Truth and Daphne knew how important weather could be, but it didn’t stop her from feeling angry that the only thing she’d gotten from her predictions tonight were branches swaying in the wind and a pair of brown, faded boots in the mud. What did it mean?

She collected her things, put back the borrowed school cauldron, and cleaned up the mess she’d made before heading out the empty classroom. There were footsteps in the corridor, not to far away, and when she heard a throat clear, Daphne turned towards the noise. Tracey Davis. They shared a dormitory. Not just a house, but an actual room. Daphne’s bed only a few away from Tracey’s. But they weren’t actually friends, not really. She’d have to be daft not to notice how Tracey stared at her sometimes, though.

What the other Slytherin didn’t know, however, is that her secret wasn’t safe. It wasn’t that Daphne knew what the whole thing meant, but only a few days before, the Truth had given way to the fact one of Daphne’s own held a secret. It had been Daphne’s own interpretation of the leftover residue of poison that led her to believe Tracey. After all, the residue had been tinged with purple. A secret. And Tracey’s family was full of them – or people that were hidden, anyway. Squibs.

“It’s not curfew yet, dear.” She said it sweetly, avoiding the question fully while acting as though she’d given a satisfactory answer. “Oh you were in detention?” Daphne moved closer to Tracey in order to walk with her back to the common room, leaning in conspiratorially. “You must tell me the story! I do love a good piece of gossip.”

It was easy, pretending to be friends. I know you have a secret, her eyes seemed to scream anyway.

Tracey’s stomach twisted when Daphne turned around, as it always did whenever the pretty pure-blooded witch looked at her. The feeling reminded her of the first time she had unwittingly eaten a Fizzing Whizzbee and found herself -- quite without warning or explanation -- floating a few inches off the ground. It hadn’t been a bad feeling, once she had realized that no one else who had eaten the candy was freaking out about the temporary flotation, but it had certainly been unsettling...and unlike with the Fizzing Whizbees, Tracey had yet to solve the reason for Daphne’s effect on her, and that uncertainty made the feeling a lot less comfortable.

She smiled brightly however, hoping that her fizzing nerves remained as safely concealed as her parentage, and resisted the urge to run to meet Daphne in the middle of the hallway; told herself that there was no reason to read anything into the fact that the other girl had walked over to join her. Just because Daphne wasn’t snubbing her didn’t mean she liked her.

“Of course it isn’t,” Tracey replied with a studiously-casual little shrug, “hence why the two of us rule-abiding students are both still wandering the halls.” She gave Daphne a grin that might, if the other girl so chose, be read as conspiratorial -- trying to indicate that while Tracey was a good girl who followed school rules, she’d be willing to break a few here and there if Daphne wanted to. Part of Tracey missed the up-front mannerisms of her old Muggle school, but another part of her enjoyed the layers and nuance and subterfuge that she had picked up from her housemates over the last six and a half years. It certainly made chatting with one’s peers more difficult...but more interesting, too.

“I was just curious,” she continued, “since you haven’t really demonstrated a habit of saying things to Professor McGonagall like ‘do you think the reason why Gryffindor can’t win any Quidditch matches without Undesirable Number One on their side is because the team is just, like, so totally undesirable that they’ve made that the source of their whole strategy?’” Tracey laughed gaily, a girl sharing a joke with a friend...or at least, trying to convey that attitude. She didn’t mind gossip -- even gossip at her own expense -- as long as it wasn’t dangerous gossip. And sharing (and, perhaps, somewhat embellishing) the tale of how she had crossed the increasingly short-tempered Head of Gryffindor House would do neither her reputation nor her secret any harm. It might even do her some good, because the competition between Slytherin and Gryffindor -- while perhaps less on most people’s minds this year than it usually was -- was a long-established tradition. Scoring points in the name of her house, even points that didn’t translate to emeralds in their hourglass, would help her image with her housemates.

Tracey tried to watch Daphne out of the corner of her eye as they walked, gauging her reaction without outright ogling her -- or at least trying not to. Was Daphne impressed? Was she amused? Or did she think Tracey was tiresome? It was so hard to tell where the line between Tracey and Tracey’s presumed parentage lay in the minds of people like Daphne Greengrass. Tracey didn’t so much mind being judged for being the granddaughter of a squib (possibly because she wasn’t one) but she did hate the idea of being judged tedious on her own merits.

Especially by Daphne.

“I can’t imagine you were in detention, though,” Tracey said, trying to ride the line between just enough flattery to acknowledge Daphne’s social standing and not so much that it sounded like gushing. “Especially not down here. Now that Professor Snape’s headmaster, no one gives detentions in the dungeons anymore, do they?” That wasn’t really true -- there were dozens of detentions in the dungeons these days. But they were held at the behest of the Professors Carrow, and Tracey couldn’t imagine that Daphne Greengrass was the sort of witch who ever served those punishment details.

[muddysnakedavis]

procidensdraco:

Draco’s eyes moved across the page, but the information didn’t make it to his head. It washed over him, all sounds, no meaning. It wasn’t like academic achievements were especially important anymore. Intellect wasn’t going to restore the Malfoy name. The Dark Lord valued it, sure, but he valued action even more. If he survived this year, he would be given a place at the Ministry regardless of his NEWTs because that’s where he could be useful to the Dark Lord. And if he didn’t–survive, that is–well, that hardly mattered.

But Draco wasn’t reading because he was concerned about his NEWTs. He’d had little time to worry about exams what with trying to retain as much of the school he knew as possible. No, he was reading because it was a thing to do, and a far cry from the burn of the Unforgiveables in his arm. And so his eyes darted left to right, reading the words, and yet not reading. It was leagues better than sitting with Crabbe and Goyle, who were enjoying their newfound independence from him a little too much, boasting about all the students they’d sent to the Hospital Wing like they were conquests. Merlin, they were insufferable.

Draco shifted in his chair, raking hands through hair. Concentrate.

Then he heard his name. He glanced up from his book, eyes landing on a first year then sliding to Tracey. He could have sworn he saw a flash of annoyance on her face. It pleased him, actually. At least someone in this school still knew that he was still a person to be respected. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus. Draco hadn’t lost his teeth yet, not like father.

He watched her approach, flicking his book shut and leaning back in his chair, hoping to disguise the tension in his shoulders. But as she said her piece, his efforts proved futile, genuine laughter cracking his lips. Draco winced; something about it stung, like his body wasn’t made for joy anymore.

“Was that your work? The window?” Draco steepled his fingers, like Father used to do when he still took the seat at the head of the dining table. A shiver ran down his back; Draco dropped his hands again. “Are you so starved of attention that you take enjoyment in childish rumours?”

He kicked out a chair, inviting Tracey to take a seat. “Whatever. I don’t care. And forgive me for having good taste. Me and Pansy both. Now Potter on the other hand… he’s been spending too much time with the Weasleys. Someone needs to tell him looking like a vagrant isn’t a fashion trend.” Except Potter hadn’t been spending time with the Weasleys, had he? He’d been running for his life, or something along those lines.

“What’s it to you anyway? Maybe it’s you who has the crush. Do I make butterflies take flight in your stomach, Davis?” The thought amused him, subdued laughter slipping from his lips.

Being laughed at by Draco Malfoy didn’t hurt or surprise Tracey; while he had never paid her the level of attention that Pansy had, all of the pure-bloods (and those claiming purity -- maybe it was lying about her own blood-status that had alerted Tracey to the fact that few of the family trees her housemates boasted about were as pristine as they pretended, or maybe it was understood that they were almost all lying through their teeth and politely pretending to be fooled; Tracey wasn’t the sort of person who was invited into unspoken rules and shared secrets like that) had found amusement at her expense over the years, although less often as time had gone on and she had gotten better at faking familiarity with the world she had not grown up in.

She could smirk back at him as he laughed, could pretend for the eyes of anyone watching them that she and Malfoy were joking together like classmates or even like friends. She froze when he flung the accusation about the window writing at her -- the accurate accusation. After a moment’s deep breath Tracey managed to muster a laugh of her own in response, despite her racing heart and throbbing temples. She hoped that whatever had sent the flickers of discomfort across his pasty, pointed face -- sore muscles from too much time spent torturing first years, maybe? -- had distracted him from noticing her moment of dismay. Oh, she had been foolish...

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Draco Malfoy was exceptionally clever. He didn’t act it, was the problem; swanning around with his two bruisers, spouting insults and complaints and threats to throw his father’s influence around like some cartoonish bully from the telly that no one but Tracey watched over the summer months. Maybe if she spent more time actually interacting with Draco instead of rolling her eyes at his melodrama from the other side of the room she would have known better than to risk striking up a conversation about what she’d done with someone who might well be one of the few students shrewd enough to figure out that she’d done it. Tracey opened her mouth to make some excuse, some denial--

Then Draco Malfoy shocked her. He didn’t care? He was inviting her to sit down with him? Rash and foolish though she might have been by initiating the conversation, Tracey wasn’t enough of an idiot to overlook an invitation like that, and she dropped promptly into the chair, trying to mask her surprise. He was laughing, too -- not shouting at her, not threatening her, just laughing.

Tracey managed to grin back at him, although her stomach flipped over a few times -- and not because Draco Malfoy inspired any butterflies because he definitely did not, pretty face and lithe limbs notwithstanding. “I wouldn’t dare,” she retorted sweetly, leaving it ambiguous for the moment whether she meant dare to have a crush on someone like you or dare to spread rumors about someone like you. “I’ve got better things to do in Herbology than doodle on the windows, anyway,” she continued. “Isn’t that sort of pointless goofing-off more your buddies’ style?” She flapped a hand in the general direction of Crabbe and Goyle, as though she didn’t find them intimidating in the least. “I’d say you should quiz them about it, see if they’re branching-out in their expressions of humor, except no one’s reported a lot of spelling errors in the message so I guess that lets them off the hook.” Certainly they were branching out in other ways this year...but Tracey shook that thought off quickly before it could sour her smile.

She shouldn’t push her luck, but in for a penny in for a pound -- or in for a knut in for a galleon, as people like Malfoy probably said. “So are you saying that if Potter wanted to win your interest, he’d just need to start dressing better?” Tracey lounged back in her chair, affecting an air of amiable unconcern, or at least attempting to. “Do you think he came back for you, then? Chasing some butterflies of his own?” She shrugged lazily. “Rumor is he’s back, after all...maybe he was the one who wrote that message, trying to get your attention. I bet he missed it, all those months away.” She even managed a laugh of her own -- whistling past the graveyard, maybe.

[muddysnakedavis]

Crossed Paths || Tracey & Daphne

@sawtruth sent 🦋 for a starter of my character just out of detention.

There was a list of people whom Tracey did not want to run into on her way back to the dungeons from her detention, and near the top of that list was Daphne Greengrass -- so of course it was Daphne who stepped out of the door on the side of the hall. Tracey froze mid-step for a moment, staring at the unmistakable curls of the girl she’d spent the last six and a half years studying in a desperate bid to fit-in with her peers. Maybe she could duck into an empty classroom herself, wait for Daphne to leave; even just bend down to fiddle with her shoe, give the other witch a minute to walk ahead and then follow unobserved...

But the dungeon hallways were long and rarely crowded, and footsteps tended to echo. (For once, Tracey wished she were wearing her rubber-soled platform skechers instead of her neat black boots, even though they often drew smirks and strange looks from her housemates. At least they were quiet, so long as she was careful not to let them drag along the flagstones and squeak.) While she would prefer not to let Daphne notice her at all, better to be up-front about it than to get caught trying -- and failing -- to sneak in her wake.

Tracey continued forward, the faint click-clack of her hard soles on the stones sounding like thunder in her ears. Her eyes, as they always did when Daphne Greengrass was within view, slid across the hallway and fixed on the other witch. She wondered what Daphne had been doing -- just snatching a bit of privacy in an unused classroom? Working on homework or a chore assigned by one of their teachers? Or something more interesting?

She squinted at Daphne’s hands but the flickering torchlight made it impossible to tell if the red on her nails was anything more than varnish and from this distance, there was no chance that Tracey would be able to catch a whiff of the enticing smoke that sometimes clung to Daphne after one of her viewing sessions -- or whatever she called them; Tracey had observed (stalked) the other witch enough to have a general concept of what Daphne did in her private hours, but she had never dared to engage her in a conversation about it so she didn’t know the details. But perhaps now was the time...

Tracey cleared her throat, announcing her presence on the off-chance that the wavering shadow and clatter of footsteps hadn’t done so already, and stretched her legs to catch-up to the other girl. “What’s got you out so close to curfew?” she asked cheerfully. It would after all be perfectly reasonable for her to be curious what Daphne was up to, under the circumstances -- just a bit of harmless small talk between housemates. And if she was up-front about her own cause for being out so late, maybe Daphne would feel obligated to tell her something in return. “I hope it was something more interesting than the nonsense McGonagall had me stuck doing?” She laughed, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless and eager as she felt inside. “I swear, all it takes is one little smirk at that woman, and she’s screeching about impertinence...”

[muddysnakedavis]

👫 + harry

Four Headcanons for @carriesdeath:

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

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

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

If only she hadn’t been so distracted by her fear of being discovered and sent to Azkaban Prison for the crime of her birth, Tracey would have thoroughly enjoyed finally having a Harry Potter-free year when she came back to school for her seventh year and he didn’t – but she had bigger worries than Harry Potter now. Or at least, she had thought she did – but sure enough, just as she was starting her second term of terror under the reign of Professor Snape and the Professors Carrow, who had come blundering back into the school? If the rumors could be trusted – and Tracey rather thought they could; by now, she had learned to listen to Draco Malfoy when he complained, whiny and obnoxious though he could be – Harry Potter was back, ready to cause more trouble. It was enough to make a girl contemplate asking the Carrows if they needed any minions! If Tracey hadn’t been trying to keep as much distance between herself and the people who would lock her up for daring to be born, she probably would have done just that – even if it meant pledging her allegiance to a group of people who wanted to see everyone like her dead. Better than putting up with Harry Potter, after all – wasn’t it?

[muddysnakedavis]

👫 + daphne

Four Headcanons for @sawtruth:

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

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

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

People say Daphne is creepy. People say Daphne knows things she shouldn’t know. Tracey doesn’t think that’s creepy at all; she thinks it’s clever. Given that she’s spent the last few years collecting as many secrets as she can get her hands on for insurance purposes, she can’t blame Daphne at all -- in fact, she envies the other girl. If only there was a way for her to convince Daphne to share whatever it is she does -- but Tracey doesn’t think that the pure-blood elite regularly share their esoteric non-curriculum-approved magicks with mudbloods-- with squib’s offspring like her. She keeps watching, though, as much as she can; makes note of the flecks of red around Daphne’s nails, the dark vials tucked in her pockets, the trace of strange smoke that clings to her hair and robes. Maybe she can learn something from all of that, eventually; she’s learned so much about everything else from watching Daphne, after all.

[penguin-memes-blog]

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[umarthelea]

Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship

[muddysnakedavis]

@procidensdraco

“But it must have been talking about Pansy Parkinson, right? She’s the one who saw -- my brother told me it was, and he heard it from a Hufflepuff prefect!”

Tracey didn’t know why the first years were bothering her. She told herself that it was just because she was less threatening than any of the other seventh year students, due to her having the lowest blood-status of the group (and yet still so much lower than any of them suspected) and not because they knew anything. Still, it made her nervous, being quizzed about the writing on the greenhouse windows -- why had she done that? She once again silently cursed the reckless rush of fear and anger that had made her think it was a good idea to cast that spell.

“I bet it was Peeves that did it!” the shortest of the little girls said, and a flare of annoyance shot through Tracey’s veins. It was one thing not to want to take credit for her handiwork (only an idiot would spread a rumor about Pansy Parkinson and then take credit) and quite another to have that credit given to Peeves the Poltergeist.

Tracey glared at the first year, then narrowed her eyes still further when a shock of white-blonde hair caught her gaze over the little girl’s head. She smirked. “If you really want to know,” she said loudly, making all the first years look at her again, “why don’t you ask Malfoy over there?” Tracey pointed, although she hardly needed to; all the first years had flinched and jerked to look over their shoulders toward where Draco sat curled in one of the tall-backed chairs farthest from the fire. It still caught Tracey off-guard, the sight of Draco Malfoy sitting by himself at the ends of the low-ceilinged dungeon room, rather than claiming a spot right in front of the fire with his burly buddies, but the first years weren’t startled by the fact that Draco wasn’t trying to be the center of everyone’s attention: it was Draco himself who made them nervous now, and they weren’t about to brave striking up a conversation to ask him anything about Pansy.

They fled, and Tracey grinned, until she realized that Malfoy was now staring at her. She suppressed a wince and swore at herself again. Why didn’t she think things through? Of course Draco would notice her saying his name, pointing at him; now what was she supposed to do?

Having no better option, Tracey made herself walk over to him as though she had planned on striking up a conversation all along. She tried to force a smile, but wasn’t sure she’d managed it very well. Still, her voice was light and cheerful at least when she said, “So were the brats right, Malfoy? Was it Parkinson who started all the kerfuffle Thursday night?” Before she could remind herself that poking at Draco Malfoy wasn’t necessarily a safe thing to do this year even when Crabbe and Goyle weren’t around to play bodyguard, she added brightly, “And if it was Potter, who are you more jealous of -- Parkinson, for knowing him at a glance the way the window said, or Potter for having someone paying that much attention to him who isn’t you?”

Tracey wasn’t stupid enough to think that Malfoy had some kind of crush on Harry Potter, the way some of their younger housemates joked -- but he certainly spent enough time whining about his archnemesis that she could see where the jokes came from. Still, that didn’t make it clever for her to throw it in his face -- but it was too late to take the words back now, dammit.

[muddysnakedavis]

              HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE FOR A SECRET TO BECOME A  L I E ?

[bi-trans-alliance]

Bi buttons from the 90s (source)

[stillrecruitingrp]

The D.A. has recruited Nicky to the character of Tracey Davis with a faceclaim of Jung Eun-ji. How long do you think you can keep fooling them, Tracey? That much filth is hard to hide, you know…

Keep reading

[stillrecruitingrp]

TRACEY       ჻    ჻    DAVIS

…IS HIDING A TERRIBLE SECRET BUT SHE’S NOT THE ONLY ONE

There are more Mudbloods in Slytherin House than anyone likes to admit; like Tracey, most of them are clever enough to conceal their origins. But now that the Ministry is looking over her shoulder, Tracey knows the stakes for maintaining her lies are higher than ever – but she also knows she’s not the only one who has skeletons in her closet. Maybe it’s time to put what she knows to use…and who better than a Mudblood to get her hands dirty?

STILL       ჻    ჻    RECRUITING

…is a canon divergent, literate, 18+ Trio  Skeleton Game. Themes that may be explored include violence, torture, war, PTSD, and other highly triggering topics.

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