#snarryfanfic

[liladiurne]

Brighter Than Bright - extract from chapter 16

Alright so... it’s been nearly a year. And... yeah. I’m back? I guess. 

I was never gone, to be honest. If you’re following me, here or elsewhere, you’ll know that I’ve posted other things in the last few months. I just needed a long break from this fic. For reasons. But I’m returning to it now, with a rested mind and a light heart, and I’m ready to dive in again, and eager to share the rest of this story. I’m not saying the updates will be regular because I don’t know if I might be tempted to write other things on the side (I probably will) but at least I’ll try to post once in a while, or more often than that, depending on my brain. But at least I have the heart now to get back to this story. 

I have a bit of chapter 16 written. Not much, but it’s coming together nicely. It’s hard to get my head back into the style and the story, but I’m getting there. And I thought maybe you’d like a little glimpse, so here’s the beginning of it. I hope you’ll enjoy. Thank you for being patient with me, and supporting me. I love you guys.

BRIGHTER THAN BRIGHT - EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 16

The carriage is much quieter as it leaves Mayfair than it was on the journey there, the mood inside sombre and joyless. No longer does Harry have the heart to comment on the streets and the houses and all the sights London has to offer, and even as they get further away from Lord Riddle's cold and gloomy manor and closer to the safety of Hampstead, even as the fear and distress lift from his heart and mind, still he is not completely reassured.

Charlie is grimmer than ever, has barely uttered a word to him all night, and as they sit in the dimness, rocked sometimes roughly by the uneven pace of the horses, he can barely meet Harry's eye. At first, Harry thinks he is only imagining it, that Charlie is simply lost in thought, reminiscing on the events of the evening, but after many a long moment spent staring quite insistently at his brother, and after clearing his throat many times in hopes of catching his attention but getting no reaction whatsoever, not even the briefest of glances, it becomes clear that Charlie is avoiding him. The reason for this behaviour is not difficult to deduce. He must be so furious with Harry that he cannot stand to even look at him.

Harry wishes he could argue and protest, wishes he could reproach him this sentiment, but even from his own perspective, Charlie's anger is comprehensible and justified. I have never had a fondness for discipline, Harry had announced at the table, boldly, looking insolently at Lord Riddle. And he had thought himself quite clever in that moment, had felt a surge of satisfaction at the silence his words caused and the amount of time it took Lord Riddle to reply. He had felt powerful, perhaps, in a way. But neither the empowerment nor the personal satisfaction could excuse the insolence, and had he known that these words would anger his brother so, he never would have spoken them.

As Charlie continues to look away, his brow set in a frown and his jaw tight, Harry feels the sudden urge to cry.

“Charlie,” he says at last, an uncontrollable tremor in his voice. “Please forgive me.”

When finally his brother looks at him, it is not with irritation but rather great bewilderment. “Forgive you?” he repeats. “Whatever for?”

“For how I spoke to Lord Riddle,” Harry says in a rush, nearly whispering, for he is afraid his voice might break if he speaks any louder. “I should not have been so insolent, but I only meant to defend myself from–”

“I know you did,” Charlie interrupts moodily, looking away again, but his features are softer now, and his anger not quite as pronounced as Harry had expected. “And you would not have had to speak to him at all if I had done my duty as your brother, if I had defended you. I should be the one to ask for your forgiveness.”

Harry stares at him in surprise. His urge to cry has diminished but still there remains a burning knot in his throat. “Are you not angry with me?” he mumbles.

Charlie regards him with disbelief. “Angry with you? Harry, I am furious with myself. I never should have allowed him to humiliate you so. I should have put a stop to it. I should have intervened when he began asking those untoward questions and making those rude comments. Perhaps I should have taken you home the moment he first set eyes on you. I saw his disdain for you, and I felt your reticence. I should have taken you home,” he repeats, shameful, “but I was constantly reminded of what Grandfather said about Lord Riddle’s influence and how we should remain in his good graces, and so I did nothing, fearing that, by aggravating him, I would risk ruining all your chances of marrying well.”

“You can console yourself with the certainty that, as I have no intention of marrying, no particular harm has been done to me tonight,” Harry announces stubbornly.

Charlie frowns. “You may feel this way at present, but who knows what may happen years or mere months from now? Lord Riddle is acquainted with all the great families in London, and a good number of them value his opinion. What if you were to be courted one day, and you happened to return the young man’s affections? And what if Lord Riddle were to openly oppose to the marriage because of what happened tonight?”

“Firstly, Lord Riddle is not the King!” Harry objects loudly. “I doubt it would matter if he were opposed to anything, marriage or otherwise. He disapproved of Maxwell and Vincent’s engagement and yet they are betrothed nonetheless, which is indication enough that some of those great families are perfectly able to disregard his opinion! And secondly, as I previously told you, and many times before, it does not matter, for I have the absolute certainty that there exists no one, in London or elsewhere, that I would ever want to marry!”

“Oh, not even Cedric?” Charlie asks with a small, triumphant grin.

Harry glowers at him in return. “As it happens, Cedric does not come from a great London family, thus Lord Riddle’s opinion would not matter. And besides,” he continues swiftly, eager to steer the conversation away from Cedric, “many of those families you speak of also greatly value Grandfather’s opinion, and he would never oppose to me marrying anyone I wanted. If it were my intention to marry,” he adds in a rush. “Which it is not.”

“Very well,” Charlie says with a solemn nod and laughter in his eyes.

Harry scowls some more, fully aware that his brother is mocking him, but his heart is much lighter now, and he feels such relief that he cannot remain irate very long.

“Do you believe Lord Riddle will tell Grandfather what happened?” he asks after a time.

Charlie ponders this. “Directly? No, I doubt it. Grandfather does not strike me as being particularly fond of Lord Riddle, nor do I believe that they run in the same circles. But it is quite possible that it will reach his ears by other means.”

“And do you believe he will be angry with me then?”

Charlie laughs this time. “I do not think it is in Grandfather’s power to be angry with you in any way. In fact, I believe he is physically unable to do such a thing.” He sighs and then takes on a more serious tone. “I dare not imagine how he would have reacted had he heard Lord Riddle speak to you in this manner.”

“I cannot believe he asked me if I had mated yet,” Harry mutters, his face heating up again with shame and anger.

“He knew you had not,” Charlie says angrily. “He only wanted to hear you say it.”

“Maxwell had warned me that he disliked Omegas, but I did not expect him to be so openly disapproving of me.”

“Grandfather says that powerful men often think themselves above the rules of decorum.”

“I can only be grateful that there were not many guests present to witness it,” Harry remarks.

“Regarding the guests,” Charlie says suddenly, “Mr Snape was not what I would have expected either.”

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asks, feigning confusion and disinterest by turning his attention to the dark landscape outside the window.

“He was quite different from the way you originally described him. I rather think it was gallant on his part to defend you so in front of his uncle. And he did not seem to despise you as much as you said. He did comment on your… how did he say it exactly? Your remarkable nature,” Charlie finishes with a smile. “He strikes me as quite a sensible man if only for his noticing this about you.”

Harry shrugs. “I believe it was only his hatred of his uncle that prompted him to oppose the man by defending me,” he says shortly.

He does not tell Charlie that the man has defended him before this evening, in front of his own friends, that time Miss Parkinson mocked Harry’s education and his family. He does not tell Charlie either that Mr Snape attempted to apologise to him at the ball at Longbottom Manor, but that Harry rudely rejected both his apology and his offer to dance. He does not tell him either about that time Mr Snape so discreetly insisted that Harry be provided with the carriage on that dreadful, fateful day when he suffered in silence. And most importantly, he does not tell Charlie that twice tonight Mr Snape has offered to have him taken home.

[liladiurne]

So, for years now I’ve wanted to try bookbinding but was always hesitant to really get into it, simply because I have no artistic talent whatsoever. Seriously. Apart from writing, I have no skills. But I wanted to make an original gift for a friend, and that’s finally what got me started. This is my second attempt at bookbinding a fic, this time it’s one of mine, and I thought it would only be appropriate to use my favourite fic, the one dearest to my heart, and immortalise it this way. 

I wasn’t sure I wanted to post this here because honestly, it’s nothing amazing. It’s quite plain and a little clumsy.  As I said, I have no skills.  But the overall result is not so bad, considering this is only my second project of the sort. I decided to post it for anyone who could be thinking of trying bookbinding, because if I can do it, pretty much anyone can. 

This was a massive project, with over 500 pages and 33 signatures! My first project only had 12 or so signatures. Let’s say that sewing all these keeps you busy for the evening. I’ve learned a lot so far. What to do and what not to do. How to improve my technique, etc. It’s been trial and error, and lots of tutorial videos and instruction books. I still lack some of the necessary tools, which I’ll try to acquire as I go for future projects. The most exhausting and costly part is the printing. A nice, professional layout is impossible to achieve with my printer at home, so the margins are uneven, but once the book is put together, it doesn’t look as bad.

I used linen embroidery fabric for the cover. I will try to get a darker colour next time, because this one dirties very easily. The next time I buy chipboard for making the covers, I’ll try to get it white, because I had to add a sheet of paper in between the chipboard and the cloth so that the brown chipboard wasn’t visible through the fabric. Lots of annoying little technicalities to resolve. I also need to get bigger clamps to hold the pages together for the next time I want to do a book this thick! I’m particularly proud of the little metal corners on the cover. They add a little artistic touch. And so cheap to buy online. I am also completely in love with the pages on the inner cover, which I added to compensate for the general plainness of the book. I made them using a stencil with paint pens on watercolour paper.

Sorry for the crooked and weird pics... I suck at this too lol

[liladiurne]

Chapter 13 of Brighter Than Bright is now up, folks!

Once more, Harry must face the trials of being an Omega. This time, however, The Burrow plays host to an unusual guest. We get a few more glimpses into Harry’s past. And Severus gets a troubling letter.

Brief summary, but I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.

[liladiurne]

Chapter 14 of Brighter Than Bright is posted!!!

Goodness… so many things in this chapter. We meet Harry’s grandfather Prewett and another Weasley brother! Harry gets a fancy new coat and a new friend, AND a beloved character reappears! Oh and yeah… we meet the infamous Lord Riddle at last. That part is a bit less fun though… ☹️

[liladiurne]

Brighter Than Bright - extract from chapter 14

Look at me, with chapter 14 already underway barely a week or so after posting 13. Isn’t that a good omen?

Once more, here is the beginning bit, because I don’t have anything at this point that wouldn’t spoil too much for you. I thought this would be perfect, because it announces a little what’s coming in the chapter without actually introducing the new characters. There is so much good stuff coming this chapter! I may share another extract before it’s finished, but we’ll see, because this is a bit longer than what I normally share, I think. Either way, I think this is going to be a long chapter!

This extract may change and differ a little in the finished chapter, as I tend to move things around when I edit. I have proofread this a bit quickly, so there may be some typos, which you can disregard because they will surely be fixed at some point. I hope you enjoy!

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 14

While Harry’s second heat does not last quite as long as the first one did, a few more days must pass before he feels strong enough to leave his bed. Charlie remains by his side throughout, drawing while Harry reads or sleeps. From the way he dutifully attends to Harry’s every need, constantly asking if he is hungry or thirsty or tired, it is evident that he still feels guilty at having left his little brother to such torment, regardless of how many times Harry has told him that it was probably for the best.

When Harry thinks back to those dreadful few days, he is filled with a combination of fury and shame. Perhaps worse than the memory of his suffering is the knowledge that, although he does not remember it, he seemingly called out for Mr Snape. Fanny said that the heat is meant to coerce him into mating, and he tries to console himself with these words. He suspects that this irrepressible, forceful longing does not discriminate between one Alpha and the other, and for this reason, he is nearly grateful that Charlie was absent. As he is so often reminded, he is not truly related to Charlie after all. If his reason can be so addled, if this strange instinct inside his chest, this part of him that does nothing but crave and crave, can resort to yearning for a despicable Alpha such as Mr Snape, Harry dares not imagine what could have happened if his brother’s scent had been nearby when he was in the throes of the heat. The oestrus has a mind of its own. If it can turn abhorrence into attraction, who knows what it can make of brotherly love.

Most of what occurs during the heats does not stay with him for long. He cannot recall much apart from the pain and some vague, feverish recollections of waking up and then sleeping again. He knows that he dreams, sometimes vividly, sometimes rather hazily, in wisps of thoughts and images, but all remembrance of what those dreams contain leave him swiftly as the fever fades. He is unsure whether these lapses in memory are caused by the fever itself or simply by the laudanum. Perhaps it is a combination of the two. But it is just as well that he cannot remember. Harry has no desire to know what feverish delusions might have resulted in him saying Mr Snape’s name.

At least he did not ask for Mr Malfoy. He does not think that he could live with such ghastly knowledge.

When Harry finally leaves his room for good, he finds that a thick blanket of snow has covered the world, thus putting an end to horseback ventures with his brother until spring. He is somewhat disappointed at having missed the last days of autumn, but as soon as he is well enough to leave the house, he heads outside with Charlie and the two of them engage in a great snow battle, to which even their father participates. Later in the afternoon, as the sun sets, they construct a great snowman in front of the house and dress him in a scruffy hat and scarf before retreating inside for some mulled wine.

Harry usually finds winter most inconvenient. As beautiful as snow can be at the beginning, it never takes long for him to miss the smell of the warm summer air, the loud humming of the cicadas, the wide, green expanse of his field. Unable to retreat to his habitual refuge under the shadow of the beechwood tree or to go on long walks by the river, Harry must spend most of winter confined to the house, forced to read every book he can find, often ones that he has already read countless times before. When he is truly unable to find entertainment, he sometimes sits at his desk and writes short little stories for his own amusement, or he plays with Hedwig, sprawled on the floor and throwing a ball of twine around for her to catch.

This year, of course, with Charlie present, there is no such lack of distraction.

On the first week of December, after a particularly heavy snowfall, Charlie spends at least an hour rummaging through the shed behind the barn until he finally unearths the old sleigh that Hagrid made for them years ago. It needs a little fixing, having been buried under some tools and refuse for nearly a decade, but as soon as it is good to use, it is attached to one of the draft horses’ harness. Once they are dressed thickly and warmly enough, Harry and Charlie settle on the sleigh, which is barely big enough to hold them both now that they are grown, and spend the afternoon being dragged around speedily through the snow, laughing and yelling and causing quite a raucous through the village, for which they are promptly scolded at supper. Their mother is not shy in expressing her disappointment at finding out that she has not, as she believed she had, raised respectable young men, but rather careless little ruffians.

As much as he loves the warmer weather, Harry is rather looking forward to the colder days, hoping that the river might freeze, because Charlie has also found their old ice skates hanging in the back of the shed. At present, however, the water still flows merrily, with no sign of stopping.

“It is so unfortunate that you were not here last winter. It was frozen for months,” Harry says regretfully one morning as they stare at the river, having taken advantage of the sunny day and the melting snow to walk alongside it.

“It is not cold enough yet. Perhaps in January.”

Harry shrugs. “It may not even harden enough for skating.”

“Do you remember that big pond in Hampstead, behind the marketplace?” Charlie muses, nudging Harry with his elbow to try and shake him out of his sombre mood. “It was always fit for skating. Do you remember? Grandfather would take us there when we visited in the winter.”

“I remember,” Harry says distractedly.

His mother never wanted him to go. She would insist that his brothers and cousins were too rough and that he would get hurt and that it would be better if he remained at the house with the girls. But Grandfather would not hear it. He had never once left Harry behind, even if it meant arguing ceaselessly with his daughter. It is true that the boys were terribly rough, however. Harry remembers how they darted around dangerously on their skates, crashing into one another at terrible speeds, and Grandfather was aware of the danger their carelessness posed for Harry, who was much smaller than they were. He would pretend that he was afraid to fall and hurt his old bones, and he would ask Harry to remain nearby and please not let go of his arm while they skated around the edges of the pond safely. Harry should perhaps have been upset at being subjected to this protective treatment while his brothers were free to play however they wanted, but he took a sort of pride at being kept close as the favourite. He still remembers how Grandfather’s steady hand would hold him up whenever he lost his balance or whenever the blade of his skate would catch into the ice and threaten to trip him. All of his brothers and cousins would get regularly hurt whenever they went out skating, but even if Harry had never been a good skater, he had never fallen once with Grandfather by his side.

“It must be nearly ten years since I last saw him,” Charlie adds disbelievingly. “Eight years, I believe.  Yes, since I joined the military. It will be good to see him again.”

Harry turns to his brother in confusion. “Again? Are you going to Hampstead?”

“Yes. All of us shall be visiting for Christmas,” Charlie reveals with a grin.

Harry grips his arm suddenly, a bit roughly perhaps, but Charlie only laughs. “What? When was this decided?”

“I told Father that I would need to leave for a few days next week,” Charlie says in a more serious tone. “I was going to perhaps find a room in Hatfield, but he suggested I go to Hampstead. I have done so in the past, after I came of age, if you recall.”

Harry nods, looking away in embarrassment. When they were younger, Bill and Charlie both would visit their grandfather whenever the time for their rut was near. Harry has always felt a certain guilt over this, especially now that he knows how much easier it is to be at home during such a trying time. But they would both rather leave The Burrow than have Harry being sent away, even for a few days. Besides, Grandfather Prewett is himself an Alpha, and he was always in the best position to provide a comfortable environment for them.

“And so, I wrote to Grandfather, and he was the one who suggested everyone should follow suit after me. I shall be leaving on Monday, and Mother, Father and you should join us the week after. Everyone will come for Christmas as well. Uncle Fabian and Aunt Mable, with Catherine and Caroline. And Ron and Ginny. And Percy, Fred and George will certainly come as well. I believe even Robert will come with his wife and the children. Are you happy?” Charlie asks, quite unnecessarily, because surely it is obvious from Harry’s wide eyes and grin that he is ecstatic. “We shall have a big family Christmas, just like when we were little.”

“I am happy,” Harry can only mumble, holding Charlie’s arm tightly still and pressing his cheek against his brother’s shoulder. “It will be just like before. As if nothing had changed.”

Harry is nearly certain that his brother smiles sadly at this, but Charlie does not reply as they continue walking, the soggy ground squelching under their feet.

[liladiurne]

Chapter 15 of Brighter Than Bright is now up!

There is so much going on in this one. Harry gets some unexpected visitors, and an unexpected invitation (or is it still unexpected at this point?) and goes on an unexpected outing. We see more of Lord Riddle’s smashing personality, and yeah, that supper goes about as well as we thought it would. But at long last, Severus gets to see the object of his affection in the flesh once again. But is he actually going to do anything this time or will he embarrass himself once more? You just have to read and see!

[liladiurne]

Here’s to 2020! A personal fanfic review.

2020 was a strange year, there is no doubt about it. And it was a difficult year for many, myself included. It was an incredible source of stress and it was full of the foreboding sense of going into the completely unknown and unpredictable. 

But in 2020, I found something I had been missing. I was reunited with my passion. I think I had forgotten it, but 2020 gave me the chance, the opportunity, to find it again.

I see a lot of artists make calendar-style summaries of the art they made during the year, and since 2020 has been such a big year for me, I felt tempted to do something similar. It may seem strange and useless, but it means a lot to me, and I feel so proud of myself for everything I have accomplished this year despite the doom of the pandemic.

I hadn’t written any fanfiction since I finished with great outbursts and lightnings in July of 2018. I don’t really know why. Maybe because it was such a hard fic to write, so demanding emotionally, and I needed a break. Probably because I was busy with going back to school and didn’t have as much time to write. I can’t recall. But in January, I finally came back from my long break and wrote a sequel. It wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t the longer piece I have been planning, but at least it was something. A short 7k ficlet called Interlude 1 - in clear waters. And I think this woke up something in me, the desire to write again.

I launched into the writing of Sudden Light, of which the first chapter was posted in February. And the beginning of the pandemic and the lockdown allowed me to finish it in April. My second fic. I was so happy and proud. 

Then things got bad. Everyone thought we’d only be confined for a few weeks, but it kept going, and going, and going. And the stress level got higher. Miraculously, we managed to finish our semester. I lost my job and was stuck at home, and I desperately, desperately needed something to keep me going. And then I started Brighter Than Bright. My precious. And it was the beginning of a completely different adventure. 

The first chapter was posted in May. And I have to be honest, summer of 2020, even if it was difficult for many, I think for me was one of the best I can remember. I lost my job, yes, but for me, I think it was an opportunity, a way out of a situation I had been stuck in for years and in which I only stayed because I was used to it. It allowed me to sever all ties, to be free to look for something else when the time comes. And it allowed me to spend the whole summer at home, doing the only thing that really makes me happy. Writing. 

Brighter Than Bright, writing it and researching it and planning it, is what helped me go through the unknown and unpredictable that was going on outside of my little apartment. It was my safe haven from the world, like Harry under his tree, in his sunlit field.

I got confident in my writing again, and I grew adventurous. In July-August, I put Brighter Than Bright aside and took part in my first ever fest, and I wrote On the Deficiencies of Translation Spells for HP Cross Gen Fest 2020. It was challenging and a little stressful, to be honest, but oh god, was it fun! This fic was a breath of fresh air and I will fondly remember all the long days spent working on it, drinking iced coffee and listening to old French music.

This year was hard, yes, but I was one of the lucky ones. And I am so grateful. And if a year like 2020 could bring me so much happiness, I can’t imagine what is in store for 2021. Stay hopeful and find the best in the worst situations. Like a wise man once said, “Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

Thank you for reading my rambling. I love you all. xx

[liladiurne]

Brighter Than Bright - extract from chapter 10

I’ve been working hard on this chapter this last week or so, and since it’s going a bit slower than I expected (because it’s turning out to be much longer than expected, once again) I thought I’d share a tidbit, since the extract from chapter 9 seems to have been appreciated.

I didn’t want to pick a scene that would spoil too much, so here is a scene near the beginning, where Harry reads the much-anticipated letter from Lucius. I hope you’ll like it.

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 10.

He had not exactly forgotten about Mr Malfoy’s promise to write but with everything else happening at home, it had slipped to the back of his mind. Although the possibility of receiving a letter from the man is entirely the reason why Harry’s visits to Mr Ollivander’s shop have been so consistent – because it is much too early still to get a reply from Charlie – part of him had been dubious. Perhaps he had been expecting, though he had not exactly allowed himself to form the thought, that the Alpha would forget about him as soon as he arrived in London. Perhaps he had been fearing that what was happening to his sister could possibly happen to him as well, although he would never pretend that what he feels for Mr Malfoy is anything close to Ginny’s affections for Mr Longbottom, nor that Mr Malfoy could have the same sort of attachment to him. Thus, Harry finds himself incredibly flattered and relieved that the man has kept to his word. There is still hope in the world, it seems. There are still people who are true and kind, loyal to their promises and intentions.

He slips the letter addressed to his mother into his pocket, tucks the parcel safely under his arm, and walks swiftly down the road leading home. Instead of heading for The Burrow, however, he takes the path leading to the old mill and then cuts through the moors and the fields until he reaches his beloved tree. He could have gone home and opened the package in his bedroom, but there is the possibility that he would have been assaulted with questions upon entering the house, as everyone is constantly awaiting news from the post, and he wants to open this in private, somewhere quiet and away from prying eyes. He unfolds the letter first, hands shaking in anticipation.

London

11 September 1814

 Dear Mr Weasley,

I have been in London all of two days, and already I find myself longing to return to Hertfordshire and its quaint and peaceful surroundings. I attended last evening a tedious dinner party with other officers and found myself so profoundly disinterested that I could only think back fondly on the evening spent in your home. I have half a mind to travel back to Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon if only to spend an hour in your lovely company. I would gladly discuss Shakespeare with you rather than be forced to listen to these pompous officers rambling on about military matters. Each day that passes only ascertains my conviction that the soldier life is no life for me. Alas, as you know, I find myself with no other alternative. A wise man must always make the best of his circumstances, as my father used to say, and I should not complain, but I often find myself dreaming of better days and the different life I could be leading if bad fortune had not befallen me. Forgive me for sharing these dark thoughts, but you have a kind heart, and I believe you can understand my sorrow. It eases my anguish to be able to write to you with honesty and no fear of judgement.  

I am comfortably settled in a lodging house on Russell Square, on the recommendation of a fellow lieutenant who is well acquainted with the keeper. My room has a pleasant view of the gardens and the promenade, where I am fond of taking long walks to pass the time. I wandered into the British Museum this morning, and thought of you when visiting the reading room, where it is possible to peruse any book or manuscript in the collection. On the upper floors are works of art of all sorts, as well as fossils and stuffed animals from distant lands. I am, however, particularly fond of the gallery, where one can contemplate all the antiquities and statues of Greek and Roman and Egyptian origin. I had a most pleasant morning, but I do hope you will not think it impudent of me to admit that it would have been much pleasanter spent in your company.

I have, however, had quite the misadventure on Saturday. Upon visiting the shops surrounding St. James’ Square, I came upon the unfortunate scene of the most vicious Alpha treating a young Omega in quite an unkind manner. Many passers-by were present to witness the scene, and yet none of them felt the need to intervene. As you know, it is not in my nature to leave the vulnerable and defenceless to their own means, and thus I approached and ordered the despicable Alpha to cease at once. I am afraid the man did not take to being reprimanded as well as that horrible McLaggen boy once did. I regret to inform you that we had quite the scuffle and that, as a result, I obtained a badly swollen eye as well as a broken nose. But I do not regret my intervention in the least, and the young Omega was very grateful. I have seen him home safely and been thanked profusely by his poor mother. It never ceases to anger me how some gentlemen take pleasure at preying on Omegas, for they are helpless and cannot properly defend themselves. I believe they are precious and rare and should be cherished and protected, but unfortunately very few men seem to share this opinion.

It was the memory of your own encounter with a rude Alpha, and of our first meeting, that urged me to purchase this present I have sent you. I hope you will not think me presumptuous for it, and if ever your parents are outraged and find me impertinent, please be so kind as to send them my humblest apologies. I mean nothing insolent by sending such a present, and my intentions are entirely inoffensive. I have often contemplated these in London shop windows and marvelled at their beauty, but never found a use for them myself, having no one to write to. I do hope you will appreciate them and use them copiously.

I await your reply already, for it would brighten any day.

Yours respectfully,

Lucius Malfoy

Harry carefully unwraps the parcel, revealing a beautiful case of smooth leather which he unclasps eagerly. Inside are three stunning quills, already cut and perfectly curved, and of such quality that Harry would never dare purchase for himself. The small card included informs him that the first is a pheasant feather, the second a raven one, and the third, which he could not identify – mostly black, but turning grey, and then white at the bottom – an eagle one. There is also a beautiful silver quill knife that shines in the sunlight and that makes Harry blush in embarrassment as he thinks of his old one at home, with its worn and chipped wooden handle and its ink-stained blade.

As charmed as he is by this unexpected present, he cannot help but wonder what it means. It must have cost a fortune, and he cannot imagine how Mr Malfoy could be so generous with the little money he has. But perhaps the man has so little friends for whom to buy presents that he simply got carried away. He even raises the issue himself, hoping not to offend or seem too forward. Harry reads that part of the letter again, where Mr Malfoy offers his apologies to his parents, and he cannot help but be charmed by it. How thoughtful of the man to know that this gesture might be misinterpreted and to explain it at once to prevent any misunderstanding. Harry smiles as he remembers their first meeting, when Mr Malfoy immediately asked Mr Ollivander to properly introduce them. How calculated and thoughtful are his actions, how polite his manners. And how horrendous that he should now be injured for coming to a young man’s rescue, just like he did Harry’s. A swollen eye and a broken nose! Harry is furious to think of such wounds marring Mr Malfoy’s perfect features.