(n.) the strong urge to avoid someone or something
soft!dark!rhysand x fem!highfae!reader
You have spent your entire life knowing that one day, you might belong to Rhysand.
cw: mdni, dark(ish) themes, possessive/obsessive behaviour, big fat power imbalance, arranged marriage kinda trope, reader is terrified of rhys, feyre and him aren't mates in this story, problematic themes overall
a/n: writing rhys is so fun
You had been promised to Rhysand long before you understood what marriage even meant.
It was one of those facts that simply existed. Like the Sidra. Like starlight. Like the mountains surrounding Velaris.
Something decided by adults in rooms you were never permitted to enter and discussed over wine while children played elsewhere.
Your father had been one of the Night Court's most trusted courtiers. One of the few males Rhysand's father had genuinely respected.
The agreement had been reached when you were barely old enough to speak in complete sentences.
If Rhysand did not find his mate by the time you came of age, if fate did not intervene with its unpredictable hand, then you would marry.
It wasn't uncommon. It was the sort of arrangement noble families made every day.
Only there was one small problem.
You were completely and utterly terrified of Rhysand.
The first time you remembered meeting him, you had been perhaps sixteen, young enough to still hide behind your father whenever unfamiliar people addressed you.
Rhysand had already been well over a century old. Already taller than most males in the room. Already powerful enough that people unconsciously moved aside when he entered. Already carrying himself like someone destined to rule.
You remembered peeking around your father's shoulder, and seeing violet eyes settle on you.
Gods.
You had nearly died, not literally. But your heart had certainly attempted to flee your body.
Rhysand had smiled at you, a slow curve of his lips that was equal parts amusement and something else entirely, something you were far too young and far too sheltered to identify. And you had immediately hidden again.
The sound of his laughter had followed you all evening.
From that moment onward, you had spent most of your life avoiding him at all cost.
When he returned from training in the Illyrian mountains, you disappeared. When he attended court functions, you developed sudden illnesses. When your father informed you that Rhysand wished to spend time with you, you found increasingly ridiculous excuses.
Once, you had claimed you needed to reorganize your books, all three hundred of them, alphabetically, by color, and then by height. Another time, you insisted that a particular flowerpot in the garden required your immediate and undivided attention, as it had been looking "rather sad" lately.
Your father had nearly laughed himself sick.
Rhysand, unfortunately, had only smiled.
"You know," he'd said conversationally while watching you attempt to disappear behind a particularly decorative shrub, "I'm beginning to think she's avoiding me."
You had nearly tripped over your own feet.
Your father had sighed into his wine. "You frighten her."
Rhysand's gaze had remained exactly where you stood frozen.
"I know."
Nothing more, just that quiet, god-forsaken certainty he'd always possessed.
It only made everything worse.
He never chased you. Never cornered you. Never insisted you stay. He simply watched you flee with the endless patience of someone entirely unconcerned by the distance between you.
Like he had all the time in the world. Perhaps he did.
You certainly didn't. You couldn't help it.
He was overwhelming, even then. Before becoming High Lord. Before the reputation of being the most powerful male in Prythian.
He had possessed a presence unlike anyone else.
And whenever those impossible violet eyes settled on you, it felt as though he saw entirely too much.
So you hid. And he watched. Patiently, always patiently, because he had never been anything else when it came to you.
Years passed. Then decades. Then centuries.
Your father died. Soon after the tragedy that took both his sister and mother, Rhysand's father followed.
And suddenly the terrifying heir became High Lord.
The entire Night Court shifted beneath his command. Cassian became General. Azriel became Spymaster. Amren became his second-in-command. Mor his third-in-command.
The Inner Circle slowly took shape around him. They were warriors, leaders, survivors, bound together by blood, battle, and an unshakeable devotion to their High Lord.
They had fought in wars long before you were born, had bled and killed and nearly died for the court they loved.
And somehow, there was you.
You had no idea what your place among them was supposed to be.
You couldn't fight, couldn't spy, couldn't command armies. Had never even stepped foot on a battlefield. While they carried centuries of scars, your life had remained sheltered, peaceful and safe. You often felt like an accidental addition to a group you had no business belonging to.
Still, when Rhysand informed you that you too would be moving into the Town House, you weren't exactly surprised.
But disappointed. Hopeful, perhaps, because some foolish part of you had whispered that maybe, just maybe, the arrangement would die alongside your fathers. That Rhysand would become too busy, too occupied ruling an entire court, too distracted by the weight of his new responsibilities to remember an agreement made centuries ago.
You had been wrong.
Instead, your belongings were packed. Your room prepared. Before you knew it, you found yourself living beneath the same roof as the most powerful male in Prythian.
And your future remained exactly where it had always been; tied to Rhysand. The subject unspoken of, but always present. Neither of you discussed it. You certainly weren't brave enough to. And Rhysand…Rhysand never seemed interested in forcing the conversation.
Which, somehow, was even more unnerving. It was as though he had already decided the ending and was merely waiting for the story to catch up to his expectations.
You spent years navigating around him, around all of them. Growing closer to the Inner Circle while never quite feeling like one of them.
Mor dragged you shopping until your feet ached and your stomach hurt from laughing. Cassian annoyed you relentlessly and somehow made you feel more like a younger sister than an outsider. Azriel appeared silently whenever you needed help. Even Amren grew strangely fond of you, though she would sooner drink spoiled blood than admit it aloud.
You loved them, truly.
But there was always a distance, an invisible line. Because they belonged to one another in a way you never quite did.
Then Amarantha came. And when Rhysand was trapped Under the Mountain, the world changed in ways you couldn't fully comprehend.
For fifty years he was gone.
The strangest thing about those years was discovering how much space he'd occupied in your life.
Because suddenly he wasn't there. No deep laughter drifting through the Town House late at night. No familiar feeling of awareness prickling over your skin whenever he happened to look your way.
Nothing.
And somehow his absence felt larger than his presence had.
You hated admitting that. Especially to yourself.
You had expected to feel relief. Instead, you found yourself pausing whenever anyone mentioned Under the Mountain. Listening a little too carefully whenever the others talked of Amarantha.
Sometimes, standing on the balcony of the Town House long after everyone else had gone to sleep, you caught yourself staring toward the horizon, wondering whether someone like Rhysand could truly be broken.
Whether anything in the world was capable of dimming a force that had always seemed…inevitable.
The answer, it seemed, was yes. Though not entirely.
During those decades, life continued in Velaris. It had to. The city endured, and the Inner Circle protected Velaris with fierce determination, ensuring that Amarantha's corruption never touched the hidden sanctuary Rhysand had so carefully build.
The Town House remained full. Just…quieter. Even Cassian laughed a little less.
For the first time in your life, the future felt strangely unwritten. There was no Rhysand quietly existing at the edge of every decision, no overwhelming presence unconsciously shaping the rhythm of your days.
And somewhere during those fifty years, you began building something that belonged solely to you.
Your own friends. Your own routines. Your own apartment.
The apartment had been a battle. Not a dramatic one. There hadn't been any shouting or arguments. Just subtle resistance, the kind Rhysand's family excelled at, the kind that wore you down through sheer persistence, until surrender seemed easier than insisting otherwise.
Cassian had argued that you would be safer at the Town House, that being alone made you vulnerable. Mor had worried that you would become isolated. Azriel had said nothing, but you had felt the weight of his disapproving silence like a physical presence.
Amren, surprisingly, was the one who sided with you. "Let her go," she had said, her voice flat and disinterested. "She's not a child. If she wants to live alone, she should be allowed to."
Eventually, they relented.
You got your apartment. Under the compromise that you would stay at the Town House at least twice a week, a promise you gradually became worse and worse at keeping.
Because your apartment represented freedom. Limited freedom, certainly, but freedom nonetheless. It was a space that belonged entirely to you, filled with books you had chosen, plants you liked and paintings you had admired.
You built a life entirely separate from Rhysand. Or as separate as it could truly be.
Cassian still dropped by unexpectedly under increasingly transparent excuses. Azriel's shadows somehow always seemed to know when you walked home alone. Mor continued dragging you to Rita's whenever she decided you'd spent too many evenings hiding with a book.
You loved them for it. Even if it occasionally felt suspiciously coordinated.
Sometimes at Rita's, you watched Mor flirt openly with strangers. Watched her laugh, choose whichever male caught her interest that evening, and leave with him without a backward glance. Watched her return the following day like nothing had happened, no explanations required, no apologies offered.
You wondered what that kind of freedom felt like.
What it might be like to someday find your person. Not a future husband selected by men long gone. Not the High Lord. Not something arranged through politics.
Someone yours. Someone who chose you. Someone you chose back.
You held onto that dream stubbornly.
Even when Cassian scared away half the males who approached you. Even when Azriel's learned the identities of every male who expressed interest.
Even when part of you suspected Rhysand would never truly allow another male near you.
Not even from beneath a mountain.
You still hoped.
Because fifty years was a very long time. Long enough, you told yourself, for promises to fade. Long enough for old arrangements to lose their meaning.
Long enough to believe that perhaps, when Rhysand finally returned—if he returned—everything would be different.
Then fifty years ended. And the world changed. Without your knowledge, without your permission, without warning.
You were finishing dinner with your friends when Rhysand returned, a mundane moment interrupted by the sudden, inexplicable certainty that something had shifted in the Night Court.
You felt something deep beneath your ribs tighten so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs, though you could not have named it then as anything more than unease, a strange, inexplicable wrongness threading through your thoughts like a hand brushing over the back of your neck.
Rhysand had returned.
The entire Inner Circle was gathered at the Town House when it happened.
Everyone, except you.
You wouldn't learn exactly how furious he had been until later, how he had appeared in the Town House, exhausted and damaged and barely holding himself together. How he had embraced his family, his warriors, his closest confidants. How he had looked around the room, noting each familiar face, his expression growing darker with every moment that passed. How he asked one question.
"Where is she?"
No one dared to answer.
You were not there.
Which, to Rhysand, became the only answer that mattered.
You would not learn later how still he had gone after that moment. How every trace of relief, every fragment of survival, every hard-earned breath Under the Mountain had been set aside like something irrelevant.
How he had simply asked again, calmer, slower this time.
"Where?"
And how no one had been able to answer him immediately because the implication of what it meant to return without you in sight had not yet settled properly into words.
By the time you unlocked your apartment door later that evening, your hand was trembling. You noticed it, and frowned faintly at yourself, blamed the long day, the wine you'd shared over dinner, anything except the truth your body was already beginning to understand.
He was already waiting, seated in your chair, legs crossed elegantly. Surrounded by shadows and looking impossibly beautiful, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly alive.
And when he looked at you, you stopped breathing entirely.
For a moment you couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stare at the male you had been running from your entire life.
You had imagined this reunion a thousand times. None of those fantasies involved him being angry.
His gaze was already fixed on you, dark and intense and burning with something you couldn't quite identify. Something that made your skin prickle with awareness, your heart pound in your chest, your knees threaten to give out beneath you.
"You weren't home," was the first thing he said.
Home. You weren't sure if the Town House had ever truly felt like home.
"I…" Your voice came out embarrassingly small. "N-No."
You could see the muscle in his cheek twitch, the way something in him tightened at the sound of your voice. His gaze moved over you then, reassuring himself that you were real. That you were unharmed. That after fifty years, he had finally made it back to you.
Then the bond snapped. And the world exploded.
Mate
The word echoed through every part of you.
Mate Mate Mate
You had imagined the mating bond before. Dreamed of it, even. Wondered what it might feel like to experience that cosmic connection, that magical recognition, that perfect union of two souls meant for each other.
You had imagined warmth and certainty and joy.
Not this.
Not your entire soul lurching forward as if recognizing something it had spent centuries searching for. Not your knees nearly giving out. Not your heart breaking and healing simultaneously.
Across the room, Rhysand had frozen. For the first time in your life, you saw him stripped utterly bare. Shock, wide and unguarded flashed across his face. Relief so profound it nearly stole your breath.
Then something else crept into his expression. Something infinitely more possessive. Something that made your blood run cold.
The expression terrified you. Because suddenly every fear you'd ever carried became real.
You had wanted a mate. You had dreamed of one.
But not like this. Not someone who already had a claim on your future. Not someone powerful enough to remove every alternative.
Tears burned your eyes, and you stumbled backward.
His face immediately changed. Something wary entered his expression. Like he recognized exactly what was happening inside your head.
You hated that. Hated that he knew you so well.
And when he took a step toward you, you ran. Actually ran. One heartbeat he stood across the room. The next you were lunging for the front door. Not because you thought you could outrun him.
Because prey ran. It was instinct. Pure, thoughtless instinct.
You barely reached the door, before a solid body blocked your path. You slammed directly into his hard chest.
A startled noise escaped you as his strong hands closed around your waist, steadying you before you could fall.
Your palms landed flat against his chest. The entire thing happened so quickly your mind struggled to process it.
For one awful second, all you could think was that if he'd wanted to, he could have caught you before you'd even taken the first step.
"Mm," he murmured quietly above you, almost to himself. "So that's how we're starting?"
Your heart stopped. Then immediately started trying to beat its way out of your chest.
His voice was not raised, not sharp, not even angry. Nothing about this situation had surprised him at all. As though he had already seen every possible version of this moment and chosen the one where you were in his arms anyway.
His hands remained around your waist, not tightening, not pulling, only there, steadying you. It somehow felt far more intimate than if he'd held you tightly.
You throat bobbed.
His eyes followed the movement instantly.
The invisible thread seemed to hum, warmer now, heavier, like it was settling into place with growing certainty that made your chest tighten painfully.
Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his grip.
You immediately stepped backward.
Rhys let you. He simply released you enough that you could move, though the space between you did not truly feel like space at all, because he followed the motion with nothing more than a subtle shift of his body, as though he had already accounted for exactly how far you might go.
As though he had already measured every possible escape you might attempt.
"I need you to breathe." The words were impossibly gentle.
You hated how your body obeyed. Air filled your lungs in one shaky inhale.
His shoulders eased. Just slightly. As though your breathing had been affecting him too.
"You don't have to run," he said. His voice was quieter now, more careful.
You looked at him, really looked.
At the tension beneath that impossible composure. At the tremor in the fingers hanging motionless beside his thighs. At the way his chest expanded a fraction too deeply before every sentence. Like speaking calmly required conscious effort. Like there was something inside him straining so violently against its leash that even breathing had become work.
"Would you let me reject the bond?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.
The answer arrived instantly. Not through words. Through his expression, through the absolute steel in his eyes.
No. No, he wouldn't.
Your heart sank.
Rhysand's gaze dropped for half a heartbeat. Not to your face or your hands. But to you. Like he was seeing you in a way he had never allowed himself before.
"I need you to listen to me," he spoke, his voice even lower than before. Somehow that made it infinitely more dangerous.
"I know this isn't what you wanted." He paused, "I know. And I know you're frightened."
Something had slipped through his control like a breath he hadn't meant to let out.
"But I have waited for you for a very long time."
The words landed too softly. Because nothing about the way he was looking at you matched softness at all. His gaze held yours, unblinking and steady. Patient in a way that made your skin crawl.
"As for what happens next," he murmured quietly, a faint shift in his stance barely perceptible, "you are going to hate me for a while."
A beat passed.
"And I will still be here."
Still, he did not move closer, did not touch you. Your gaze landed briefly to the front door. To the impossible distance between it and you. To the male standing in the way. You knew for a fact, that if he decided you weren't leaving, the door might as well not have existed.
As if he'd read your thoughts, Rhys followed your gaze, and one corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't amusement, not quite. Something rougher, something honest.
"That," he said, "is a different conversation."
That expression returned. The one that made him seem less like a High Lord and more like a male who had been starving for far too long.
Then, just as quickly, control slammed back into place. His throat bobbed. A swallow. A very mortal gesture.
And somehow that affected you more than anything else.
You forced your shoulders to relax. It didn't work.
The connection stretched taut.
Your weight shifted forward without you meaning it to, just slightly. A fraction of movement, the kind your body made when something inside you leaned before thought could stop it. Toward him.
It was not even conscious. Not a decision rationally made. Just the bond, pulling like gravity disguised as instinct.
And yet the effect on him was immediate. Rhysand went utterly still. Like the world had narrowed to that single, almost imperceptible motion.
His breath changed. A sharp inhale that he did not fully complete. His hands flexed once, slowly. Like he was physically stopping himself from doing something he had already begun to prepare for.
"Don't," he said, the word quiet.
But it was not directed at you. It seemed to be directed inward, at himself.
You froze, heart suddenly too loud.
"I didn't—" you started, confused, because you hadn't meant to move at all.
"I know," he interrupted gently. Rhysand took a deep breath. "But I am asking you to be careful anyway."
You frowned. "I don't understand."
"No." A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. "I don't suppose you do."
The restraint was suddenly louder than anything else in the room.
Rhysand exhaled slowly. His shoulders lowered by a fraction, like he was forcing himself back into himself. Back into control. Back into the version of him you had always known.
But now you had seen the crack. And cracks did not disappear once you noticed them. They only became harder to unsee.
"You are going to make this difficult," he sighed quietly. It almost sounded like amusement, almost.
But underneath it, there was something else. Something that made you want to clench your thighs together.
And then, softer again, "I already know I won’t mind."
THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
"A beautiful, brilliant, bloodstained circle of young men who were never meant to live long, only to burn bright and die memorably."
notes: because the Knights of Walpurgis don't have any canon names and no one has made any so here is mine + backstories just so I can keep track. Backstories for many characters are of my own creation since there are literally none and if you want to use them for your own fic, go ahead :) this is all completely for fun btw, I do not own these characters
I'm not completely fleshing them out. This is all general backstories, no defending their behaviour. Everything is general and vague so it is flexible and buildable. With these backstories, you can build on them or tweak and change any way you want and yeah.
I hope this is all clear and concise and not as messy as it looks to me but um... yeah. I will edit this one day to make it look better and maybe make it more detailed but this is it for now.
This is mostly just for me to reference while I write as I've said, I don't own these characters so anyone is free to use it(I would like some credit and maybe a link to the fic tho)
⚠️ I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER. I ONLY MADE ALL THIS FOR MY OWN ENTERTAINMENT! ⚠️
(all graphics are from pinterest)
Enjoy <3
created: June 28, 2025
last edited: n/a
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
Face Claim: Christian Coulson
Born: December 31, 1926
Wand: Yew, 13½", phoenix feather
Hogwarts Years: 1938– 1945
Favourite Subject: DADA, Theory of Magic, Runes, Divination
🧠 PSYCHOLOGY & IDENTITY
I would say younger Tom Riddle(years 1-4) is Frank Dillane but older is definitely Christian Coulson
Psychopath or perhaps a sociopath (but I'm a crim student so I'm very iffy about just how you would measure or diagnose that, because all criminologists say that psychopath checklists are so vague and ambiguous and we hate that shit)
I would say he's just very apathetic because of the way he grew up but not a psychopath
I mean bro was a orphan during WW2
Possibly asexual (repulsed or indifferent to sex) and aromantic-coded, but also experiences flashes of obsession that mimic desire (power, lineage, bloodline, legacy, control).
Thinks love is a form of madness. Fears it(Mostly because of what Merope did to Tom Sr)
🪞 THE MURDER OF TOM RIDDLE SR.
When he went to the Riddle manor, I think he was hoping that he'd be accepted and finally have a family but obviously did not take rejection well
(same tbh)
I'd like to think that Tom hates Merope and Tom Riddle Sr. equally
I also like to think that in his mind, killing Tom Sr. was mercy killing
Like imagine spending so much time under love potion and not understanding a thing that happened and why it happened and not being able to properly explain it
I think it drove Tom Sr mad and Tom Jr. mercy killed him as a result—because what kind of life is it to live under a potion for months and not know if you ever loved anyone or were loved at all?
There’s guilt there. Not regret. Just guilt. And he represses it so hard he actually believes in his “mercy” angle.
He actually had a conversation with Riddle Sr.
Tom would NEVER tell anyone what they talked about
threw up 4 times after brewing Amortentia in class(6th year) after that
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Was an obsessive learner. Could memorize whole sections of theory on first read.
possibly a natural legilimens???(Like Queenie ig)
Maybe, maybe not. But he was very good at it
100% fangirlled when he found out he was related to Salazar Slytherin
I think Tom was sane
Like till Horcruxes 1 through 2(The Diary and the Ring) he was still sand enough
But then as he made more his eyes started to turn red and he started losing sanity and proper control over his own actions
Started off as a loner in Slytherin House because everyone thought he was a muggleborn until Herbology class in first year where Abraxas over heard him whispering to a snake in Parseltongue
Abraxas, asking his father to pull some strings found some of Tom's origins and there it all started
Finished most of his textbooks before Year 2. Got bored quickly and started reading beyond the curriculum.
Actually starting tutoring kids in exchange for money
So people LOVED him
Tom Riddle created inter-house unity just from those group tutoring sessions
Too many people flirted with him at school and he 99% of the time(till 4th year) was oblivious to it until Cain Avery told him
🕷 THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
(school days, and the first war)
Everyone thinks Tom never cared about anyone. He did. He just didn’t know what that meant.
I think it's a consensus that his favourite was Abraxas
I'd like to say Atticus Nott was a favourite too
He was mostly just amused by Orion but won't admit it out loud
Found the name 'Knights of Walpurgis' in this book Orion lent him
Found Orion sort of childish
He doesn’t mourn them, not normally—but he feels absence in patterns. The missing sounds in a room. The laughter that never returns.
LOVES Abraxas' eyes because coloured eyes are so pretty to him(so he turned his own red lol)
Calls Hadrian "Healer Boy" in his head
Thinks Cassius Lestrange should be locked up in St Mungo's but won't ever say it outloud because he thinks Cassius is funny
Learned slurs and curse words from Antonin Dolohov in russian and often used them at the other boys at Wool's
Was very mesmerized by Laurent Rosier playing the violin but will NEVER tell him that
Wishes Cain Avery will never stop calling him "Tommy" but eventually he does
Tom only notices it after though
Had many 'acquaintances' and will gut himself before he calls them friends
At first did not want to recruit kids like Dumbledore was obviously doing but then as he lost more and more sanity he stopped caring
🧠 HORCRUX MADNESS TIMELINE
Horcrux 1 (Diary): Still fully lucid. Still playing god.
Horcrux 2 (Ring): Starting to believe his own lies.
Horcrux 3–5: Starting to slip. Increasingly paranoid. Detached
from emotions, starting to lose continuity.
Horcrux 6 (Nagini): Fully dissociated from his own body.
Horcrux 7 (Harry): Did not plan that. Furious.
🪦 POST RESURRECTION (1995)
scared the shit out of Draco on purpose because Draco looks like Abraxas and Voldy misses him
Sometimes stares too long at Draco. Sometimes calls him by the wrong name.
Saw a picture of Sirius and nearly threw up because oh that's just Orion but also not Orion... Why isn't Orion here anymore? Why isn't Orion here, bothering me and saying stupid things?
Thinks his plans were going so shit because all his new followers are not as competent as his knights
HATED Harry even more after learning how similar they were
was plain batshit insane, there was nearly nothing left of Tom, only Voldemort
"Who tf is Cedric?!"
was genuinely fucking insane after being resurrected
Killed more than half his Death Eaters before the final battle
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
He wrote his own obituary once, at 14. It had titles like “Saviour of Magic” and “Heir of All Things.”
Tom is terrifyingly beautiful, and he knows it—but not in a vain way. It’s a weapon, not an asset. He uses it the way others use charm or brute strength.
Keeps his robes pristine. Not out of vanity, but control. Dirt and disorder feel like a threat to the image he's curated.
Has extremely precise handwriting. Like it looks printed. Teachers used to keep his essays as examples.
Never fidgets. Stillness is power. The more nervous others get, the more still he becomes.
Has a cold, polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The closer it does get to reaching his eyes, the more dangerous the situation is.
Hadrian helped him manage the money
Loneliness is a constant background hum. But he's too proud to name it.
He’d hate Dumbledore’s socks comment. Would see it as proof of Dumbledore’s madness and unfitness to rule.
Collects rare books with dangerous margins: ones half-burned, banned, or rumored cursed. Especially if they’ve driven past readers insane.
Would absolutely win The Bachelor if it existed in the wizarding world, and then kill the producers for airing it.
His things, Horcruxes were put on display in a museum for the wars
Some people can still his things screaming
some people hear them, especially the notebook crying(it sounds like Myrtle)
All his Horcruxes contained more grief than anger
After they were destroyed, anyone coming close to the exhibits felt an overwhelming amount of sadness that wouldn't go away for days
ABRAXAS MALFOY
Face Claim: Tom Blyth
Born: 1927
Wand: Hawthorn, 11", dragon heartstring
Hogwarts Years: 1938– 1945
Favourite Subject: Potions, History of Magic
💎 PERSONALITY & LIFE
A textbook aristocrat—graceful, poised, always put-together, but with bite.
Treated his loyalty to Tom like a holy vow. Not because he believed in supremacy or ideology—but because he believed in Tom.
Tom's sugar daddy(without the sex, obviously)
Tom's right hand man :) He takes his position very seriously
HUGE mommy's boy
was the first one to discover Tom speaks parseltongue back in first year Herbology when he heard Tom speaking to a little garden snake in the corner of the greenhouse
Didn’t worship Tom blindly. Knew exactly what kind of person he was. He just… didn't care.
📕 THE DIARY & THE KNIGHTS
(school days and the first war)
There are many arguments of whether or not Abraxas was even apart of the Knights of Walpurgis but I would like to think he was
I mean there was a reason Lucius even had the Diary
Abraxas probably took care of the diary but then forgot to tell Lucius just what it was before he died which is why 'Chamber of Secrets' happened...
Often feels very bad for Tom because Abraxas cannot imagine living without his parents
Felt awful about Tom being in Wool’s. The Malfoys actually tried to adopt him—pureblooded enough, clever enough—but were blocked by the Ministry. Dumbledore? The orphange? No one knows. It still eats at him.
Abraxas used to give Tom his old clothes but would send it in an anonymous package because he knows Tom is prideful
Was the one to introduce Tom to everyone else
Made Tom say something to a snake in Parseltongue to everyone could actually take him seriously
Abraxas' favourite(other than Tom) is either Laurent Rosier or Hadrian Mulciber
Along with Atticus Nott, Abraxas took care of any legal matters
Believed in blood purity—but more as cultural preservation than superiority. His vision was about tradition, order, and legacy. (Atticus as well believed in this)
Refused to let Lucius near the diary while he was alive. Died before he could explain why it was dangerous. It haunts him.
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Obsessed with bloodlines, but in a collector’s sense. Knew everyone’s tree better than they did.
HISTORY BUFF
He knew who shat where in what year, what hour, what second—
Helped tutor kids with Tom but gave him all the money to keep
Tutoring helped him go over and study and remember things better
Could cast a patronus — a snake
Brewed calming draughts for stressed younger students—but wouldn’t tell them they were potions. He’d just hand them a drink with a nod.
Practically ran the Slytherin common room by fourth year with the Knights. If you wanted permission, gossip, or protection, you went through Abraxas.
Gossip Queennnn
He loved knowing everyone's business
🖼️ POST-RESURRECTION — Portrait!Abraxas
(Abraxas died in 1979, so he was not there in 1995 when Voldemort was resurrected)
Tom argues with Abraxas' portrait every morning while he was at the Malfoy manor after being resurrected
Portrait!Abraxas makes fun of his nose
Portrait!Abraxas feels very sad though because his friend’s face is no longer as handsome as it was and clearly someone fucked up the resurrection ritual
Tom: Your grandson looks like you but he's not smart like you :(
Portrait!Abraxas: It's almost like... He's his own person!?
Tom: I hate you. I'm finding a necromancy book
yeah lol
Still mourns Tom, in his own way. Refuses to admit it. Keeps talking.
Portrait!Abraxas can’t do anything but watch as his childhood friend tears the remaining Malfoys apart…
Might be the last person in the world who remembers what Tom Riddle was before he became Voldemort.
“You broke everything we built, and yet you stand there expecting me to flinch. You’re not a god, Tom. You’re just lonely. Come to me Tom. I promise death does not hurt as much as you think it does.”
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
Wore gloves indoors nearly all of first year.
Carried a silver letter opener everywhere.
Believed the world was meant to be controlled by clever people. Not cruel ones.
Would never say he loved Tom, but he did. In that distant, repressed, Slytherin-boys-aren’t-allowed-to-care kind of way.
The kind of boy who wore cologne at thirteen and had a signet ring before he hit puberty
Wrote with a fountain quill. Custom-made, of course. Tipped in silver. The ink was spelled not to smudge.
Cursed Nobby Leach, not because he was a muggleborn but because Abraxas found out he had a hand in what happened to Atticus' brother
Had fleeting romances, but none that lasted. No one ever got it. Except maybe Tom.
Kept every letter Tom ever wrote him in a velvet box under a floorboard in his room. Burned them the night Tom disappeared.
Probably had a thing for Orion(I SHIP IT OKAY LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!)
Was actually very good to Narcissa and thought she was rather lovely so agreed right away when the match came in for Lucius
100% supported the star names thing
Even gave Narcissa a list of possible names
Never married for love. Married for power. Told himself it was the same thing.
Married Selene Rosier(Laurent's second or third cousin)
She ended up abusing Lucius behind his back
He killed her when Lucius was 5.
That's it.
Died with secrets. Left no answers. Only the diary.
ORION ARCTURUS BLACK
Face Claim: Ben Barnes
Born: 1929 — the youngest of the knights cuz he is canonically 4 years younger than Walburga
Wand: Alder, 11¾", unicorn hair
Hogwarts Years: 1940– 1947
Favourite Subject: Charms, Runes, Care for Magical Creatures
💫 PERSONALITY & LIFE
I see a lot of Mauruders hcs that Sirius looks just like his dad so that is where this came from
I know a lot of people say that Sirius was like Walburga but I think the opposite— Sirius was 100% a copy of Orion
The dreamer of the Knights. A little too soft for the room, a little too clever to be trusted.
Handsome in that tragedy-in-the-making way. The kind of man who still looked like poetry even when passed out drunk in a velvet chair.
Wore his uniform slightly undone. Shirt rumpled, tie loose. Always a hint of rebellion he never fully committed to.
Often misunderstood because he looked cold, but was secretly one of the more gentle members of his family.
Did not know how to communicate how he felt properly
No one ever taught him
No one was there to listen
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Wards and Charms prodigy
Wanted to take a mastery but daddy never let him :(
Knew ancient runes better than most cursebreakers. Could quote stanzas from memory.
SLYTHERIN SEEKER!!!! (Yes like Regulus in the future)
Skipped class occasionally to sit by the lake and feed the giant squid scraps from the kitchens.
Dated boys and girls—casually, half-heartedly, tragically. He just wanted to feel something. (But always sent letters to Walburga promising that he thought she was the prettiest)
Left behind half-finished poems in the margins of his notes. Never shared them.
🌌 RELATIONSHIP WITH WALBURGA & THE BOYS
Orion was not completely against marrying Walburga
I don't think so
I think it was more like: "why isn't she fun anymore :(" was his genuine confusion, not cruelty. He didn’t see the way pressure aged her in ways he never felt.
Still flirted with her sometimes, long after she stopped responding. Drunkenly, awkwardly, heartbreakingly.
Orion: Let's name our firstborn SiriusWalburga: No. That's stupidOrion: plz it'll be so funny, we can make 'serious' jokes AND it’s in the Orion constellation🥺
(Walburga definitely named Regulus)
They fought constantly, especially after Regulus was born. But some nights, they'd sit in silence together and he’d hold her hand like she was still 17 and he was still 14(I imagine them being that young or ever younger when they got engaged).
Fought for Walburga when Pollux wanted to take her out of Hogwarts after 5th year
Managed to convince his family to let her stay all 7 years by pretending to be shit at potions and saying he needed her help because she was an amazing potioneer
Not abusive, more like accidentally neglectful
Loved both his sons, but didn't know how to help them.
Let Sirius grow wild because it made him happy—thought it would be fine. It wasn’t.
Tried telling Walburga it was fine that Sirius was a Gryffindor but she didn't listen
Orion just didn't want to loose a child like Druella and Cygnus did(Andromeda) but did not know how to communicate that with Sirius
Orion not knowing how to communicate ruined things
Sirius was Orion. Same soul, different century. That’s what made it unbearable.
When Sirius ran away, Orion never stopped checking the clock with his name.
Orion never hated him. Just missed him.
Walburga never told him what really happened the day Sirius left and Orion is not sure if he wanted to know
Bonded more with Regulus in the end, in that quiet, doomed way of two men trapped by duty.
Taught Regulus how to ride a broom, how to tie a cravat, how to play wizard chess.
🗡️ THE KNIGHTS & ORION'S BLEEDING HEART
(school days and the first war)
I don't think he was actually a Knight like the others were
Orion was just there to have fun and gave Tom books from the Black Family library
Orion never took the mark and there is no actual reason given as to why so I would like to think that Tom and the rest found him 'childish' or maybe because Orion was not as 'invested' in the cause as the rest of them were
Saw the whole cause as “too serious” and “too much shouting” and "too much killing".
He liked politics like he liked parties: optional, glittering, and brief.
I'd like to think Walburga was more invested in it than Orion was
I think Orion and Abraxas were pretty good friends(interpret that as you wish)
Orion: Abraxas, my future daughter, your future son :)
Abraxas: No???
Orion: Yes :)
That is how I saw it happen but then Orion had 2 sons and was like "fuck :(" and peer pressures Cygnus and Druella into marrying Narcissa to Lucius because it's basically the same thing
☠️ Post-Resurrection (1995)
Orion Black died in 1979, the same year as Abraxas Malfoy. No Portrait was left behind.
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
Always smelled faintly of sandalwood, old books, and very expensive firewhiskey.
100% became a bitter alcoholic over the years because all his friends did nearly everything better than him
Oh and they forgot about him
Wished he went for pro Quidditch but didn't because again, daddy said no...
Gave up on politics because he decided the family name was already in too deep, and someone had to be soft.
I want to say that Orion and Regulus died on the same day just to make ppl sad
Because it makes sense
Orion knew Regulus was going to die. He just… didn’t know how to stop it.
Younger brother of Cantankerous Nott (yes the writer of Pureblood Directory)
I would say both brothers had a pretty big age gap
Emotionally reserved but not cold—everything is internalized, processed through logic, then buried under ritual and theory.
Grief-driven, to the point where it shaped his entire adult life. Every choice he made post-1942 was colored by his brother’s death.
☠️ THE INCIDENT AT DIAGON ALLEY (1942)
Cantankerous Nott was killed by a bunch of muggleborns behind Flourish & Blotts in 1942 because they hated his book
Atticus tried to save his brother who was very outnumbered but the muggleborns brought a gun because bro why wouldn't they???
I think JK should address guns because why wouldn't people bring a gun to an illegal duel
Atticus was then shot in the leg, had his entire leg shattered and tortured with the cruciatus. Now he uses a cane to walk because his leg is just severely messed up from nerve damage caused by the curse and the gun
Has a bunch of scars
Mommy's boy? Daddy's boy? Nope. Big brother's boy
Atticus looked up to his big brother and grieved for the rest of his life after watching him die
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Refused to take a single sick day, even after his injury. Limped to every class, every exam, every practical. The stubbornness was legendary.
Took over the Slytherin study sessions in his 7th year after his brother’s death. Taught younger years to protect themselves—not out of pride, but out of necessity.
Hated being pitied. If anyone offered help without being asked, they’d find their ink well frozen solid the next morning.
PITY DID NOT BRING HIS BIG BROTHER BACK HE DID NOT WANT IT
Refuses pain potions unless he’s about to pass out. Says feeling it keeps him awake. (Hogwarts Matron hates him for it)
Developed his own wand movements after his leg injury—a whole school of dueling based around stability and lower-body limitations.
Knows dark magic. Doesn’t love it. Doesn’t hate it. Sees it like radiation—dangerous, useful, and always permanent.
Once wrote a hex that could only be reversed by understanding grief. No one ever cracked it.
⚖️ VIEWS ON BLOOD PURITY
Doesn’t believe in superiority. Believes in survival.
although Cantankerous wrote the Pureblood Directory, a lesser known fact is that it was supposed to a trilogy or something of books
The first, Pureblood Directory, highlighting 'pure' bloodlines in Magical Britain
The second talks about Cantankerous' research on halfbloods and how inter-mingling with muggles/muggleborns actually saved so many bloodlines and why those in the Pureblood Directory(The Blacks for example) were beginning to die out and have too many squibs
Tom was actually a huge research point for this
Cantankerous was murdered before he could announce his plans on the book
Atticus could never get himself to finish the book
He thinks if he did...
He could have prevented the wars and maybe even prevented Tom from going mad
Had a Muggleborn lover once. Never told a soul. Their name is carved into a rune in his study.
🕷️ THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
(school days and the first war)
Didn't get involved for ideology—joined because it gave him a purpose. A structure to channel pain into.
Created protective wards that the other Knights used. He specialized in defensive magics that looked harmless but trapped enemies in recursive loops.
Was loyal to Abraxas and Dolohov more than Tom.
But still greatly respected Tom because Tom respected him and cared for his opinion
Never took the Mark. No one knows why. Possibly because his allegiance was personal, not symbolic.
Would do has done terrible things for the people he cared about, but only for them.
Was the one to find the Gaunt family address for Tom
🪦 POST RESURRECTION (1995)
One of the few original Knights who survived into the First Wizarding War—but barely.
Voldemort did not trust him during the resurrection era. Saw him as outdated, too careful, and still grieving a brother no one remembered.
Atticus just wanted Voldemort to stop
"It's okay Tom. I promise it is. Please stop. You've done enough. This wasn't even our plan? You're killing children Tom. Please stop."
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
Keeps a dagger under his pillow. Not magical. Just steel.
Still has the bullet removed from his leg in a box. Burnished. Etched with a ward.
His Patronus no longer forms. After 1942, it never took shape again. It comes out like smoke(But it used to be jack rabbit)
When alone, reads his brother’s research aloud. Keeps talking to him like he's in the room.
Kept his brother’s old glasses on his desk for 30 years. Cleaned them every Sunday. Never wore them.
Once helped a young Muggleborn child in Knockturn Alley after they got lost. Obliviated them with perfect precision… and cried about it later.
Wakes up at dawn, every day. Doesn't sleep much—he dreams in memories he doesn’t want to remember.
Never walks into a room without checking for ward lines. Even in places he trusts.
Polite to house-elves. Cruel to anyone who thinks cruelty is power.
His son was an abuser(would hurt the girl he married)
So when the war ended, Atticus took a chance and turned his son in for Domestic Abuse and raised Theodore by himself
As a result, Atticus was able to avoid any search of the Nott manor by aurors after the first war
Was invited to teach at Hogwarts once. Refused. Said the castle was too full of ghosts.
Died about a year after the second war ended
Was not mourned loudly when he died. But his son inherited everything—the grimoires, the theories, the scars. Theodore Nott would later find a letter addressed to “My son's brotherless son.”
CASSIUS LESTRANGE
Face Claim: Jamie Campbell Bower
Born: 1925
Wand: Black walnut, 12½", phoenix feather
Hogwarts Years: 1936– 1943
Favourite Subject: DADA, Runes, Charms
🩸 PERSONALITY & LIFE
Crazy bitch
Unhinged but elegant. A man composed entirely of silk and threats.
I think he's gay. I have no reasoning, I just feel like he is/would be
Married for power, not desire. Treated his wife with respect, but never love.
He and his wife were more like friends anyway (Lavender marriage)
Highly neurodivergent-coded: hyperfixates on runic theory and political theatrics, forgets what day it is, never forgets who slighted him in 1952.
Once said, “Lestranges don’t die. They linger. We’re like mold and fine art.”
Doesn’t fear dark magic. Finds it tedious when people moralize about it.
Prone to mood crashes. Has disappeared for days, then reemerged looking immaculate and pretending nothing happened.
🐺 FATHERHOOD
Had children out of duty. Loved them in his own twisted, educated way.
Knew Rodolphus was gay/ace-coded and taught both his sons how to perform power instead of obsessing over legacy through heirs.
Thought Bellatrix was “an absolute horror, in the best way.” Was genuinely entertained by her.
“She won’t give us heirs, but she’ll burn down the world for our name. Accept the win.”
Enabled Bellatrix too often and left the mess for Rodolphus to deal with
"oh! We can definitely hypenate your name, love! Would you like Black-Lestrange or Lestrange-Black?"
Left Rabastan in charge of estate records, Rodolphus in charge of political dealings. Balanced his sons like chess pieces, but never cruelly.
Never once said “I love you” without a warning. (“Brace yourself, I'm about to say something disgusting.”)
Keeps a locket with a miniature of his sons as toddlers in a drawer he pretends he doesn’t check.
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Brilliant but disruptive. Teachers didn’t know whether to give him awards or expel him.
Charismatic and terrifying. People were drawn to him like moths to a bloodstained flame.
Dueled like he was composing music. Everything was rhythm and flourish until your wand snapped.
Used to charm ink to write itself while he paced during exams—professors stopped trying to discipline him because it was technically innovative.
Was the first student in Hogwarts history to reverse-engineer a Blood-Sealing Charm and then repurpose it into a prank hex.
🕷️ THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
(school days and the first war)
Tom’s unhinged enabler. The only one who could say something batshit insane and have Tom genuinely consider it.
“What if we cursed the concept of memory itself?”
“...Go on.”
Never took the Mark because he didn’t need it. Everyone knew who he was and where he stood.
Didn’t care about ideology—he was in it for the thrill, the arcane discoveries, and the intellectual chaos.
Believed in Tom.
Because a distant cousin of his was arrested for performing a common Samhain ritual and he thinks it's very unfair that mudbloods are changing their world
But he also believed in aesthetic terrorism: spells that make people scream without leaving marks. Curses that corrupt beauty itself.
Came from old money and older madness. The Lestrange vaults hold books the Unspeakables can’t even read.
Cassius is the one that unknowingly gave Tom the first book about Horcruxes
Once called Orion his "pretty boy" at school in front of everyone. Walburga nearly jinxed off his hair
Wishes Atticus could manage his grief better but will never say that out loud to anyone
Often buys Hadrian books about new findings in the medicinal field
☠️ POST RESURRECTION (1995)
Survived the first war through technicalities and psych warfare.
Everyone thought he was too insane to strategize. In truth, he just knew when to disappear.
Fought for his fucking LIFE to get Rodolphus and Rabastan out of prison after the first war
It did not work well
Lavender wife was executed (by Death Eaters or the Ministry depending on your source)—he wore black for five years and still flirted at the wake.
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
Speaks multiple dead languages. Refuses to translate unless bribed.
Has survived four confirmed assassination attempts. Keeps score like it’s poker.
Misses his wife sometimes—not romantically, but as a co-conspirator. They were genuinely close.
When Voldemort died, he felt nothing but quiet. That scared him more than grief.
Re-reads letters from Tom, even the petty ones. Especially the petty ones.
Often tries to figure out just what went wrong and where...
Did not live long after Rodolphus and Rabastan were gone
But he sent monthly payments anonymously to St Mungo's for the Longbottoms that continued even after his death
Covered their entire bill
Never told a soul
Took all his secrets too the grave
ANTONIN DOLOHOV
Face Claim: Aneurin Barnard
Born: 1925
Wand: Cherry wood, 11", dragon heartstring
Hogwarts Years: 1936– 1943
Favourite Subject: DADA, History of Magic
🕯️ PERSONALITY & LIFE
RUSSIAN!!!!
Pureblood from a well-known Russian diplomatic family with ties to Grindelwald-era politics
Dry humor, deadpan delivery. The kind of man who could threaten your life and you'd laugh—until he didn’t blink.
Amoral. Not evil, just... doesn’t process morality the same way. If you die during a duel, that’s your fault for being slow.
Wildly intelligent. Understood wandless casting theory better than most professors. Also believed “a wand is only a leash with lacquer.”
Secretly poetic. Not in speech, but in the way he notices the world: “The way blood spreads in water tells you everything about a man.”
Not cruel by nature—but completely indifferent to suffering if it stands between him and the mission.
🧊 ROMANTIC LIFE & TRAGEDY
Betrothed at 14 to a much younger Russian girl from a prestigious family. She died of dragon pox around her 6th year.
He never pursued marriage again.
Still dreams of her sometimes, in winter settings where he cannot move or speak.
Never public about his feelings. Maybe loved once. Maybe twice. But no one ever lived long enough to say for sure.
Keeps his betrothed’s death certificate hidden in a grimoire. Opens it every death anniversary. Doesn’t cry. Just sits.
Visited her grave once in the early 60s. Left a thistle and a drop of blood. He’s never been back.
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Came to Hogwarts from Durmstrang after the Ministry “invited” his family to relocate for diplomatic reasons.
(Read: the Dolohovs were getting too close to Grindelwald.)
Initially hated Hogwarts. Found the spells childish and the people worse. But then met Riddle. And Abraxas. And Atticus.
Quickly earned a reputation for:
- Brutal precision in duels
- Speaking in Russian when annoyed
- Disappearing for days and reappearing with blood on his collar and no explanation
Drove professors mad by refusing to take notes. Said memory was “a curse or a blade—you either have it or you die.”
Frequently in detention for “excessive spell use,” but never expelled—because he was too valuable.
🕷️ HE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
(school days and the first war)
Voldemort’s unofficial enforcer. When things needed to be done without hesitation or conscience, Antonin was sent.
Didn’t take pleasure in torture—just saw it as a tool. Precision over passion.
Was the one who refined the Dolohov Curse, a silent, rib-shattering dark curse that he didn’t name after himself. The others did.
Loyal, but not devout. Never worshipped Tom—just respected him. Called him “the mind behind the flame.”
He likes teaching the others curse words in Russian because it's funny
Immediately regretted it when Orion called him a "suka" (means bitch according to google)
His family expected greatness, but got something closer to a ghost. They disowned him quietly when he chose the Knights over Grindlewald's ideology that was setting back Dark Wizards centuries. He never went home again.
Quietly protective of the younger Knights—even if he never says it.
Adores Orion as he always wanted a younger brother(genuniely fell apart at Orion's funeral in 1979, begged Hadrian or Tom to find a way to bring him back)
⚖️ AZKABAN YEARS & POST-RESURRECTION
Went down hard during the First War. Took five Aurors to bring him in. He killed two.
Azkaban twisted him.
Face scarred from a werewolf fight in the upper levels.
One arm slightly warped by prolonged exposure to Dementors while his magical core tried to defend itself.
Was one of the first to rejoin Voldemort in the Second War. Not out of loyalty or because Voldemort broke him out of Azkaban—but out of a sense of unfinished work.
Voldemort trusted him less post-resurrection, but still needed him.
Had no patience for Lucius Malfoy. Thought him a “child dressed in silk.”
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
Always has a blade on him. Not magical. Just steel. Just in case.(picked up the habit from Atticus)
Keeps a list of every curse he’s ever created. Annotated, perfected. Some require blood. Some require grief.
Does not lie. If he doesn’t want you to know, he says nothing. Otherwise—you get the truth, raw.
If he likes you, he’ll insult you in Russian.
If he hates you, he’ll curse you in silence.
Never rushes. If Dolohov is walking toward you, you won’t outrun it. That’s the point.
Still occasionally sends unsigned letters to the grave of his betrothed. They are written in ancient runes only he uses.
Reads Muggle war memoirs. Thinks they understand death better than wizards.
Has perfect posture and teaches others how to stand and move like they mean it. (“Your stance is your shield before your wand.”)
Watches the stars obsessively. Knows every constellation. Still whispers her name to one of them and Orion's to his namesake
His hands are rough, scarred, but steady. The kind of hands you’d expect to belong to a surgeon or a killer.
Felt personally responsible for letting Orion slip away from them
When the war ended, and Voldemort died, Dolohov went still. Didn’t run. Didn’t rage. Just stood in the middle of the battlefield and watched the sky.
Was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss
As a last wish, he visted each Knight's Grave and ended with his betroth's
Was the last Knight to die
LAURENT ROSIER
Face Claim: Louis Partridge
Born: 1926
Wand: Blackthorn, 10¾", veela hair core
Hogwarts Years: 1937 – 1944
Favourite Subject: Charms
🕯️ PERSONALITY & LIFE
French Boy!!!
Speaks fluent French, English, and the language of entitled disappointment.
I see him as someone with a baby face, hence Louis as the fc
Treats off-branch Rosiers like charming but slightly embarrassing lesser nobility.
Genuinely charming—until he’s bored. Then he becomes cutting, cold, and passive-aggressive in three languages.
Proud, dramatic, and carries himself like an heir—even when he’s covered in blood or hex soot.
A bit of a snob, but never without humor. Has a way of insulting people that sounds like flirtation.
Absolutely hates crowds, family gatherings, and mandatory balls. Mostly hides behind the piano to avoid talking to his sixth cousin again.
Always immaculately dressed. Cufflinks, tailored robes, faint perfume (sandalwood and citrus), collar never crooked.
Has impeccable handwriting. Uses a fountain quill. Writes letters with sealing wax embossed with the Rosier sigil.
Drinks wine, not firewhisky. Owns three cursed decanters and a chalice that whispers horoscopes.
🎻 THE MUSICIAN
Keeps a personal violin in perfect condition. Has cursed three people for touching it.
Once hexed a classmate for mocking his bow grip. Said nothing. Just hexed their chair to collapse every time they sat for a week.
Can also play the piano, but insists it’s “too sentimental” and only uses it to manipulate party moods.
Plays for Tom in the dorms—not because Tom asked, but because he noticed the way Tom would pause mid-reading whenever he did.
Plays for the knights and often for his kids and whoever he married
Once wrote a lullaby that functions as a blood-binding spell. Performed it once. Buried the sheet music.
Secretly dreamed of becoming a composer of magical symphonies. Settled for becoming a political weapon instead.
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
His Patronus is a swan—majestic, cold, and deadly when provoked.
Got out of detentions with charm and subtle bribery (once gave a professor a signed first edition of a magical poetry book).
Very much “caught snogging behind the greenhouse” energy.
Was once hexed by a jealous Hufflepuff for flirting with both her friends. He congratulated her on her aim.
Did not take school very seriously
Got people do to his homework for him
Just wanted to play his music
🕷️ THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
(school days and the first war)
All the knights call him "Laurie" except for Tom who just says "Laurent"
Not ideological. Was drawn to Tom because he saw power and wanted to be in orbit of it.
Probably fell in love with Tom in that quiet, painful way a lot of people did. He never expected it to be returned.
Believed Tom had vision. Never thought he’d win—but thought he was the only one worth following.
Probably helped launder gold and enchant cursed heirlooms. You need quiet aristocrats as much as killers.
Took fashion cues from Abraxas, magical theory notes from Atticus, and general “how to be scary without blinking” from Dolohov.
Knew Cassius Lestrange was insane but loved him like an uncle even if he was only one year older. (“You always need one relative you don’t explain to guests.”)
Had a soft spot for Orion Black. Called him “the last good thing we didn’t deserve.”
Never took the mark. No one made him. No one asked him.
☠️ POST RESURRECTION (1995)
Laurent Rosier died 3 years after the end of the first war and left no portrait. It was a suspected suicide.
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
His greatest fear is irrelevance. That he’ll be forgotten once he’s no longer beautiful or useful.
Keeps a box of letters, pressed flowers, and ticket stubs from school years. Won’t admit it.
Once cried in the library after a fight with a cousin and swore he’d never let anyone make him feel small again.
Had kids young. Married as soon as he finished Hogwarts and first kid was born in the next year
I can't decide if he'd be Evan Rosier's grandfather or father but they ARE related like that(I guess depends on the fic you're writing)
Big family because which pureblood isn't related to the Rosiers???
I'm kidding
I think he just has a lot of cousins and many a few branches of the family but Laurent is definitely main line Rosier
Treats off branch Rosiers like charming but slightly less embarassing nobility
Hated that he could not finish off Selene himself after what Abraxas told him what she did to Lucius
Felt so gulity even though it wasn't even him that made the match
Still calls Evan “mon petit oiseau” in private letters, even though they haven’t spoken in years, even though Evan was dead
Laughed his head off when someone told him Evan took out Moody's eye and leg
Leaves parties early. Not because he’s tired, but because he doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of watching him leave.
Had a soft heart once. Buried it somewhere between grief, war, and magical expectation.
HADRIAN MULCIBER
Face Claim: Fionn Whitehead
Born: 1926
Wand: Poplar wood, 12", unicorn hair
Hogwarts Years: 1937 – 1944
Favourite Subject: elective - Fundamentals of Magical Healing, Charms
Kindness buried under layers of trauma, legacy expectations, and chronic disappointment.
Struggles with feeling out of place even among other purebloods—he doesn’t want power. He wants peace.
Had a childhood stutter he worked hard to get rid of; it still comes back when he’s emotionally overwhelmed.
Always looks like he just cried or is about to. He hasn't, but give it a week.
Always looks like he walked through fog to get here. Hair damp, collar crooked, but somehow poetic about it.
Eyes look too old for his age. Hands always faintly ink-stained. Robes never quite pressed.
Rain makes him feel better. Walks without an umbrella and lets it soak into his skin like penance.
Dresses down, unlike the rest of the Knights. Thinks “theatrics are for people who want to be remembered.”
Smells like old pages, eucalyptus salve, and candle smoke.
Keeps a small vial of mullein and lavender potion with him at all times for calming anxiety.
Empathic to a fault. Could always sense when someone was in pain—whether they were bleeding or just broken on the inside.
🏥 THE HEALER THAT WASN'T...
Was obsessed with magical medicine from childhood. Collected ancient salves, memorized wand movement diagrams, could recite counter-curse chants by age 11.
His father forbade it. Told him healing was “servant’s work” and "Mulcibers command, they do not cure."
Took Fundamentals of Magical Healing as an elective anyway. Lied and said he was taking Advanced Dueling.
Could’ve been one of the best Healers of his generation. He knows that. That’s the part that haunts him.
Still carries a kit of healing salves and blood-replenishing phials in his inner robe pocket at all times.
The Mulcibers are feared, not loved. Old bloodline, obsessed with tradition, known for violent spell invention.
Hadrian wanted out, but pureblood society is a vice — and his father had eyes in every corridor.
His older brother (dead by the time Hadrian graduates) was the heir. Hadrian was meant to be the scholar.
After the war, Hadrian refused to join the Ministry. Disappeared for a few years. Some say he worked in underground healing wards for illegal duelling clubs.
He would never confirm it.
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Excelled in Charms and Healing, often helping classmates with minor injuries in secret.
Secretly studied ancient healing magic outside of class, fascinated by its potential for restoration and protection.
Hated Potions with a burning passion — not because he was bad at it, but because it reminded him of what his father wanted him to be.
Kept a small herb garden hidden in the Slytherin common room for personal use and research.
Aided Tom with the tutoring groups — covered the healing classes and gave all the money to Tom
🕷️ THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
(school days and the first war)
Didn’t join out of belief, joined because there was nowhere else to go.
Tom saw him as “unshaped clay.” Respected his intelligence, doubted his resolve.
Antonin Dolohov respected him, but told him, “You think too much. You’ll either be the one who survives, or the one who dies first.”
Loved listening to Laurent play piano or the violin
Was often the one patching others up after duels, whether they asked or not.
would brew pain potions for Atticus and try to find ways to make his knee better
Always the first to warn when things were going too far — and the first to be ignored.
Never took pleasure in cruelty. Took guilt like a second skin.
Would send Tom nourishment potions in the summertime because unlike the rest he knew what things orphans went through
Never got married
When his older brother died, leaving behind a son, Hadrian tried his best to raise him but Hadrian's father ended up twisting that and turning Mulciber Jr(Severus' classmate) into a Death Eater
Hadrian began to hate Tom by then
Never took the mark.
Told Tom to go fuck himself by the time the first war started
☠️ POST RESURRECTION (1995)
Hadrian Mulciber died 5 years after the end of the First Wizarding War. Did not leave behind a portrait, only a journal of what should have happened.
The journal was later put into a museum made to honour and remember both wars.
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
Writes letters he never sends. Especially to his dead brother.
Is terrified of dying in obscurity — not for legacy, but because he wants someone to say, “He was gentle, when he could have been cruel.”
Collects broken wands. Tries to fix them, like it’ll fix something in him.
Had a crush on someone once. Never told them. Still keeps the flower they gave him in an old herbology book.
Keeps his childhood wand in a box under his bed. Doesn’t know why.
Lived in a small, anonymous cottage and healed those who couldn’t go to St. Mungo’s.
Rumours said he kept the ghosts of those he couldn’t save as company. They were wrong—but he did talk to them in dreams.
Died quietly, in bed, surrounded by half-finished letters and dried potion ingredients.
His name was never cleared because of all the contrasting stories about him.
But the people he helped told stories.
And that was enough.
CAIN AVERY
Face Claim: Nicholas Galitzine
Born: 1926
Wand: Walnut, 10.5", phoenix feather
Hogwarts Years: 1937 – 1944
Favourite Subject: DADA
🕯️PERSONALITY & LIFE
People hc him as a flirt
Idk though but I think I agree. Not to a huge extent though
He’s not the type to seduce you into bed—he’ll seduce you into betraying your morals.
Charismatic enough to be liked even when he’s awful. Wears his worst traits like silk.
Smiles like he knows a secret. Because he usually does.
Flirt? Yes. But not an over-the-top womanizer. He flirts with everyone—because it’s fun, because it’s armor, because it’s strategy.
Cain Avery collects reactions. He doesn’t need you to fall in love with him. He just wants to know he could make you.
📚 ACADEMICS, SCHOOL LIFE & MAGIC
Very well-known in school. Not infamous like Tom—just… everywhere. Hosted the best common room parties.
Liked by professors despite being a low-level menace. Got away with everything.
Had people who hated him—but couldn’t prove anything.
Did not have any actual ambition as he was a third son so he was free to do as he wished
Exceptionally skilled in mental magic. Occlumency came naturally to him.
Good at DADA, great at Charms, scarily competent at subtle dark spellwork.
Never tested for Legilimency, but it’s rumored he was decent at it—used more for reading mood and motive than digging deep.
🕷️ THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
(school days and the first war)
Join not because of ideology, but because Tom needed someone socially dangerous.
Cain was the perfect face: rich, clever, likable, able to say awful things and make you laugh at them.
Tom never fully trusted Cain. But he used him—Cain knew everyone, and everyone told him everything.
Respected Abraxas for his power, mocked him for his rigidity.
Antonin Dolohov terrified him, and Cain never admitted it.
Was sort of patronizing toward Orion but not in a way that was obvious
Absolutely had a rivalry with one Gryffindor boy who hated him with the fury of the sun. Cain called him “darling.”
Laurent Rosier once said Cain was “the most dangerous man in the room because he looks like he isn’t.”
Saw how dark things were getting long before anyone else did. Didn’t know how to leave.
Often thought about running. Never did.
Disappeared at the start of the First Wizarding War. Rumors say he faked his death. Others say Tom killed him.
One theory claims he left England altogether and now runs an underground magical safehouse in France.
Another says he died protecting a half-blood girl during a purge.
☠️ POST RESURRECTION (1995)
Cain Avery's body was never found. It is debated what truly happened to him but a ring he wore is on display in the museum for the wars right next to Hadrian's journal. It used to be in another display but somehow it always ended up in the case with the journal anyway.
🐍 OTHER HEADCANONS & INFO.
Once fell in love with someone from a half-blood family. Broke it off coldly to “protect” them. Still dreams about it.
Carries a silver lighter. Doesn’t smoke. Just likes clicking it open.
Once snuck into the Restricted Section for a bet. Stayed four hours reading anyway.
Never had any kids but left everything he inherited to whoever "killed the dark lord" (yes that is what was written on his will)
GENERAL HEADCANONS
Originally it was a mix of charisma, academic superiority, shared trauma, and elitism that bonded them. Tom Riddle, of course, was the magnetic center.
They didn’t all believe in the same things. They just believed in each other (or, more accurately, couldn’t imagine surviving without one another).
There were secret meetings, invented rituals, “codes of conduct” scrawled in books, and duels in the Forbidden Forest just to feel powerful.
Their bond was a mix of intellect, codependency, ambition, and the belief that no one else in the world understood them. They were right.
Named after Walpurgis Night—a real European celebration where witches once gathered in the mountains to drive out evil. The Knights? They liked the inversion. They were the storm, not the shield.
The name stuck. It made them feel like something bigger than themselves. Tom fed that myth—spun tales about them being part of a prophecy, the next great magical order, destined to rise beyond life and death.
Some joined out of belief. Some out of fear. Some out of loyalty to a friend who had stars in his eyes and murder in his future.
I feel like they all called Tom “Tommy” when in private up until his eyes turned red because that just wasn’t scrawny, handsome and too smart “Tommy” anymore
It definitely made them sad
Tom used to think of them all as friends until his eyes turned red
The Knights found the Death Eaters name so funny
Tom still called the ogs his knights though(for sentimental value!)
Long silences after arguments. Touches too brief to be tenderness. Knowing glances. And never, ever saying “I miss you.”
They are all mirrors of Tom, or perhaps reflections of what he killed in himself.
Loyalty wasn’t always to ideology—it was to each other.
The moment the circle broke—when one of them died, or betrayed, or doubted—Tom turned the Knights into Death Eaters. Not soldiers. Relics. Pieces of himself, spread across history like horcruxes in human form
By the time Tom became Voldemort, the Knights no longer existed—not as they were.
Some took the Mark. Some didn’t. Some were killed for knowing too much. Others disappeared.
The Death Eaters were followers. The Knights? The Knights were founders.
Voldemort never formed bonds like that again. He didn’t need to. The Knights were both his trial run and his undoing.
Every time he looked at one of them, post-resurrection—especially their portraits or sons—he remembered what almost was.
In the end, they were not monsters. They were boys. Sharp, scared, brilliant boys. And it was the world that made them into something else.
At least three of them were probably in love with each other and never said it.
At least two of them died with the others’ names on their lips.
They never took group photos. They said they’d remember it all. They didn’t.
Some of them were buried in unmarked graves. Others were given marble tombs by families who never knew who they were.
Just a terribly toxic friend group that could have been fixed if at least ONE OF THEM could have learned how to communicate
The war erased them—but the bones of the First War were built on the backs of the Knights of Walpurgis and too much grief
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