An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Summary:
Multi-Chaptered Fic. Magical Curses AU.
“Father, we’ve come as you requested,” Xander spoke. “How may we serve you?”
King Garon eyed them before waving his hand. From the shadows behind the throne emerged the seer and Iago. Leo bit back a scowl.
“For over a decade I’ve had a prophesy spoken to me,” King Garon spoke and his voice filled the space with cold indifference. “One day, one of my children will kill me.”
Kill him. Leo’s eyes widened and he nearly stumbled back. This was the prophesy that his mother always made him sit through? The one in the incense filled room and seer who never showed her face? The one Leo in his young age never was able to learn the details about and then stopped going when he was old enough to understand?"
Due to a prophesy, Leo and his siblings are scattered across Nohr and are cursed, only kept alive for a ritual Garon claims will grant him immortality. Trapped in a tower, Leo attempts (and fails) at escaping until two strangers break in and claim they'll help Leo out. (Breaking curses and killing Garon are after thought bonuses for later.)
~
Hello everyone!
A few months ago I made a poll asking which old FE fic I should redo. The winner was “Self-Fulfilling Prophesy”. This is the start of the redo.
While this won’t be a completely “faithful” one to one redo of the story, there will be many similar elements present. I just want to recreate the story and do some changes and have different scenes.
Anyways, you don’t need to have read Self Fulfilling Prophesy in order to enjoy this story. But if you want to read the old version, here is a LINK.
I hope you enjoy this new version! Also, feel free to reblog and like this post!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So, I had something in mind for the "Hero or Villain" prompt for Cedric Week since the prompts popped up, but I still ended up being late. Go figure.
This is probably one of the most artsy and self-indulgent things I've written in a while. XD
I just really like writing things that I can use as an excuse to experiment with prose and are also kind of sad. I'm a poet by trade, and poetry often spills into my prose. I'm known to still dabble in writing some true pure angst once in a great while. So, enjoy?
For those following my quirky little series "Mistaken: The Untold Story of Enchancia's Royal Sorcerer," there's some fun little explanations and things tucked in here and there that you'll recognize, and you'll find some more pieces to the puzzle I've been laying out for you across some of the other fics in that series.
However, this works plenty well as a stand alone piece.
I think I forgot to tag @cedricweek in my other fic I wrote earlier. Oops.
Again, many apologies for the late post, and many thanks for organizing. It was fun to see the cool stuff people posted! Enjoy the fic/ offering. Like I said, this was an enjoyable little experiment both in prose and thought on Cedric's backstory.
It was a weekend and Silver’s turn for a late night patrol. He was around Barnum park when he heard something. A low, deep howl that made Silver’s skin crawl.
In one moment he was outside the park, and then he saw something. Not physically in front of him but a flash of blue that happened the moment he blinked his eyes. When he opened his eyes he was in the park and there was a pair of glowing pink eyes in the darkness of the trees.
“Uh,” Silver said as he began to float off the ground but the thing in the shadows lunged at him.
At first Silver thought it was a bear, it was certainly big enough. But after dodging it, Silver realized it was more like a large wolf. It looked strong and big enough to rip a car apart.
And its fur was pink.
On either side of the werewolf were two smaller dogs. Silver could only call it a “werewolf” because it definitely wasn’t a wolf and what else was it supposed to be? The smaller dogs looked like golden labs taken over by shadow, red eyes and hackles raised.
Dark’s hellhounds.
“What do we have here?”
Silver turned to see Dark standing behind him. Effectively trapping Silver between himself and the pink werewolf.
Dark’s head tilted as he looked past Silver and at the werewolf. The pink werewolf’s tail began wagging in excitement.
A gleaming, moonlight-colored aura came over Dark. He looked a little alarmed before he disappeared suddenly standing in front of the wolf and Dark was different.
The demon had turned to look more feminine. A trailing smoky purple dress with what looked like fur along the v-neck of the dress. Her hair was short and jet black, with more red in her aura.
Dark looked down at her herself and rolled her eyes.
Her hand slowly moved up to the large canine-like face.
“Oh, Wil, if you wanted attention you knew where I was,” Dark smiled as she scratched under the werewolf’s chin.
Wilford made a deep chuffing-like noise as he leaned into her hand.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous sometimes,” Dark said but she had a half smile on her face and continued scratching his chin.
Silver slowly slowly tried to back up but Wilford growled and bared his teeth at Silver.
“Woah, woah,” Silver said as he held his hands up. “Obviously you two are in the middle of something, I can go.”
Dark whispered something to Wilford and the werewolf shot out after Silver. The pink werewolf was roaring and the two hellhounds followed after him.
The demon smiled as she waited for Wilford to either drag the hero back kicking and screaming, or come back on his own.
Silver would get away, being able to fly but not before Wilford snagged his cape with his teeth.
Silver’s cape quick-released and Silver shot off into the sky. Whatever was going on, the hero wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with it. It seemed less illegal and more like a date night thing to him.
The hellhounds disappeared back into the Void and Wilford headed back to Dark, black and white cape in his teeth.
Dark scratched behind his ears. “Completely ridiculous.”
Wilford leaned into the touch.
Then Dark leaned up and kissed Wilford on the side of his head. Immediately turning him back into a human person.
”You’ve saved me, Darkling,” Wilford walked over to her and wrapped his arms around the demon.
“Where’d your clothes go?” Dark asked.
“The transformation took them,” Wilford smiled. “You’ve saved me.”
Dark opened up a portal. “Yes, let’s go dear. And stay out of my cursed books, you might not actually like the next one you come across.
Wilford chuckled as he followed her back into the Manor, staying close behind her.
Her throat went tight at the command. She couldn't disobey, not with whatever compulsion kept her here, but she couldn't obey either. What was she supposed to do?!
Her mouth opened without her permission, and she tried to sing.
It was a song she had loved, once upon a time. Kahreen had liked it, so that was part of Corvas attraction, but not all. Corva loved the way it fit in her range, how it started low and then rose until it soared above the original melody in a high counterpoint. Corva loved the vibrato she used to put on the ends of the phrases, how it added a rich texture to the song and made her head buzz pleasantly.
What came from her mouth now was a mockery of what she used to sing. It was scratchy, and off-key, and broke in strange spots.
May the Six curse Grendelia for her cruelty. Kahreens mother didn't need to do this to her, didn't need to inflict such petty revenge on Corva for something that wasn't her choice. Kahreen had chosen to participate in the experiment willingly, where Corva had just been an unfortunate outcome.
And yet Corva was the one walking the world, while Kahreen lay in a coma.
Grendelias curse was too strong and well-rooted for Corva to remove. Her singing voice had been well and truly stolen, and she wasn't getting it back.
As soon as the compulsion ended, Corva closed her mouth with enough force that her teeth clicked.
The tears in her eyes were from the pain in her vocal chords. Nothing else.
TITLE: the dying curse (you are, as all your kind, no more than a beast)
SHIP: Geralt/Jaskier
PROMPT DAY: Day 3, “Cursed”
MEDIUM: Witcher (Netflix)
WARNINGS: Mental injury, physical injury, neglect and starvation, ableist language/reactions from unsympathetic bystanders
SUMMARY: Geralt hunts a man who commands lower vampires to his will. He wins the battle, but the sorcerer uses his dying breath to put a curse on Geralt that leaves him unable to care for himself. Jaskier finds him wandering in the woods and dedicates himself to looking after his friend until a cure can be found... if a cure can be found.
WORD COUNT: 54k (complete)
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This fic was mostly completed before @geraltwhumpweek started, but I asked the mod if I could submit an already-existing piece if it fit the theme, and they agreed it would still count. Happy Geralt Whump week everybody!
---
"Geralt, is everything all right?" Jaskier finally thought to ask, catching up to Geralt in one of his circuits. "You're a mess -- more of an mess than usual, I mean --"
He reached out to grab Geralt's hand, only to see the Witcher flinch and then turn on him with a snarl. "Shit! Sorry," he said, hastily dropping Geralt's hand. But even in that brief touch he'd felt the stickiness of blood... He reached out to capture Geralt's hand again, gently cupped in both his own, turning it towards the firelight.
Tooth marks riddled his hand, going up his wrist in regular three-corner tears "These need to be treated," Jaskier said firmly. "I know Witchers are tough, but this could fester -- this could get bad. You aren't normally this careless, what's wrong with you?"
The words, once said, seemed to hang a heavy weight in the air, and chills began to crawl their way down Jaskier's spine. This wasn't just Geralt's normal reticence, his usual carelessness towards the niceties of life. Something was wrong. Wounds untreated, armor askew, no camp or fire, man and horse both starving less than a day's walk to civilization -- something was seriously wrong.
"What is wrong with you?" he repeated. Geralt turned away, attention apparently distracted by something off in the woods. "Can’t you speak? What, did you sell your voice to a sea serpent in exchange for legs? Nod if you sold your voice to a sea witch." He was beginning to babble now, he knew it, his voice starting to tremble with the force of what he was trying to deny. "Shake your head if I'm being an idiot. Come on Geralt, this isn't funny, say something!"
Geralt cocked his head to the side, a gesture so perfectly Geralt-like that he was already anticipating the snarky barb that would follow it... and nothing. Geralt said nothing. Not because he couldn't hear Jaskier, or because he had lost his voice, but...
"You can't understand me, can you?" Jaskier said softly. Geralt just stared at him, steady, wordless, empty. "You can't understand... anything."
Draco was in the infirmary, recovering after Saint Potter had almost killed him in a bathroom for Salazar knows why. His entire house was basically rioting, the other ones were suspicious and scared, especially since The Dark Lord was on and about it again. It was a mess. And Blaise had a headache.
It had been about three months since he had had last one of the awful brain splitting migraines. And he wasn’t clueless about the cure to his inconvenience: Neville let him rant and destress in ways his friends couldn’t, he comforted him and challenged him and made him feel so light and warm. Their entire situation was marvellous and wonderful and too dreamy to him to be true: they would sometimes sneak up to the astronomy tower with a bottle of pumpkin juice or with muggle drinks that were smuggled into Hogwarts, stargazing under a thick blanket or telling each other stories about their childhoods and their houses; they would meet in empty corridors, or empty classrooms, or empty rows in the back of the library, or any available space that would leave them alone, to spend moments alone and in privacy, to just be with each other and enjoy their time together, whether to snog or just talk without being judged about everything and nothing at all.
Their friends were also rather helpful. Female Weasley and Loony Lovegood created diversions whenever they needed and they also delivered messages, since Lovegood was a Ravenclaw and therefore it wouldn’t be shameful to be seen around her. She was also a Pureblood, so no foul at all. Pansy was, for once in her life, useful and not that annoying as usual. She covered for him whenever someone looked for him while he was busy and she would lie all the time effortlessly. The only downside was that she was incredibly noisy and demanded all the details. Probably Blaise’s most horrific memory will forever be the one time she gave him her version of the Talk, where she held him against his will and shared her wisdom into a very specific area of dating. Blaise could’ve easily lived without that experience, yet it was insightful and rather helpful in his next encounter with Neville in an empty classroom next to the DADA hall.
He had no idea whatsoever what Saint Potter was doing to help them in their escapade, but Neville assured him that he made sure they were left alone, either by causing a distraction or sending someone to cause a distraction, or by alerting Neville whenever someone was in 5 minutes away from spotting them. Apparently, he knew the position of everyone at Hogwarts and Blaise didn’t need to know more. “He doesn’t really trust snakes” was the only explanation he had received from a very sheepishly looking Neville, which was fair.
Those had been probably the best three months in Blaise’s entire academic career.
But now the spell was broken.
He had sent a flying piece of paper in his direction at dinner, and Neville had immediately caught on, despite Blaise’s cold demeanour. Lately, whenever they were in the Great Hall, their eyes would meet and he would wink at the boy, just to see the colour rush into his cheeks and to see the absurdly adorable face he’d make, but this time he just let the spell do its magic, completely impassive and detached. Their meeting would be in the Herbology hall, easily disguisable as Blaise leaving or going to the library and Neville just being himself around plants. The entire school knew that he was the person Professor Sprout trusted most and that he spent the majority of his time next to the greenhouses, tending them and all.
“Rule number six: punctual is tardy and early is punctual.” So he never was late, always ten minutes prior to everything unless it was a fashion statement, the tardiness.
Neville Longbottom, as he had proven on various occasions, was the total opposite. Which was something that both infuriated and amused Blaise endlessly. But not tonight.
He had already walked the length of the corridor twice, lost in his head and in the situation and in the mess created. No one truly knew the reason behind their duel yet, but the tension was at its highest between the houses since the events in their second year. Rumours had spread and already there were four different versions of the story, which had to still be confirmed by Professors and either party: some said it was Draco that started the fight, either by words or with a curse, while others gave all the blame to Saint Potter. Someone at dinner said that they had been Imperioed, but Blaise had kept his mouth shut, just like everyone else in his small group of friends.
Something like that was inevitable. Draco had become more and more suspicious and alert, and even more neurotic than usual: he would disappear for hours and hours, or wake up in the middle of the night yelling. But he also refused to share his burdens with his friends, kept all his secrets to himself. And Saint Potter had been on his tail since their first year, it was a matter of time before either one of those two idiots would snap.
Unfortunately, that time had come and now they had to deal with the aftermath.
Blaise was startled out of his mind by a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay?” Neville asked, a worried expression on his face as he scrunched his eyebrows together. The customary reply came before Blaise could stop it, out of habit and muscle memory alone: “Yes, you?”
Neville caught it for the lie it was, he knew him too well by now not to truly see if something was actually bothering him. “Listen, I know what this is about…”
“Oh, really?” Blaise asked, unsure himself of why they were there in the first place. Sure, he had called their meeting, but it was mostly because he was upset and terrified and knew that some alone time with the plant head would’ve helped him. He was reluctant to call him something other than that, even in his internal thoughts, afraid that something might’ve happened. Ironically, something happened anyway, outside of his control.
“Rule number twenty: use terms of endearment either sarcastically or when you actually know you mean it. Don’t waste them” and so he didn’t, not even to acknowledge their blossomed relationship.
Neville rose a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his neck as he did whenever he was nervous. ‘What does he have to be nervous about?’ his mind fired, already imagining the possible scenario ever, to add to the ever growing amount of tragedy that had been created that day.
The next words that came out of Neville’s mouth shocked, surprised and angered him, in that specific order.
“Yeah, because of the Transfiguration assignment. I totally screwed it up, despite you telling me how to do that spell ten times” he admitted, sighing and moving to lean his back against the wall, head hung low in shame.
“You think I’m mad at you over Transfiguration?” The disbelief in Blaise’s tone could be heard from the owlery.
“You clearly look mad, so I just assumed that…”
“No, no, no, no! This isn’t your fault, Nev” he said, gentler than he expected, and he also assumed a similar position, moving a hand to rest on the Gryffindor’s arm, brushing it lightly.
“Then what happened? You were really off at dinner.”
“In case you haven’t noticed my best friend has been cursed and is in the infirmary because of that moron roommate of yours!”
Neville then tensed, facing fully Blaise as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Harry only used the spell to defend himself!”
“And you believe him?”
“Of course I do! Harry’s a good person, he would never do something like that, unless to defend himself” he said, loudly and proudly, as if it was a matter of fact.
“Why? Because he is a saintly Gryffindor and Draco is the big evil Slytherin?” Blaise asked, venom lacing each and every syllable. He couldn’t believe the situation, how blind was Neville to ignore the truth?
“You know I didn’t mean it like that, don’t you dare twisting my words, B.”
“NO!” he yelled, leaving his resting position and pointing an accusatory finger at Neville, “You don’t get to defend that asshole. If he really was trying to protect himself he could’ve just disarmed Draco, considering that’s the only spell he’s capable of performing.” Then, as if in afterthought, he muttered quietly, “He’s almost as bad as you are.” The words were out before he had even registered, yet he remained stoic as the boy in front of him turned red in shame and anger.
“Okay, that’s about enough. I know you’re scared or upset or whatever, but that’s not an excuse to insult me.”
Blaise ran a hand over his face, to smooth out his expression that was slowly getting twisted into one of misery and agony at the entire world, “You don’t get it! Draco…” But Neville didn’t let him finish, interrupting and erupting into a poignant: “Shut up! I think I get it very well, as I also had to see Harry and Ron and even myself in danger because of your stupid roommates!”
“What are you talking about?” Surely, the rivalry between their two houses was very strongly felt, but he didn’t remember any actual harm happening in their year, unless one counted the Weasley-Granger-Potter trio and Draco himself. Those four paid at least one visit to the infirmary each year, with and without each other’s help.
Neville scoffed him, probably not believing him, “Don’t pretend you don’t know that I was Crabble’s and Goyle’s favourite target” he said in a sing-song voice, taunting him, “And don’t forget that because of that stunt you lot pulled with Umbridge, we all risked more than an expulsion. She was about to use the… fucking torture on Harry!” He had stuttered in the last part, perhaps as his temper rose.
He hadn’t forgotten all that happened, couldn’t forget the amount of trouble Umbridge had caused. Blaise was not there, when they ‘captured’ the Gryffindors and Loony Lovegood before they went into the Ministry, but Draco had told him that it had been a rather exciting event, before ‘shit went down’. And while he had never really paid attention to Neville before their encounter in the Transfiguration classroom, he was aware of his roommates' pathetic tricks and violent behaviours towards him and those easy to prick like him. He had reprimanded them, back then, mainly because they were making Slytherin lose points, yet ignored the situation almost completely.
“That’s got nothing to do with…” he began, trying to defend himself, failing miserably.
“So you can be on your high horse all the time, looking down at us lowly Gryffindors, but the second I tell you that I have my reasons not to trust Slytherins and ‘That’s got nothing to do with you’. Great, thanks for the information” Neville said, rolling his eyes for good measure.
“We promised at the beginning of the year not to generalize each other.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. But you can’t accuse me of not getting it.”
“Okay” he conceded. Neville had a point, after all, and Blaise wanted a fair debate. “Still, this doesn’t change the fact that you’re defending Potter!” he accused once more.
“HE’S MY FRIEND! And Malfoy was about to use an unforgivable curse on him. Would you rather that happening?”
“You have no proof!”
“Yes, I do” he added calmly, which surprised Blaise: nobody talked about student witnesses, there was only Snape around and he had been secretive about the entire ordeal. “Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape checked their wands, and guess who started the fight? Plus, Moaning Myrtle was there and told everything to Dumbledore.”
“He must’ve had his reasons…” He was searching for an answer in the puzzle that had become his best friend. None of that was a typical Draco behaviour, which linked with whichever task he had been burdened with. But Draco remained, first and foremost, his best friend and, despite his awful behaviour and his sometimes backwards thinking, he would’ve always defended him.
“You were the one who told me that Draco has been off the entire year!”
“And? Is really Potter so Great and Almighty that he couldn’t have startled or instigated Draco?”
Neville looked tired now. “I’m no one to judge” he admitted softly, shaking his head.
“Good, cause you’re terrible at it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Simply that you should’ve been in Hufflepuff, the way to blindly trust someone” replied smugly Blaise, finally feeling like he had made the Gryffindor come around the topic. He couldn’t believe Neville to be so blind about it, just because he was friends with Saint Potter, that didn’t mean that the boy didn’t have flaws and wasn’t capable of doing it.
“You mean, the same way I trusted you?”
That was a low blow, one that hit home, yet Blaise maintained his appearance unbothered, “Please, agreeing to let me tutor you was the best thing that ever happened to you” he claimed, looking away to make sure Neville didn’t see it for the lie that it was. He was too proud to admit that that probably was the best thing in Blaise’s life, and not just because of the academic reward: Neville was a ray of sunshine, an amazing person and perfect for him.
“I seem to remember that you asked for my help first.”
“Semantics” he replied curtly, waving a dismissal hand.
For a few moments they remained silent, both staying their grounds and not conceding an inch. Then Neville sighed, moving back to lean his back and his head against the wall. “Blaise, what are we doing?” he asked in a quiet tone, his voice wavering and thick with emotion.
“What do you mean?” he fired back, copying his position and resting on the opposite wall, facing him with a challenging look on his face. But Neville had clearly had enough of their talk, when he said: “I mean, it’s clear that something’s bothering you. Please, just tell me what it is instead of just baiting me.”
‘How come he missed the entire point?’ his mind asked, getting angrier by the second at the other boy’s cluelessness.
“Baiting you? I’m just trying to defend my friend who has been reduced bloody unconscious by your idiotic Saviour and you ask me what the hell is bothering me? Well, let me tell you, Longbottom. I really don’t know why I am bothering with you, considering it’s pretty useless to even reach the point with you. You were right at the beginning, I should’ve been upset about the Transfiguration assignment, considering I’ve explained it to you so much even I got sick of it. You’re so stuck up into your little plants that you can’t see the real world outside the greenhouses and honestly I am very much over the idea of having to spend one more second having to listen to you rambling about leaves. So please, go the fuck away and be with your Gryffindor friends, I’m pretty sure they’re all celebrating the vile act of violence against Draco. All that great talk about Courage and Bravery and in the end you’re all a bunch of apes with no brains, wasting our precious time.”
“You don’t really mean that” muttered quietly Neville, giving him an unreadable look and scrutinizing his face, looking for something in Blaise’s face. But he didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, in fact, none of his words were true. “I do, actually” he simply claimed, maintaining his mask in place.
Neville then ran a hand over his face, smudging his lips in the motion and then pursing them in. He looked like he was holding back a storm, which in turn infuriated even more Blaise, on the verge of yelling already.
“I know you’re great at lying and you know I’m not as stupid as I look, so do me a favour and stop with this bullshit. You’re upset and I get it, I’m here for whatever you need, always” he moved towards him, placing a hand on his arm, “but don’t you dare treat me like shit only for saying what’s true. Believe me, no one is celebrating shit and Harry’s much to blame as Draco. All I’m saying is that Harry defended himself, and that’s not an opinion, but a fact. What started it I honestly can’t fathom, but don’t go and make this about us.”
Blaise shifted abruptly, letting his arms cross over and effectively removing Neville’s comforting hand. “Us? There is no us, Longbottom, you’re a bloody Gryffindor and I should’ve understood it from the beginning instead of wasting my time and energy around someone like you” he said coldly, not knowing if he truly meant his words. Sure, it had been Paradise with Neville, yet there was truth beyond all of that, right?
Then, not wanting to let the topic drop without winning, he added: “And why are you still defending Potter?"
Neville was taken away from his mind abruptly, then, because he took a few moments to reply. He swallowed and shut his eyes tightly, before saying: "Well, at least he didn't try to reindeer someone insane."
"That's definitely not what happens after a curse, no wonder you suck at spells" Blaise joked, aware that the boy wasn’t useless but rather that his talents laid somewhere else. They had talked excessively about that on various occasions, and he knew that Neville knew he must’ve been joking, right?
"Yeah right, that's only the fucking side effect."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
With his hands fisted on his side, Neville shut his eyes once more, shaking his head, before saying: "You know what, Zabini? Fuck you and fuck off. Our arrangement is over and leave me the fuck alone" voice tense and eyes wet. He then proceeded to turn around and hastily leave, disappearing into the empty corridor until Blaise couldn’t see him anymore.
‘Pathetic’ his mind said, but he couldn’t understand who was supposed to be pathetic. He fell to the ground, seated with his back against the wall as words swirled into his mind and the headache became stronger.
He had almost forgotten how painful those could be, too happy with Neville to understand truly what the other boy’s presence meant.
Suddenly, the realization came: Neville had left, properly left, because he had hurt him. He had almost seen the Gryffindor he was in love with cry.
‘Wait. What?’ his mind asked, wrapping around the idea and sending him into a spiral of panic.
No, it wasn’t possible, they were not there yet, and even if they were, Blaise would’ve never admitted it first. He was too prideful and too scared to do that. But he also been incredibly comfortable and happy with Neville, so much that it almost felt like he was up in the air, carefree and happy. And now that he was alone, he had crashed down on the hard ground.
Blaise’s blindness and concerns for Draco had clouded his judgment, letting him run his mouth with lies that Neville didn’t deserve. And in doing so had ruined instantly the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.
“Lastly, Rule number fifty: If you ever feel the words ‘I love you’ or the sentiment rise up, don’t keep it in.”
Yet, Blaise couldn’t exactly admit it now, could he? He had no idea what to do anymore, so he simply leaned his head back and closed his eyes, refusing to let the tears escape as the world finally collapsed on him.
"My sweet child!" Parthenos Higgs lamented. His beloved daughter and son-in-law would reside in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies for the remainder of their lives. "The barbarism!" he cried out.
Augusta Longbottom shook with rage, as her brother-in-law Algie held on to her. Enid Longbottom craddled her great-nephew Neville in her arms and sobbed.
Gloxinia Higgs remained silent. It was as if she was in a trance, "My Alice loves sunflowers, she likes to watch them grow" she finally murmured. All would be in attendance as Wizengamot sentenced Barty Crouch Jr, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange to life imprisonment for the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
Udolf Lestrange father of the Lestrange brothers looked unnerved and held his head high in what seemed as approval. "My sons and daughter did the Dark Lord's work. It is quite unforgivable when the pure learn such traitorous behavior." Gloxinia never took her eyes off of the man who was one of Voldemort's first Death Eaters. "My Alice loves sunflowers, she likes to watch them grow." Parthenos took her by the hand and guided her out of the courtroom "we know darling, we know."
A few years later, the sunflower garden that Gloxinia and her daughter cultivated slowly began to wilt and wither. The garden became barren.
In 1985 it was plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet that the infamous patriarch of the Lestrange family was found dead. Rumors abound was that he met a grotesque demise.
Seven years later in 1992 at the age of fifty-four Cygnus Black III, father of Bellatrix Lestrange died. The manner of his death frightening his wife Druella so, that she died ten days later.
Gloxinia's husband tried to coax her out the house. "A bit of fresh air will do you good Xinia, We can visit your nephew at the Winogrand Conservatory." Neville will come to visit soon, I hear he has a knack for herbology."
"Perhaps you two can start the sunflower garden again." It would be lovely to see them flourish once more."
"Oh but they did Parthenos they did! So tall and vibrant!" his wife exclaimed. "You must be patient to ensure a successful rooting." "Didn't I tell you?" "Sometimes you need blood to help plants grow."
