#lynxfics

[thelastlynx]

when will the seven year witch be completed? i’ve been waiting for the end for ages so i don’t mind whenever it gets posted, i’d just love a rough idea of the time frame, i love it so im so excited to read the rest <3

Hi anon! Thanks so much for asking! It's incredibly sweet of you to have connected with this story, which has a special place in my heart as well.

Right. First of all, my apologies for the excessive wait!

Second, yes, the story will be finished! Not least because I hate to leave you all hanging like that. Unfortunately, I've since had several RL hiccups, the most serious in terms of fic-writing being my laptop having been stolen.

Another is (and forgive me for broadening the scope) that I have very little motivation to create for the HP fandom any longer. It's become increasingly difficult, bordering on the impossible, to separate the fandom from the ideology of its creator, and I simply do not wish to contribute to anything that is currently being explicitly supported by and in support of bigotry, as it translates, ultimately, into a soft-launch of fascism.

As to the posting schedule, I'm very, very sorry to disappoint you but I cannot name a date—at least not a realistic one. Even with my ADHD medicated, my executive functioning skills in terms of writing aren't anywhere near a level where I could give a reliable schedule. And at this point, raising hopes seems like the worst possible option—next to abandoning the story completely, which I won't do.

If you feel differently however, do let me know. Again, I'm so sorry about my snail’s pace.

P.s. would snippets of the final chapter be something you're interested in? They might not make it into the final cut though...

[thelastlynx]

Snippet from my WIP TAKE NO PRISONERS

(A post-Hogwarts Bodyguard AU feat Auror Malfoy and Minister Granger)

‘I didn’t know Macmillan played for the other team.’

Draco positioned himself next to Nott who was shamelessly staring across the salon, his eyes fixed on the blonde, burly man clad in ostentatiously expensive purple robes amid a throng of Sacred Twenty-Eighters.

‘Don’t be so frightfully conservative. Nobody cares about that sort of thing anymore,’ Nott said.

‘Wasn’t he married?’

‘The operative word being “was”. He was married. And anyway. People can swing both ways, can’t they?’

Draco nipped at his champagne, watching Macmillan move from one boring group of rich pure-bloods to the next, shaking hands here and there.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something rather important?’ he said.

‘And what would that be?’

‘That she died. He’s a widower.’

‘Oh. That,’ Nott returned as though that was an utterly inconsequential piece of information. ‘It’s been a whole year since, hasn’t it?’

‘Another man might say, it’s been just a year, considering—’

‘Pish,’ Theo said and continued his shameless staring.

Draco did the same, though considerably less conspicuously.

He noted that, although Macmillan was outwardly invested in making small talk—he seemed to be a keen conversationalist—, the way he gripped his Champagne coupe and frequently glanced around the room told quite another story.

‘Doesn’t this seem a tad… inappropriate to you?’ Draco asked.

Nott pulled his gaze from Macmillan to face Draco.

‘Are you joking?’ He lifted an eyebrow.

‘Why on earth would you say that?’

‘Well, you must be,’ Nott said, ‘because I’ve never heard you say anything quite so ridiculous.’

Draco snorted.

Nott eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then directed his attention back to Macmillan.

‘That bloody job is getting to you. I knew it was a bad idea to spend all that time around Potter.’

Draco who thought that, rather than Potter, Granger ought to be blamed for the advent of any or all scruples, chuckled, which resulted in another odd look by Nott.

‘Something IS the matter with you,’ he said. ‘What is it, Malfoy?’

‘Nothing,’ Draco answered before having even pondered the question.

‘What’s what with Malfoy?’ a female voice said.

Pansy had appeared on Nott’s other side, a coupe in one hand, a bottle of champagne in the other.

‘Nott’s about to make an absolute tit out of himself,’ Draco said as Pansy topped up their glasses. ‘I’m doing my best to prevent the worst.’

‘Doesn’t Nott always make an absolute tit out of himself?’ Pansy said.

‘Ha!’ Theo said.

‘Can’t argue with that,’ Draco said, smirking.

‘In that case,’ Theo continued, his chipper attitude once more restored, ‘What’s your opinion on Macmillan’s…. preference, Pansy?’

[thelastlynx]

Bedtime Stories

An ordinary day in Wiltshire comes to a close. DRACO’s putting his two children, eight-year-old SCORPIUS and ten-year-old PENELOPE, to bed. HERMIONE and GINNY are watching from the doorway.

SCORPIUS: Please, daddy!

PENELOPE: Noooo! He's told that one a million times already!

SCORPIUS: But it's my turn. And I want that one!

       PENELOPE folds her arms, protesting.

DRACO (stroking PENELOPE's hair): Don't be cross, my darling. You get to pick a story tomorrow!

       PENELOPE calms down.

GINNY: I didn't believe Harry, but he really is brilliant with them.

HERMIONE: I know…

HERMIONE smiles at DRACO who returns her gaze in a way that can only be described as "smouldering".

GINNY (grinning): You two are revolting.

HERMIONE (wistful): And you don't even know the story of the dangerous sorceress who held him captive on an island, for weeks and weeks… (GINNY snickers.) Ah, our honeymoon...

SCORPIUS: Yes, that one!

PENELOPE: I want to hear it, too!

       DRACO glares at HERMIONE and GINNY who break into peals of laughter.

DRACO: Now, look what you've done, witch!

HERMIONE (apologetically, to her kids): How about the one where daddy fights the Cantankerous Cyclops?

       SCORPIUS and PENELOPE break into cheers. DRACO looks a bit hesitant; ultimately, his kids wear him down.

GINNY: Which one is that?

HERMIONE: That was during the war, at Grimmauld Place. It's a good one!

DRACO: I'm telling the story! (clears his throat)

       SCORPIUS and PENELOPE settle under the covers, listening attentively.

DRACO: A long time ago, our hero, the handsome and quick-witted Dragon Prince--

       GINNY snorts.

DRACO (louder): --is having a difficult time. He's slain a vicious, two-headed monster--

HERMIONE (whispering): Nagini and Bathilda Bagshot.

      GINNY shudders.

DRACO: --which he and his companions only survive by the skin of their teeth. He returns to his castle, where he throws himself into the arms of his maiden. She's his only confidante, and as such, they can't bear to be apart.

SCORPIUS: Ugh!

PENELOPE: Aw!

GINNY: That's the censored version, yeah?

      HERMIONE smirks.

DRACO: But danger's not over. Suddenly, the Cantankerous Cyclops bursts into their room. He’s suspicious and quarrelsome, and threatens to transfigure our hero into a teeny-tiny rabbit--

      SCORPIUS, PENELOPE and GINNY all gasp.

DRACO: Without his wand, our hero is helpless against the foe, when out of nowhere, an old, wise crone--

HERMIONE: Draco!

DRACO: alright, alright, not crone--goddess strides into the room. 'How dare you threaten our hero,' she cries. ‘He’s innocent!’ She wields her wand with furious justice, banning the Cyclops, never to return.

The kids cheer, all thought of sleep soundly forgotten. DRACO starts reading proper bedtime stories to calm them.

HERMIONE and GINNY return downstairs.

GINNY: So, Mad-Eye caught the two of you shagging like bunnies, hence him wanting to transfigure Malfoy into one?

HERMIONE (grins): He thought Draco’d imperiused me.

GINNY: And McGonagall stepped in? Unbelievable!

HERMIONE: I know! Minerva saving Draco from Transfiguration punishment, again?

GINNY: No, I mean...

      (grabs Hermione by the shoulder, staring at her)

      McGonagall saw you two bloody starkers???

This was written for @dramioneldws ROUND 6 | WEEK 4: Athena. War. Wisdom.

Likes/Reblogs and Kudos/Comments are my love language 😍 💕

Find my drabble on AO3

[thelastlynx]

Writing a Damione canon story

How it started:

How it's going

[thelastlynx]

Blown away that this little drabble won me a second place in this week's @dramioneldws ! Hera was such a difficult prompt, and there were so many outstanding entries! Do check them out!

You can find my own drabble on AO3 here (as well as drabbles for past rounds/weeks).

Mimicry

A mother sees all;

her child’s deeds, needs, thoughts, dreams.

Thus, a mother must act.

And act, Narcissa does.

~*~*~

The Law passes on a Thursday in June; Draco’s birthday. He storms into the Breakfast Room, wielding the papers as though they’re a crime against wizardkind.

He isn’t wrong. But these days, his well-being supersedes her convictions (the war’s left its mark).

His protestations wane. They’re half-hearted, anyway. After all, The Law’s a gift.

~*~*~

When the Granger Girl steps out of the Floo the following week, she doesn’t wear white.

So, she says without greeting, where shall we consummate?

Draco gapes. Narcissa sympathises. She, too, has presumed her to fight tooth and nail.

Having received no response, the girl surveys her surroundings. Tall windows frame the magnificent view of a pride of pearl-white peafowl fluttering amongst her rosebushes.

Rather plain and joyless-looking, aren’t they? Her tone is rude, disapproving, and Narcissa has to remind herself that this is for Draco.

There’s no rush, Narcissa responds graciously, Plenty of time for a romantic stroll through the grounds. What do you think, Draco?

No, interrupts the Granger Girl. Best get it over and done with.

Despite herself, Narcissa leaves them to themselves.

Draco’s cross-eyed expression the next morning eases her concern.

Not for long, though.

Day after day, a blissed-out Draco breaks his fast while his young wife almost immediately absconds to the library, where she spends all her spare time. But each night, just as The Law compels them, they go to bed. The desired consequence, however, remains elusive, rendering the marriage fragile.

Around Christmas, Narcissa resolves to act. Attempts to verify their nightly activities remain futile (she merely acquires a begrudging admiration for her daughter-in-law’s Warding Spells). A solution requires ingenuity.

~*~*~

The next morning, Narcissa Malfoy’s gone. In her stead, two peacocks have appeared — colourful ones with large eyespots decorating their plumage.

“Christmas present from my mother,” Draco reads from the card.

“The real gift is her absence,” Hermione mumbles and disappears into the library.

Her case against The Law is almost air-tight.

That night, as Hermione prepares Draco’s nightcap, the new peacocks are sitting in front of their windows, displaying. Their eyespots sparkle like diamonds in the wintery dark. Thinking nothing of it, she drugs Draco as she always does, before planting memories of them shagging like bunnies. She works a bit more, then goes to bed.

Hermione wakes to the sight of Narcissa Malfoy’s stone-cold eyes and a raised wand.

A mother sees,

and a mother acts

is the last thing she hears.

[thelastlynx]

It's WIP Wednesday! I'm running a poll over on my twitter to determine which fic to pick for a snippet 😊 2 hours left to help me chose!

[thelastlynx]

👀

[thelastlynx]

Chapter 3 "Princess" of It's Hermione, Thanks is up!

[STORY ON AO3]

Malfoy, who at the beginning of the year had seemed a complete mystery to her, was starting to become decipherable. Though his face remained careful and collected most of the time, there was something about his eyes that gave a pretty good hint of whether he was in a good or a bad mood.

And then there were his hands.

Malfoy had very expressive hands.

Often, when he was thinking, he was playing with his signet ring. Sometimes his wand hand would do tiny little jerky movements. But when a situation became dire, when he was stressed or annoyed, his hands went completely still. Hermione surmised that he’d been taught not to give away when he was upset. How ironic that it was exactly that what made him an open book.

As they walked together, Hermione glanced at his hands: they appeared to be completely relaxed; a contradiction to his otherwise stiff posture.

“You mustn’t be disappointed. It’s a hard spell to master,” she said.

His left eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “Granger. I know you’re trying to be nice but—”

“I’m not. It is genuinely difficult.”

Malfoy didn’t respond. Instead, he took a large step. “Careful, Granger.”

Hermione jumped just in time to avoid being stuck in a disappearing step. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He didn’t meet her gaze. He just nodded.

Silently, they continued down the stairs.

“It’s a lot harder for me, too, these days, you know,” Hermione said into the quiet as they reached the fourth-floor landing.

Malfoy remained mute.

“For a while, I couldn’t even—” she swallowed; she didn’t want to think of that time during the summer when she’d felt as though she’d been perpetually enclosed by Dementors. “What I mean is, it’s hard. It’s a really hard bit of magic, even under normal circumstances. You’ll manage. I know you will.”

Malfoy scoffed.

“You will! I’m serious!”

“You were in class. You heard what Professor Soteria said. Dark wizards aren’t able to cast a Patronus.”

Hermione gave a delicate snort. “And you’re a dark wizard, are you?”

Again, Malfoy didn’t say a thing for a few long moments.

“You seem to be the only person to think otherwise,” he said finally.

[Continue reading on AO3]