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@nellclearwater
A very Harry Christmas to you, flaviens! I stalked through your blog a bit and saw you liked Howl’s Moving Castle, and thought Gilderoy could get a little more…heartless. Hope you enjoy, and it was a joy discovering your blog.
I'm so sorry it's late! I've had it queued up for ages but was busy with family and forgot!
A certain elf
followed close behind, lead by a single Death Eater. The man cackled cruelly as he repeatedly stomped over the creature’s bare heels from behind. There was really no need for magic — their prisoners were already rendered utterly helpless. With each kick, Dobby squeaked, but barely loud enough to hear.
Dobby was still as shocked as he was the day Voldemort & his army first claimed victory — over Hogwarts, over the Ministry, over the Wizarding world. It was unthinkable — Hogwarts could not have fallen. Harry Potter could not be dead. It just couldn’t be.
Once their captors had left them to their holding, Dobby curled up into a ball in the darkest corner of the cellar. He had never been in such terrible shape — malnourished & stick thin (even for an elf), dirty, terribly ill from exhaustion & various forms of torture. All the strength & fire & determination for justice he’d ever possessed had abandoned him.
Nell had frozen, eyes locked on the door, when it opened again, but all she saw was someone — no, something else thrown into her prison with her. A creature even more wretched than she was.
Swallowing down the terror bubbling up in her throat, she glanced at the door and crept along the dim expanse of floor between them. Something clicked against the stone floor as her foot landed on it, and she looked down, her breath catching. There was just enough light to see that it wasn't bone, as she'd feared, but wood: a broken wand. She let out her breath in a slow exhale.
She hurried the rest of the way to the other prisoner and knelt beside it (him?), her hand hovering just over a bony shoulder. "Are you...all right?" she asked. (Not that she could do much about if the answer was no). "Injured at all?" she clarified.
Her hand shook, and she suddenly pulled it away, balling up both fists in her lap. She focused her eyes on the house elf's, trying to smile.
It takes him a moment to process her words. He’s too caught up in his own fears to pay much mind to hers, but the jarring discordance of her words soon brings a look of confusion to his face.
“The sorting feast——?” he croaks, weakly. “No. No, that’s not right, it’s — it’s summer, it’s still summer, Harry is still sitting his OWLs —”
New fear begins to unfurl little tendrils in his mind, creep along his spine. His wide-eyed terror is almost child-like in its absolute grip. Where did he go, when he fell through that veil? Where is he now?
London, she’d said. But it’s raining, and in the London he’d left, the muggy summer heat had already been building in the streets, trapped by tall houses and busy people.
"Look, why don't you..."
She hesitates, frowning, her eyes on Sirius' face.
Alarm bells are ringing in her head. His story is confusing, strange. Everything she has heard about him tells her to expect a wily enemy, a man who accomplished the impossible by escaping from Azkaban and then went back, breaking out his murderous cousin and the rest of that nasty pack.
But. But. Her mind races, returning to that headline, putting it together with his words.
It has been almost three months since that day, the terrible night that shattered their illusion of safety, and this is not the climate in which to collapse on strangers’ doorsteps. Especially not when one is a wanted criminal. (And why isn't he ever mentioned in the papers anymore? If he was in the Ministry, if he had fought on the Death Eaters' side, then the headlines about the hunt for Bellatrix Lestrange would include him, too. But they don't.)
Fear crawls up the back of her neck in a prickling of spiders' legs. She already knows what she’s going to do, and she’s not at all certain it’s not going to get her killed.
“Come upstairs. Let me figure out if you’re injured, at least.” Her voice is a little sharper than it should be, and she glances at the door again, her hand tightening around her wand. After a moment, she tucks her wand back into her pocket and pulls his arm around her shoulders. “C’mon," she says, starting to pull him to his feet.
hello! sorry i abruptly disappeared, life got busy all of a sudden. i will work on drafts tonight - including the starter i owe. still excited to rp with you, bornlostandforgotten, i didn't forget. :)
alright, here’s how this is going to work ya bums lil’ candy canes : it’s holiday season and we wanted to celebrate with a secret santa. the lowdown is simple : you reblog this post by december 1st & we will assign each of you to be someone’s secret santa ( and vice versa. ) the presents can be absolutely anything you want to spread some holiday cheer, but, regardless of what you celebrate, or if you celebrate at all, here’s a chance to give a little love in the community this winter. - xxo drxmeda & slytherrus RULES • you must be a HARRY POTTER RP blog ! no exceptions. this is exclusive to our community. • as was already stated, you must reblog this post by december 1st. likes do not count ! we want to spread this around like a virus, please. • we will distribute the username of who you’ll be gifting to ask boxes on december 2nd. make sure your ask box is open. • don’t tell someone beforehand that you’re their secret santa. that ruins the secret part of it :| or, well, you could, but .. :| • presents are due to be given on december 20th - 21st. just drop whatever it is you’ve decided to make/give in the person’s tag, or into their submit, or however you want to do the thing. • if you have to withdraw for some reason please, please let drxmeda or slytherrus know. we ask that, if you do enter, you really try not to do this, but we do have plans for anyone who is left without a secret santa, so everyone will get something, but this isn’t going to work if you sign up for it and then decide two days before the presents are due that you won’t be able to participate. that’s not cool :( • we will issue some reminders on our blogs, but this is mostly in your hands. • again, presents can be anything you want ; make some icons, or graphics, or take funny pictures of cats in santa claus hats. whatever. use your creativity ! • and that’s it ! happy holidays !
Really thought my internet would come back by now but it hasn’t
In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they’ll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.
freexdobby
Malfoy Manor was a ghostly shape in the night, whipped by torrents of rain. Lightning touched down on a hill in the distance, and several seconds later, thunder rattled the windowpanes at the same moment that the front door slammed open.
"Incoming!" shouted the man at the head of the group, a hulk of a Death Eater with shaggy blond hair. He jerked his head at the black-clad people behind him, and two of them broke off, dragging a third person, her hands bound behind her back, between them.
She stumbled into the light of the hallway, wet curls plastered in streaks across her face. She was soaked to the bone, hollow-cheeked, and mud clung to her in gritty patches: a sight Malfoy Manor had seen a lot of, these past months.
The prisoner straightened and said, "I tell you, my father will hear about–"
"Won't work," someone said, emerging from one of the doors to the hallway. "Remember you. Head Girl, you was. Mudblood." He gestured to the Death Eaters holding her with meaty fingers. "This way."
"Goyle," Penny growled, catching sight of the speaker. "You were always a–" Her voice cut off as a Stinging Hex whipped the backs of her calves.
"Keep walking," advised the blonde Death Eater.
With the encouragement of a few more Stinging Hexes, and the unyielding arms of the Death Eaters holding her, they forced her through the house and down, down into the dark of the cellar. Only when their footsteps had receded did she let her breath shudder in her chest. She had been caught. Three months since Harry Potter died and those left behind lost hope, and she had been caught.
"Mischief Managed."
Independent, semi-selective Sirius Black ✫ Primarily Marauder’s Era but with multiple ‘verses ✫ Adaptive; from gif/icon chat to multi-para ✫ AU & crossover friendly ✫ In search of IC & OOC shenanigans
✫home✫ ✫ask✫
Just a reminder to followers that these exist because yes. :)
if any of y'all are lurking and want a starter, like this post, because mun is both bored and overenergetic
nellclearwater replied to your post:
ben barnes wouldn’t be a terrible fit with the others? i mean wrong age but people use him for sirius all the time, haha.
[ probably unpopular opinion, but Ben Barnes doesn’t actually really fit my mental image of Sirius at all. I know loads of people use & love him, and more power to them, but it just doesn’t seem to match my imaginings at all! ]
(i don't blame you! he's not my fave either but i c a n n o t fancast the marauders for whatever reason. loving - it's thomas mcdonell, right? current young sirius fc :) )
“Of course it is happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”
Gryffindor | Hufflepuff | Ravenclaw | Slytherin
hard questions
Considering his options carefully, he glanced from Clearwater to the quill that hung over a blank piece of parchment on the table. Sharp features set in the most intimidating look that he could manage, Malfoy nodded his head curtly.
“I will agree to your interview on two conditions. The first being that I will be the first to receive a copy of your article, the first to read it and the first to approve of it.” He paused to see if there would be any objections to this before continuing. “The second being that if I do not care to answer one of your questions you will drop it. You will not push me and you will not test my patience. Or I am gone.”
His mind flashed to that Skeeter woman who had always respected the Malfoy family before the war but slandered their name after. She was a poor excuse for a journalist, not to mention human being. The very idea of her caused his lips to curl.
“But if we can agree to these conditions. Then yes Clearwater, I am ready to proceed.”
Nell didn't let her disappointment show on her face. If Malfoy disapproved her article, then it would be time to rewrite, that was all. She'd lose a valuable source, potentially, but this could still launch her onto others, and other questions that she hadn't thought of. Nothing was really a setback unless she let it be.
"I agree to your conditions," she said, meeting his eyes squarely. With that said, she let herself relax a little, her hands once again folded on the table in front of her.
"I wanted to start by talking about what life's like for you right now," she said. "Nothing too invasive; I just want to get a feel for where you are. There's the apothecary, yes?"
She knew that much, though she'd been unable to easily find information about who exactly called the shots there. Still, it was interesting, the idea of a Malfoy working for a living. She'd always assumed that they idled by on inherited money like cartoon aristocrats.
"No," he murmurs, almost feverishly, and his hand slips from her wrist. "He was in — he’s in the Ministry. He needs my help."
Still in London. That’s something, at least — if he tried to apparate long distance as he was right now — all shuddering limbs and over-firing synapses and weak fingers — he has no doubt he’d only succeed in splinching himself.
He tries to stand, finds that he can’t.
“Look me in the eyes,” he says, he begs. “I am Sirius Black, but I am not guilty of what they say I am. Harry — my godson — is in trouble. I need to help him —”
She meets his eyes, as he asks, and finds only desperation — and not the wild, terrifying desperation from his wanted posters. It's more akin to love — like the look in her parents' eyes when they'd found her after, struggling to swim in waters that were suddenly too deep for her short legs, she'd somehow flung herself to the beach.
"The Ministry." Her mind is abruptly yanked forward, to last May. Because the last time she heard of Harry Potter at the Ministry, the Daily Prophet headline had read,
Hᴇ-Wʜᴏ-Mᴜsᴛ-Nᴏᴛ-Bᴇ-Nᴀᴍᴇᴅ Lɪᴠᴇs.
Was this something new? Something worse?
"It would have been the Sorting Feast today," she says, fear choking her voice. "Oh, God, what now? What's happening?"
He tries to help her as she half-drags, half-lifts him — but his limbs are still slow and cold and stupid, and he can’t do much except keep himself from toppling over.
His laugh is hoarse at her accusation, and though he can feel his wand in the pocket of his robes, he does not go for it even when she fumbles for hers. He’s just died once (he thinks, perhaps) and he’s no desire to do so again.
“Guilty,” he rasps. “Of being myself, if nothing else.”
Now why had he said that? It seems important, but he can’t quite put a finger on ——
——it all floods back. Not James. Harry.
“You can curse me later,” he says, urgency lending some sense of purpose to his limbs, and he reaches up to grab her hand — gentle, beseeching. “Harry. Harry Potter — where is he? Where am I?”
Her wrist jerks upwards, a curse on the tip of her tongue, but the odd gentleness of his hand brings her to a stop. She looks down, swallowing her incantation. "You are in London," she says quietly, her tone measured. Her eyes rest on where his fingers wrap around hers, and she licks her lips, uncertain if she is making the right choice. Logic screams 'no,' but . . .
There is a kind of knowledge beyond facts, a place inside where such knowledge dwells. Once she called it magic, for it is only when she knows a spell there that she can cast it. Now she calls it intuition, understanding. And there, out of a soup of the past year's ever-changing facts, of his touch, his tone, his very expression, grows a hunch.
And her fear cracks aside, just for a moment.
"Harry Potter is at Hogwarts, where he belongs," she says slowly, her eyes on Sirius' face.
"I know, but this one proved to be feistier than the rest and the school is really good. Do you know where we could search first?"
"Er...let's check the..."
"Have you been to your friend's dormitory? If not, maybe the kitchens or the Owlery."
