Schoolchildren of P.S. 24 in Harlem, each holding a package with their contributions for the Victory Clothing Collection, January 1946. The clothing was collected from the city's schools and police stations and redistributed to 37 countries.
"Draco Malfoy stands trial before the Wizengamot for his role in the war.
The defense tries to prove that he acted under duress, calling witnesses who reveal his fragility and the weight of family expectations.
Among them, Helena Beckingham, a key figure from his past, whose testimony could change the outcome of the verdict."
WORDS: 4,381 words
MASTERLIST
The Ministry of Magic had been in turmoil for weeks.
Public opinion demanded justice, wanted exemplary punishments, and the Malfoy family seemed like the perfect scapegoat to throw to the wolves.
After the first guilty verdict for Lucius, who had been sent to Azkaban for fifteen years, it was now time for his only heir and his wife, Narcissa.
Unfortunately for them, the Malfoy family had become the symbol of a fallen blood purity, the aristocratic face of those who had chosen the wrong side of the war.
And now, beneath the gloomy vaults of the Wizengamot courtroom, their fate was being decided.
The courtroom was vast, with high dark stone walls and magical torches casting long, flickering shadows over the rows of witches and wizards seated on the elevated benches.
The limited public in attendance murmured among themselves, whispering judgments before the verdicts were even announced.
Draco Malfoy sat at the center of the room, surrounded by Aurors armed with wands, though his wrists were still free of chains or cuffs.
He wore dark clothes, stripped of any emblem that could recall his family’s past.
Even his beloved Malfoy ring was gone from his long, cold fingers.
His jaw was clenched, his hands resting loosely on his legs.
He looked like a wax statue, with slightly too-dark circles under his eyes, motionless.
Behind a tall stone bench, the judge lifted his gaze from the scroll in his hands.
He struck the gavel three times, calling for silence before speaking in a firm, measured voice:
“Draco Malfoy.
You are here today to answer for the crimes attributed to you during the Magical War.
The Wizengamot has examined the evidence and will hear testimonies before deliberating your fate.”
The courtroom was still.
The judge looked up at the accused and continued:
“You are charged with complicity with the Death Eaters and facilitating the entrance of hostile forces into Hogwarts, enabling the attack that led to the death of Albus Dumbledore.
You are also charged with the attempted murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore using the Avada Kedavra curse, as well as the torture and coercion of other students under the regime imposed by the Death Eaters at Hogwarts.”
A heavy pause fell over the room.
“However,” the judge continued in a measured tone,
“the court acknowledges that, at the time of the events, you were still a minor and under threats and pressure from You-Know-Who and his followers.
This will be taken into account in the final verdict.”
Draco did not move.
No sign of defiance, no gesture of defense.
Just one long, slow breath and an extreme stiffness.
“The defense may proceed with the witnesses.”
One of Draco’s three attorneys, a middle-aged man with a calm, composed air, stood up.
“The defense calls Mr. Theodore Nott.”
A murmur spread through the courtroom as a young man with an elegant bearing stood and approached the witness stand.
Theodore Nott, Draco’s classmate at Hogwarts and son of a known Death Eater, was no stranger to this court.
But unlike his father, he had not been actively involved in the war, and his name was not among the main suspects.
The young man took his place at the stand, and the defense attorney stepped closer.
“Mr. Nott, can you tell the court what Draco Malfoy’s behavior was like during his final year at Hogwarts?”
Theodore did not hesitate.
“Draco was… distant. Different. He didn’t talk to anyone about what was happening, but it was clear he was deeply uncomfortable.”
“Did you ever see him commit acts of violence or abuse toward other students?”
“No,” Theodore replied firmly.
“To be honest, he looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.”
A light rustle went through the room, but the judge motioned for silence.
The defense attorney nodded.
“So, in your opinion, was Draco Malfoy enthusiastic about what he was doing?”
Theodore let out a short breath.
“No. I saw him every day. It was like he was rotting from the inside.”
But the prosecution was not easily swayed.
When it was their turn to question, the prosecutor, a tall man with a commanding presence—crossed his arms and studied Nott carefully.
“Mr. Nott, was Draco Malfoy alone in all this?”
Theodore hesitated for the first time, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of the stand.
“He didn’t talk to anyone about what he was doing,” he repeated.
“And yet, he couldn’t have done all this alone,” the prosecutor pressed.
“Not for a plan like that. He needed help. Did someone help him?”
Nott’s jaw tightened.
He was under oath”he couldn’t lie.
Everyone knew it.
In the end, with a long breath, he answered:
“Crabbe and Goyle.
A murmur rippled through the courtroom, and the judge banged the gavel to restore order.
“And in what way did these two boys contribute to the matter?”the prosecutor continued, and Theodore swallowed hard.
He had thrown himself into a dead end from which there was no easy escape.
“...He made them transform into girls using Polyjuice Potion to guard the room while he worked on his plan.
“He made them?”pressed the prosecutor.
Nott shifted in his seat and shook his head.
“He didn’t threaten them, if that’s what you mean! He didn’t hold a wand to their throats!”he snapped, his tone laced for a moment with frustration.
“But what were they supposed to do? Say no? When You-Know-Who expects someone to carry out a task, you just do it!”
The tension in the room spiked.
“So you admit that Draco Malfoy used his companions to further his plan?
Nott remained silent for a long moment.
Then he lowered his gaze slightly.
“Yes.”
The prosecution exchanged a satisfied look with the members of the Wizengamot.
It felt like the tide had turned, that the jury had just found a new angle from which to judge the entire case.
And it only got worse when Theodore was dismissed and the prosecution called their next witness.
“The court calls Miss Katherine Lucie Bell.”
The name hit Draco like a whip, and he flinched imperceptibly.
He forced himself not to squint as Katie stepped forward slowly, her face pale but determined.
She sat and swore to tell the truth, her hands tightly folded in her lap in a nervous gesture.
The prosecutor approached, scanning the parchment in his hand.
“Miss Bell, could you tell the court what happened to you during your sixth year at Hogwarts?
Katie closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering her thoughts, then answered in a controlled voice.
“I was cursed... Someone gave me an object, a necklace, and when I touched it, I was cursed. It almost... cost me my life.”
“And who gave you that necklace?
Katie looked up.
“Draco Malfoy.”she whispered.
The tension erupted.
Draco felt his muscles tense.
He forced himself to stay still while she continued.
“Did he do it of his own free will?”
Katie hesitated.
“I don’t know. I think I was just a pawn... an unplanned collateral damage.”
“No further questions, Your Honour,”the prosecutor said with a nod, and the judge scratched at his greying goatee.
Draco’s defense attorney stood and addressed Katie.
“Miss Bell, did you have any direct contact with the accused before or after the incident?
Katie shook her head.
“No.”
“And do you have any proof that Mr. Malfoy intended to harm you?”
Another hesitation. Then, in a faint voice, she said:
“No.”
The lawyer took the opportunity to underline that Draco had never intended to hurt anyone directly, that he had been forced.
But the damage was done.
Katie Bell’s testimony had reawakened doubts in the jury.
The air seemed to turn against Draco.
The three defense attorneys huddled briefly, heads bent and pointing at something on their papers, before nodding in agreement.
The lead attorney stood and addressed the judge with composure.
“The defense would like to call a second witness,”he said, and after the judge’s nod, continued:
“I call Helena Beckingham to the stand.”
The name swept through the room like a cold shiver.
Helena walked forward with measured grace”tall and poised.
Her hair, dark as midnight, fell in disciplined waves down her back, framing a sharp, aristocratic face.
But it was her eyes, almost hypnotically intense, that captured more than a few glances in the room.
She stopped at the witness stand, chin slightly raised, her cloak casting long shadows on the floor.
When asked to swear to the truth, she nodded imperceptibly, her voice steady as she spoke the oath.
From the corner of the room, Draco looked up.
For a fleeting second, their eyes met.
Then he clenched his jaw and looked straight ahead.
They hadn’t seen each other in a year.
They hadn’t spoken in two.
The defense attorney approached, flipping through his parchment before fixing his gaze on her.
“Miss Beckingham, you’ve known Draco Malfoy for quite some time, correct?
“Yes.
“How long, exactly?
“Roughly eleven years. We studied together from childhood.
“And how long were you in a relationship with him?
“Two years.
“More precisely?
“Fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts.
“So you’d say you know him rather intimately?
Helena hesitated a moment, then gave a slight nod.
“Yes.”
“Can you describe to the court who Draco Malfoy truly is, beyond the accusations made against him?”
Helena remained composed, her voice steady and unwavering.
“A boy raised under the weight of impossible expectations. Extremely protective, extremely ambitious.”
A heavy silence fell over the courtroom.
The lawyer studied her for a moment before continuing.
“Have you ever seen him commit any acts of violence?”
“No.”
“Has he ever expressed the desire to hurt or kill anyone?”
“No.”
The lawyer nodded, then paused, allowing his words to settle.
“Miss Beckingham, based on your knowledge of Draco Malfoy, would you say he acted out of personal conviction, or out of fear?”
It was at that moment that Helena’s voice cracked, ever so slightly, for the first time.
“Out of fear, she said, her fingers tightening just a little.
Draco closed his eyes for a second.
No other reaction, no movement.
The lawyer turned to the judge.
“No further questions.”
The judge nodded toward the jury while Helena remained still, her face impassive, though her shoulders had stiffened slightly.
The prosecutor stood with composure, adjusting his robes with a precise gesture.
A man with sharp features and a piercing gaze, whose job was not only to reveal the facts, but to cast doubt, to fracture certainty.
He approached the witness stand and lifted his eyes to Helena.
“Miss Beckingham, you've described Draco Malfoy as a boy raised under great pressure, ambitious and protective,but surely this boy has his flaws, wouldn’t you say?”
Helena didn’t flinch.
“Of course.”
“Could you name a few?”
For a moment, silence.
Then, with her usual composed voice, Helena answered:
“Proud. Stubborn. Sometimes arrogant. He shut down when things went wrong instead of asking for help.”
“And towards you? Was he ever cruel?”
Draco remained still, eyes downcast.
“Never deliberately.”
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow.
“So he was cruel unintentionally?”
“I mean that I considered it cruel the way he would shut me out whenever something troubled him.”
“Like when he cut off all contact with you after Lucius Malfoy’s arrest, without explanation?”
Helena’s fingers tensed slightly around the edge of the stand, but her face didn’t change.
“Yes.”
The prosecutor gave a small smile, as if confirming something he already suspected. Then he went on.
“You said Draco Malfoy has a deep instinct to protect those he cares about. Could you elaborate?”
“I saw with my own eyes how much he was willing to sacrifice for his mother. She was his priority, always. And not just her. Even when he didn’t want to admit it, there were others he would’ve done anything for.”
“Including you?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Draco tensed just slightly, as if those words had struck him cleanly, but he didn’t lift his gaze.
The prosecutor appeared to weigh her answer, then his tone sharpened.
“Interesting, Miss Beckingham. You come from a rather well-known family in our community.”
Helena gave no reaction, but she felt the weight of his words.
“...Though not involved in recent events, your family was among those prosecuted after the First Wizarding War. Your surname is no stranger to this courtroom.”
A hush moved through the audience.
It wasn’t new information, but saying it here, in this context, made it feel like a shadow cast over her credibility.
Was this young woman actually a conspirator? Had Draco Malfoy perhaps been aided by her all along?
Helena clenched her fingers briefly, then responded with icy precision.
“My surname has no relevance to what I’m saying here today. I’m not the one on trial.”
“No, but you come from a family that once supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So the question naturally arises: how objective is your testimony truly? Could it be influenced by a certain… alignment with the Malfoy family’s ideals?”
Helena’s jaw tightened slightly.
Not because the question had hit a nerve, but because of how deliberately it had been phrased. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t let indignation show,only a cold, measured certainty in her reply.
“My testimony is based on facts, not assumptions. My surname doesn’t change the reality of what I’ve seen and lived.”
The prosecutor stared at her for a long moment, then paused deliberately, letting the silence stretch like a wire about to snap.
“Did Draco Malfoy ever speak to you about his Dark Mark?”
A shiver rippled through the crowd, a shockwave spreading like a wave, while the members of the Wizengamot exchanged subtle glances.
Helena remained still.
A shadow of tension flickered in her dark irises, but her face betrayed nothing.
“No.”
The word sliced through the heavy air like a sharp blade.
“When he received it, Draco had already cut off all contact with me for months.”
The prosecutor didn’t flinch.
“So, you found out the night Albus Dumbledore died?”
“No.”
A split-second pause.
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly with an expression that seemed to analyze every inflection in Helena’s tone.
Then he smiled.
“Very interesting. So, you knew Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater before Albus Dumbledore’s death?”
He let the words linger in the air, articulated with near venom.
Then he tilted his head a little more.
“…And despite that, you didn’t think to report him? Silence out of affection, perhaps?”
The audience shifted restlessly on the benches, some jurors exchanged glances, and Helena felt the wave of judgment crash against her back like icy water.
“Objection! He’s implying guilt without evidence!”
The defense lawyer’s voice sliced through the tension with surgical precision.
“Sustained” the judge said, striking his gavel and casting a stern look at the prosecution.
The prosecutor wet his lips slightly, then rephrased the question with a less insinuating,but equally pointed,tone.
“When, then, did you discover Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater?”
Helena inhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the stand.
When she spoke, her voice carried a hint of restrained anger, a quiet flame burning beneath her icy composure.
“I found out one evening in the Hogwarts infirmary.”
The prosecutor remained motionless, waiting.
“The same night Harry Potter decided to attack Draco with a Dark Magic spell.”
The prosecutor moved quickly.
“Objection!” he barked.
“The witness is making an implausible accusation against the boy who saved us all! This statement is irrelevant to the case!”
The judge didn’t flinch. His gaze drifted momentarily over the parchment in front of him, then he lifted his chin.
“Overruled.”
His voice was firm.
“The event has been confirmed in a separate hearing. The witness may continue.”
Helena allowed one eyebrow to lift slightly.
She turned back to the prosecutor, her face impassive, but with a subtle spark in her eyes.
“Word spread quickly among the Slytherins… Everyone said Draco Malfoy had been gravely injured, if not nearly killed. I went to see for myself that very evening.”
She paused briefly, as though she were there again, in the infirmary, among the sterile white sheets, the floor smelling of healing potions and iron.
“There was blood everywhere.”
Her voice was flat, descriptive, as if painting a scene.
“Draco was covered in bandages and filled with sleeping potions, I assume. It only took a glance under his sleeve to see the Mark.”
From his seat, Draco stiffened.
The tension in his body was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Helena noticed.
Everyone noticed.
He hadn’t known.
He had never known that Helena had visited him in the infirmary that night.
“The following night, Albus Dumbledore died. I couldn’t have told anyone… There wouldn’t have been time.”
The courtroom was silent.
No more whispers, no murmurs, no hushed comments.
The prosecutor remained still for a long moment, then finally lowered his gaze to his parchments.
Helena didn’t look away.
“No further questions?”
The prosecutor didn’t respond immediately.
Then, with a small nod, he murmured:
“No further questions.”
The judge struck the gavel.
Helena remained still for a few more seconds.
Then, with the same calm she had entered with, she rose from the witness stand.
As she passed Draco, she felt his gaze on her, a silent weight resting on her shoulders.
She didn’t turn around.
She had said all there was to say.
Her part there was over.
❖✧✦✧❖
Helena pushed through the crowd of journalists and onlookers gathered beyond the courtroom doors.
The air was thick with excited voices, quills fluttering overhead to capture every detail, camera flashes lighting up faces,some exultant, others outraged.
The trial had lasted three days, and now that it was over, Helena had Apparated straight to the courthouse steps.
She didn’t stop for even a second.
She didn’t turn around, not even when she heard someone say Draco Malfoy’s name with a mix of awe and disapproval.
She already knew the verdict.
Innocent.
The relief had hit her like a punch to the gut.
A knot she hadn’t known was there had suddenly loosened, but there was no time to process it.
She pushed forward with determination, ignoring the elbows bumping into her and the questions bouncing off her like hail.
She knew exactly where she was going.
She crossed the main hall and headed decisively toward the wing reserved for the lawyers.
She didn’t knock.
She opened the door with the same bold confidence she’d displayed during her testimony.
Inside, the scene was nothing like the chaos outside.
There was calm.
Quiet and low whispers, in stark contrast to the clamor of the press.
The three people in the room turned to her, and the lawyer lit up with a pleased smile.
“There’s our impeccable witness” he said with satisfaction, offering her a glass of champagne.
Across the room, Narcissa Malfoy rose slowly to her feet.
Relief was etched into her refined features, and for a moment, hesitation passed through her gaze before she nodded, a gesture that was almost a sign of recognition.
They had never truly known each other, but Narcissa knew who Helena was.
And perhaps, she also knew how important she had been.
“Thank you” Helena murmured, casting a vague glance around the room.
Draco, on the other hand, didn’t move.
He stood beside the lawyer, one hand resting on the table.
Visibly more relaxed and without the jacket he had worn in court, but his face was exhausted, marked by hours of strain.
He didn’t even look at her.
“I only stopped by to say hello” Helena said, her voice impeccably composed.
“And, of course, to congratulate...”
She was about to say more when Draco spoke for the first time.
“Mum. Kingsley. Leave us alone for a moment.”
He was cold. Direct.
Helena felt a sharp pain in her chest, subtle but cutting, as if she were bracing for the final blow, as if she already knew what was coming.
As if Draco was about to say, “Thank you, and now goodbye.”
As if he were about to drive the knife even deeper into the emptiness that had grown inside her over the last two years.
Narcissa murmured something and gave her son a quick glance before heading toward the door.
The lawyer looked at them both, almost amused, but said nothing.
When the door closed behind them, Helena opened her mouth to speak.
But she didn’t get the chance.
Draco was on her in an instant.
His hands buried themselves in her dark hair, his grip firm, and he kissed her with a passion that overwhelmed her.
Her body reacted before her mind could.
Her fingers clutched at Draco’s shirt, pulling him toward her with the same urgency he held her.
She felt the glass slip from her hand, champagne spilling across the floor, but she didn’t care.
It wasn’t a hesitant kiss, nor a measured one.
It was hunger. It was desperation. It was pain and relief woven into a single gesture.
Two years of silence exploded between them, two years of unspoken words, of stifled thoughts, of sleepless nights.
Draco didn’t even pull away to breathe.
Between kisses, his voice tangled with ragged breaths, broken phrases Helena could barely make out.
“I’m sorry…”
Draco’s lips pressed against hers again, as if trying to erase lost time.
“…so sorry…”
His hands still cradled her face, feverish, almost possessive, as if afraid she might slip away at any moment.
“I missed you… every day…”
Another kiss, slower, deeper, as his fingers slid behind her neck, tangling in her hair.
“Every fucking day.”
Helena threw her arms around his neck, holding him in a desperate embrace.
She felt his chest rise beneath her hands, the quick pulse of his heart beating against her own.
Only then did she realize how thin he’d become.
Under the shirt, his body was no longer what she remembered.
More bony, more tense, the build of someone who had carried a burden too heavy for too long.
Helena closed her eyes, holding him tighter.
She felt him bury himself against her neck, his arms around her as if trying to fuse her to his own body.
Then, in a soft voice, she whispered:
“Stop.”
Draco tensed slightly.
Helena loosened her grip just enough to look into his eyes.
“There’s no need.”
“I love you…”
“I know.”
“I couldn’t involve you…”
“Draco” she interrupted, stroking his hair, searching his gaze.
“You don’t owe me an apology. It’s over… let’s go home, now.”
That was all she said, and at the word home, Draco closed his eyes as if he’d been hit by something too vast to express.
Helena felt him tremble slightly under her hands, his breath catching in a small pause. That word, home,had shattered him more than any sentence ever could.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Grey, tired, heavy with everything he had endured.
“Home…” he repeated quietly, as if afraid the word might vanish if said too loud.
Helena gently caressed the back of his neck, brushing the skin beneath his pale hair, and offered a small smile, one filled with all the love she could show him.
Draco moved first.
He pulled away slowly, but didn’t let go.
Not yet.
He let his hand slide into hers, their fingers intertwining in an instinctive, almost unconscious gesture.
With the other, he grabbed the jacket he’d left on the chair, the movement tense, burdened by unspoken thoughts.
“The journalists…” he muttered, not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice.
Helena looked him straight in the eye, a silent challenge flickering in her gaze and a defiant smirk curling on her lips.
“Screw them.”
Draco hesitated for a moment, then the ghost of a smile, light, almost incredulous, touched his face.
He had missed that reckless spark in Helena more than he could say.
“Let’s go,” Helena whispered, and, ignoring the flashes and shouts in the hallway, they walked out together.
Side by side.
As if the last two years had never happened.
The one where there are four and a half weeks to the Wedding and Theo is on the hunt for Y/N's dream dress. Or the one were Pansy Parkinson's sixth sense never fails.
Pairings: Theodore Nott x Reader, Charlie Weasley x reader.
Warnings: Slight Angst.
A/N: English is not my first language so I'm really sorry if there is any mistake. I love Pansy, I love Theo and I love Y/N. Theo I'm cheering for you!!
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Y/N's owl arrived at half past seven in the morning, its sharp tapping against Theo's bedroom window dragging him from the first decent sleep he'd managed in days. He'd spent most of his nights staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of his meeting with Charlie Weasley and trying to figure out how he was going to survive the next four and a half weeks without completely losing his mind.
The letter was from Y/N, written in her familiar neat script across expensive parchment that still smelled faintly of her perfume.
Theo
Emergency dress shopping expedition today! Meet me at Madam Malkin's at ten. I need moral support and your honest opinion. Also, Pansy will be there, so prepare yourself for a long day.
Love you! - Y/N
P.S. - Charlie loved you, by the way. He said you're exactly what he expected my best friend to be like. Whatever that means.
Theo stared at the postscript for a long moment, trying to decode what Charlie had meant. Exactly what he'd expected? Safe? Unthreatening? The kind of man who could be trusted not to steal his fiancée?
If only Charlie knew.
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was bustling with activity when Theo arrived, slightly out of breath from having to dodge through the crowded Diagon Alley streets. Through the shop's front window, he could see Y/N standing on a raised platform in the center of the fitting area, wearing what appeared to be a mountain of white silk and lace. Pansy was circling her like a predator, her dark eyes critical as she examined every seam and fold.
"You're late," Pansy announced as Theo entered, not bothering to look away from her inspection of Y/N's hem. "And you look terrible. Rough night?"
"Something like that," Theo muttered, settling into one of the chairs arranged around the fitting area. "How long have you been here?"
"Two hours," Y/N said, her voice slightly muffled by the seamstress who was pinning something near her shoulder. "We've tried on seventeen dresses so far, and Pansy has rejected all of them."
"They were all wrong," Pansy said firmly. "Too simple, too gaudy, too... pedestrian. Y/N Black is not getting married in some off-the-rack disaster that makes her look like every other witch who's ever walked down an aisle."
Theo looked at Y/N properly for the first time since entering the shop, and his breath caught in his throat. Even in a dress that was clearly not right for her – too much lace, too many ruffles, cut for someone with a completely different figure – she was breathtaking. Her dark hair was pinned up loosely, with a few strands escaping to frame her face, and her skin had that luminous quality it always got when she was excited about something.
She looked like a bride. She looked like someone else's bride.
"What do you think, Theo?" Y/N asked, turning carefully on the platform to face him. "Honest opinion."
Theo forced himself to actually look at the dress rather than the woman wearing it. It was expensive, clearly well-made, but it wasn't... her. The style was too fussy, too ornate for someone with Y/N's natural elegance. She looked like she was wearing a costume rather than a wedding dress.
"It's beautiful," he said carefully, "but it's not you."
"Thank you!" Pansy exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. "That's exactly what I've been trying to tell her. Y/N, darling, you're not a ruffles and bows sort of person. You need something sleek, sophisticated, something that complements your natural grace rather than competing with it."
Y/N's reflection caught Theo's eye in one of the full-length mirrors, and he saw something flicker across her face – disappointment, maybe, or resignation.
"Actually," Y/N said slowly, "I was thinking maybe something simpler might be better anyway. For a garden wedding, I mean. All this..." she gestured vaguely at the elaborate dress, "might be too much for the Burrow."
There it was again – that careful adjustment of her expectations, the way she was slowly editing herself to fit into Charlie's vision of what their wedding should be.
"The venue should accommodate the bride, not the other way around," Pansy said sharply, clearly thinking the same thing Theo was. "If you want elegance, darling, you should have elegance. Period."
"But Charlie said—"
"I don't care what Charlie said," Pansy interrupted, her voice unusually fierce. "This is your wedding dress, Y/N. The dress you'll wear when you promise yourself to someone for the rest of your life. It should be everything you've ever dreamed of, not some compromise to make other people comfortable."
Theo watched Y/N's face in the mirror, seeing the internal struggle playing out in her expression. She wanted the fairy tale wedding she'd dreamed about since childhood, but she also wanted to be the perfect bride for Charlie – uncomplicated, down-to-earth, grateful for whatever he offered.
"Maybe we should look at something less... formal," Y/N said finally, her voice small. "Something more appropriate."
"No." The word came out sharper than Theo had intended, and both women turned to look at him in surprise. He stood up from his chair, crossing to the platform where Y/N stood. "No, Y/N. Don't do this."
"Do what?" she asked, but her eyes were already defensive.
"Edit yourself to fit into someone else's idea of who you should be." Theo's voice was gentle but firm. "I've watched you do it before, and I won't watch you do it again. Not for something this important."
"I'm not editing myself," Y/N protested. "I'm being practical. The Burrow is a beautiful venue, and I want to choose something that fits—"
"The Burrow will be beautiful because you'll be there," Theo interrupted. "But that doesn't mean you have to diminish yourself to match the surroundings. Y/N, I've listened to you talk about your dream wedding since we were thirteen years old. I know what you want."
Φ
Five Years earlier - New York City
"It was perfect," Y/N had said, sprawled across Theo's bed looking at her parents' wedding pictures. "Look at this one – my mom looked like a princess."
Theo glanced over from the book he was reading to see her pointing at a photograph of a witch in an elaborate gown that seemed to float around her like liquid moonlight. The dress was simple in its basic design but exquisite in its execution – silk that caught the light like water, delicate beadwork that looked like stars scattered across fabric, a train that flowed behind the bride like magic made manifest.
"It's nice," Theo said, though 'nice' seemed inadequate for something so beautiful.
"Nice?" Y/N sat up, clutching the picture to her chest. "Theo, it's gorgeous. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Look at the way it moves when she walks, like she's floating. And the beadwork – it must have taken months to do by hand."
"You sound like you're already planning your wedding," Theo teased.
"Maybe I am," Y/N said, her cheeks turning pink. "Is that silly? Planning something that might never happen?"
"It's not silly," Theo said quietly. "And it will happen. Someday, you'll have exactly the wedding you want."
Y/N smiled at him, bright and trusting. "I know you don't believe in marriage but…"
At that Theo could only think of how wrong she was. He had been picturing his marriage ever since he was thirteen years old and Y/N started to become obsessed with weddings. It was always the same dream. Him at the altar and Y/N as his bride.
Φ
"You showed me that dress your mother wore at her wedding while we were unpacking when we first arrived in New York," Theo said now, his voice soft with memory. "The one with the silk that looked like moonlight and the beadwork like stars. You said it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen."
Y/N's eyes widened, clearly surprised that he remembered such a specific detail from so long ago.
"You said you wanted to feel like a princess on your wedding day," Theo continued. "You wanted something elegant and sophisticated and magical. Don't give that up because someone else thinks it's too much."
"But Theo—"
"No buts." He reached up to take her hands, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. "Y/N, Charlie loves you. If he really loves you, he'll want you to have the wedding of your dreams, even if it's not what he originally envisioned. And if he doesn't..." Theo trailed off, not trusting himself to finish that sentence.
Y/N stared at him for a long moment, her dark eyes searching his face. "You really think I should have the dress I want? Even if it doesn't fit with the whole 'rustic garden party' theme?"
"I think you should have everything you want," Theo said, meaning it with every fiber of his being. "Starting with the dress."
Pansy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, cleared her throat. "Well," she said, her voice suspiciously thick, "now that we've established that Y/N is going to have the wedding dress she deserves, perhaps we should actually find it."
She turned to Madam Malkin, who had been watching the scene with interest. "Do you have anything in the style of that Celestina Warbeck wedding spread from five years ago? The one with the silk charmeuse and the hand-beaded bodice?"
Madam Malkin's eyes lit up. "As a matter of fact, I do have something. It's in the back – a custom piece that was never collected. The bride called off the wedding at the last minute, poor dear. But it might be perfect..."
She bustled away, leaving Theo and Y/N alone on the platform while Pansy examined a display of veils nearby.
"Theo," Y/N said softly, "why do you remember that dress? it was a long time ago"
Because I remember everything about you, Theo thought. Because I've been cataloging every dream you've ever shared with me, every wish you've ever made, every detail that makes you happy. Because I love you so much it physically hurts sometimes.
"Because it was important to you," he said instead. "I pay attention when something matters to you."
Y/N's expression grew soft, almost wondering. "You do, don't you? Even when I don't realize it myself. Like yesterday, when Charlie suggested the Burrow – you could tell I wasn't really happy about it, couldn't you?"
"You get this look," Theo said carefully, "when you're trying to convince yourself you're okay with something that you're not actually okay with. Your smile gets a little too bright, and your voice gets a little too cheerful. You did it after Cedric died, when you were trying to pretend you were healing faster than you actually were."
"And I'm doing it now," Y/N said, not really a question.
"A little bit," Theo admitted. "Y/N, there's nothing wrong with wanting your wedding to be beautiful. There's nothing wrong with wanting things to be special and elegant and perfect. That doesn't make you shallow or superficial – it makes you someone who believes that important moments deserve to be celebrated properly."
Before Y/N could respond, Madam Malkin returned carrying a dress bag that seemed to shimmer with its own light. She hung it carefully on a hook and unzipped it with reverent hands.
The dress that emerged was everything Y/N had ever dreamed of and more. It was made of silk so fine it seemed to be woven from moonbeams, with an embroidered bodice that would showcase her figure perfectly and a skirt that flowed like water. The neckline was elegant but not revealing, the bodice was long and fitted with tiny pearl buttons framing her figure, and scattered across the entire dress were thousands of tiny crystals that caught the light like stars.
It was sophisticated and timeless and absolutely, perfectly magical.
Y/N's breath caught in her throat. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, it's..."
"Perfect," Pansy finished, her voice awed. "Y/N, it's absolutely perfect."
"Would you like to try it on?" Madam Malkin asked gently.
Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice. Theo stepped down from the platform to give her privacy while Madam Malkin and her assistants helped her into the dress, though he could hear Y/N's soft gasps of delight from behind the curtain.
"She's going to look incredible," Pansy said quietly, settling into the chair beside him. "That dress was made for her."
"It was," Theo agreed, his chest tight with anticipation and dread. Y/N in her perfect dress, walking down the aisle toward someone else.
"You know," Pansy continued, her voice carefully casual, "there's still time."
Theo turned to look at her. "Time for what?"
"To tell her how you feel."
The words hung in the air between them like a curse. Theo felt all the blood drain from his face.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said automatically.
Pansy gave him a look that could have melted steel. "Theodore Nott, I have known you since we were five years old. Do you honestly think I haven't noticed the way you look at her? The way you've always looked at her?"
"Pansy—"
"The way you remember every little detail about her dreams, the way you drop everything when she needs you, the way you're breaking your heart trying to make sure she gets the perfect wedding to someone else?" Pansy's voice was gentle but relentless. "Theo, darling, you're not as subtle as you think you are."
Theo stared at his hands, unable to meet her eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "She's happy. She's in love with Charlie, and she's happy. That's what matters."
"Is she, though?" Pansy asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like she's trying very hard to convince herself she's happy. There's a difference."
Before Theo could respond, the curtain around the fitting area was pulled back, and Y/N stepped out in the dress.
Every coherent thought in Theo's head evaporated.
She was radiant. The dress fit her like it had been made specifically for her body, the silk flowing over her curves like liquid light. The crystals scattered across the fabric caught the shop's lighting and threw tiny rainbows across the walls. Her dark hair contrasted beautifully with the pale silk, and her skin seemed to glow.
She looked like a fairy tale princess. She looked like everything she'd ever dreamed of being.
She looked like the most beautiful thing Theo had ever seen in his life.
"Well?" Y/N asked, her voice nervous as she turned slowly in front of the mirror. "What do you think?"
Theo opened his mouth to speak and found that no words would come. He was drowning in the sight of her, in the way the dress made her look ethereal and perfect and so achingly beautiful that it physically hurt to look at her.
"You look..." he started, then had to clear his throat and try again. "Y/N, you look absolutely stunning."
The smile that spread across her face was like sunrise after the longest night. "Really?"
"Really," Theo managed, though his voice came out rougher than he'd intended. "Charlie's going to forget how to breathe when he sees you in that dress."
Y/N's smile faltered slightly at the mention of her fiancé, and Theo caught the flicker of something – uncertainty? doubt? – that crossed her face before she smiled again.
"I hope so," she said, but there was something hollow in her voice.
Pansy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, stepped forward to examine the dress more closely. "It's perfect," she declared. "Absolutely perfect. Y/N, this is the dress. This is the one."
"But is it too much?" Y/N asked, her old uncertainty creeping back in. "For a garden wedding, I mean. Maybe I should find something more... appropriate."
"Y/N," Theo said firmly, standing up so he was closer to her. "Look at yourself. Really look."
She turned to face the full-length mirror, and Theo moved to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest lightly on her shoulders.
"What do you see?" he asked softly.
Y/N stared at her reflection for a long moment. "I see... me," she said quietly. "But the best version of me. Like I'm everything I always wanted to be."
"Exactly," Theo said, his thumbs brushing along her shoulder blades through the silk. "You see yourself as you're meant to be. Don't let anyone take that away from you."
In the mirror, Y/N's eyes met his, and for a moment, Theo forgot how to breathe. There was something in her gaze – gratitude, affection, and something else, something deeper that he didn't dare name.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For remembering. For caring. For always knowing exactly what I need to hear."
"Always," Theo replied, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
The moment stretched between them, fragile and perfect and completely impossible. Then Y/N's attention was caught by something in the mirror, and the spell broke.
"Oh no," she said, her face going pale. "What time is it?"
Theo checked his watch. "Nearly two o'clock. Why?"
"I'm supposed to meet Charlie and his mother at three to discuss catering," Y/N said, already moving toward the changing area. "I lost track of time completely."
As Y/N disappeared behind the curtain to change, Pansy moved to stand beside Theo.
"Four and a half weeks," she said quietly.
"What?"
"You have four and a half weeks to figure out what you're going to do," Pansy said, her voice gentle but firm. "Because watching you two just now... Theo, that wasn't the look of a woman who's completely sure about her choice."
"You're imagining things," Theo said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Am I?" Pansy asked. "Then tell me, when Y/N was looking at herself in that dress, what did you see in her face?"
Theo was quiet for a long moment, remembering the way Y/N had looked at her reflection – the wonder, the happiness, the way she'd seemed to glow from within.
"She looked like herself," he said finally. "Like the person she's always been inside."
"And when you mentioned Charlie's reaction to the dress?"
Theo closed his eyes, remembering the way Y/N's smile had faltered, the uncertainty that had flickered across her face.
"She looked... scared," he admitted. "Like she wasn't sure he'd understand."
"Exactly," Pansy said softly. "Y/N is trying very hard to be the woman Charlie wants her to be. But what if that woman isn't who she really is? What if she's giving up pieces of herself to fit into his vision of their life together?"
"It doesn't matter," Theo said desperately. "She made her choice. She's engaged to him, she's planning a wedding with him, she's moving to Romania with him. Even if she's having doubts—"
"Doubts that you could help her work through," Pansy interrupted. "Theo, you know her better than anyone. You've loved her longer than anyone. If there's even a chance that she's making a mistake—"
"I won't do that to her," Theo said firmly. "I won't sabotage her happiness because of my own feelings. If she wants Charlie, if she thinks he'll make her happy, then I'll help her have the best wedding possible and I'll smile while I do it."
Pansy studied his face for a long moment. "You're an idiot," she said finally, but her voice was fond.
"Probably," Theo agreed.
Y/N emerged from the changing area in her regular robes, the wedding dress carefully draped over her arm. Her hair was slightly mussed from changing, and her cheeks were still pink with excitement.
"Madam Malkin," she called, "I'll take it. The dress, I mean. How much do I owe you?"
As Y/N handled the business side of the purchase, Theo found himself staring at the dress bag, thinking about how she'd looked in it. Like a princess from a fairy tale. Like everything she'd ever dreamed of being.
Like the most beautiful bride who would ever walk down an aisle toward someone who wasn't him.
"All finished," Y/N announced, looking slightly breathless. "The dress will be ready for a final fitting next week, and then..." She trailed off, her expression growing uncertain again.
"And then you'll have the perfect dress for your perfect wedding," Theo said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice.
"Right," Y/N said, but she didn't sound entirely convinced. "Perfect."
They walked out of Madam Malkin's together, Y/N chattering nervously about her upcoming meeting with Mrs. Weasley and all the decisions that still needed to be made. Theo listened with half an ear, most of his attention focused on the way the afternoon sunlight caught in her hair, the way she gestured when she was excited, the way she unconsciously moved closer to him when the street got crowded.
Four and a half weeks. Four and a half weeks until she walked down the aisle in that incredible dress, toward a man who wanted her to be someone other than who she really was.
Four and a half weeks to let her go.
Or, as Pansy had suggested, four and a half weeks to figure out if he should fight for her instead.
Theo pushed that thought away as soon as it formed. Y/N had made her choice. She loved Charlie, was planning a life with him, was excited about their future together. Her momentary doubts about the dress and the venue were just normal pre-wedding nerves, nothing more.
But as they reached the Apparition point and Y/N hugged him goodbye, Theo couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted today. The way she'd looked at herself in that dress, the way she'd looked at him in the mirror, the way she'd seemed to glow when he'd told her she deserved everything she wanted...
"Theo," Y/N said softly, interrupting his thoughts. "Thank you. For today, for the dress, for... for always believing I deserve good things."
"You deserve everything," Theo said, meaning it completely. "Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise.”
Y/N smiled at him, soft and grateful and heartbreakingly beautiful. "I love you, Theo. You know that, right?"
"I know," Theo said, the words like knives in his chest. "I love you too."
She Disapparated with a soft pop, leaving Theo alone on the busy street with the memory of her in that dress burned into his mind forever.
"The Ballad of Gale Cleven" Ch. 7 by: Steviewicks45
Following the events of Stalag Luft III and the loss of their first child, omega Gale Cleven and alpha John Egan begin life anew and try to find a way forward.
"The dark of the night finds them shoulder to shoulder on the balcony of the handstand, watching as the enlisted men shoot off red flares around a bonfire right into the midnight sky. A color that once meant blood spilled on the deck of a B-17. A man screaming for morphine, for their mother, for God. Now, it’s fired not in a signal of death but in celebration. Deliverance from evil."
Or, The Clegan Spin-off to "Here I Am (Right here with you)".
Chapter 7: The Bookshelf
***
Gale feels like he’s going to die. It’s not exactly a sensation that's entirely foreign to him. This impending sense of doom as the world blurs through his eyes and softens at the edges. As his heart beats rapidly and his head begins to loll weakly to one side.
“…Gale!”
The voice feels very far away.
“John?” Gale mumbles, though his lips barely move at all.
“Gale, I’m right here! You’re gonna be okay!”
“John…” Gale whispers again, forcing his eyes to roll open. “I can’t see you…Bucky…”
There’s a ringing sensation in Gale’s ears, one that makes him blink and groan at the lights passing over his face one by one. They hang from the arched ceiling, covered by milkglass shades. Light. Dark. Light again.
He realizes dimly that he is moving, wheeling down a hallway of some kind, flat on his back with hands touching all over him and shining a light in his eyes and tapping his cheeks. The farther they go, the more the ceiling blurs at the edges, sliding past in a nauseating glide as the gurney wheels clatter over the tiled floor.
“Stay with us.”
“Gale — can you hear me?”
A penlight flashes across his eyes.
It makes him want to vomit.
It smells like blood and rotting flowers and feels like it’s coating the inside of his nose. It’s an overpowering, metallic stench that reminds him of the stalag, layered over antiseptic and latex instead of mud and sickness. He can barely smell the sweet milk scent of vanilla that came from sticky black curls anymore at all. Though he knows the source follows right behind him wrapped warmly in her alpha father’s coat. A sudden flood of burning firewood greets Gale’s nose and he finally becomes so overwhelmed that he gags, beginning to choke on his own vomit only for a hand to turn his face to the side and he does it right on the sheet.
Gale can feel the blood too… the wet warmth of it pooling beneath his hips and thighs, spreading and soaking through the white sheets and the pain that realistically should have ended by now. There’s pressure against his abdomen, a pair of hands pressing hard, then harder and a fresh rush of heat between his legs that makes someone curse to his right.
“I can’t stop it from here, we have to take him to the operating theatre!"
“What?” John’s panicked voice says behind his head. “What do you mean! What does that mean!? Hey! Someone fucking tell me what's happening!”
Thank you to my beta readers @stars-remain2 @soft-mama-main!
