#wandless magic

[evanspetals]

My thoughts on wands as a colonial technology

I imagine that before wands were popularized, different magical cultures likely used innate, environmental, ancestral or ritualistic forms of magic. Wands arrive as a “superior,” “efficient,” “civilized” tool, completely mirroring how colonizers frame their tech and culture, and once wand use becomes standardized (under European dominance), it becomes the metric for what “proper” magic is. It’s like a classic colonizer move: redefine the standard so the colonized never quite measure up.

I can see wands existing as instruments of surveillance, to track and record wand bearers. If we look at canon we see that The Ministry can trace spells, that wand registration exists, that underage magic is tracked via wands and that muggleborns need documentation about their wand status (and are suspected without one). This echoes real-world issues where colonizers impose paperwork, IDs, “permits,” licenses… Wands give the Ministry the power to know who you are, what you can do, what magic you’re capable of, when you break laws… So if you come from a magical tradition without wands, you’re suddenly invisible, illegible and therefore illegal.

Because of that, wandless magic would be considered “primitive”, “wild” and “dangerous”. This is exactly how colonizers treat any practice outside their norm. Elves can perform wandless magic with terrifying skill, so their use of wands is banned. Goblins have their own magical lore, so the wandmakers keep that knowledge proprietary and exclude them. Even wizard-on-wizard discrimination exists (Western wandmaking superiority mythos). The entire hierarchy is created around wand access, not magical ability. It’s not that non-wand cultures have “lesser” magic, it’s that the system is built to invalidate them.

I also see a relation between wands and industrialization and commercialization of the innate. Magic used to be craft, ritual, birthright, relationship with land, energy. Then wands turn it into products, brands, patents, trade secrets, regulated commodities. It literally mirrors the industrial revolution, with something natural becoming standardized, mass-produced and commercialized. Wand cores are harvested, trees are cut for wand wood, ecosystems are commodified. Magic becomes a consumer good.

Wands can also be seen as a cultural erasure weapon. For many communities, magic done with hands, through song, nature and ancestral rites would carry spiritual meaning. But wizards, especially European ones, invalidate that, create a monoculture of wand magic and enforce it through Ministry law. That’s not just colonization, it’s cultural genocide.

We can imagine social implications as the divide between “civilized” wand users and “primitive” wandless ones, wizard supremacy ideology brewed not just from blood purity but method purity, power defined by conformity, not ability, education systems that erase non-wand magic (Hogwarts teaches nothing else), a Ministry that claims to “protect” lesser magical cultures but actually suppresses them.

And the ultimate irony is that the most powerful magic we see in the Wizarding World are Lily’s sacrifice, ancient enchantments, goblin lore, house-elf magic, wandless magic in extremis, parseltongue, rituals and blood magic… None of it is wand-based. So the entire structure of “you must have a wand to be civilized” is built on a fragile, discriminatory lie.

[high-on-kaolin]

drarry microfic, 364 words. Rating: T prompt: no prompt, this was revealed to me in a dream

It’s 7:15 in the morning the first time it happens.

 Draco is still lying in bed, not quite awake yet, when his wand lights up unprompted — a sunny day’s worth of assault on his retinas that puts itself out before he can properly register what's happened. So he goes back to sleep and dismisses it. Only a dream — he’s had worse.

 A few days later, it happens again. This time he’s at work, he’s awake, and there are witnesses. He decides not to panic and leaves it alone for the time being.

 It’s after a few more weeks — and a few more incidents — that he begins to worry. This time it’s not just Lumos, no. This time his whole holster catches fire, and with it, his pants. He puts it out and considers telling Robards. Ponders it. Dismisses it.

 It’s too late today anyway — he’ll deal with it tomorrow.

 That night, as he finds himself suddenly doused in the slick oil characteristic of lubricant spells, he's almost relieved he hadn't told Robards. This has to be some sort of prank, he’s sure now — Potter must have tampered with his wand. The git. He'd returned it not two months prior, making sure everyone in the office saw him hand it back and shake hands with Draco. The bloody show-off. He’d planned everything, surely. Maybe other people were in on it too — all of them waiting for the perfect chance to humiliate Draco in front of the whole Ministry.

 The next day he makes sure to take precautions. He wards his holster, his clothes, and his entire office, just to be sure. Waterproof spells, fireproof spells, transfiguration wards — every single trick up his Cursebreaker’s sleeve. He won’t be caught off guard this time.

 It’s that same day, on his way down to lunch, sharing an elevator with Granger and The Boy Who Lived To Torture Him, that he’s caught off guard.

 “I’m telling you there’s something wrong with me, Hermione. I’ve been casting wandless Lumos for five years without failure. Now there’s not even a spark half the time — look: Lumos.”

 Light floods out of Draco’s holster then.

[matterofthemoon-write]

Chapter 3 is out on ao3!

For prompt Dystopia of @marauders-sci-fi-month

In which we get a glimpse at Sirius's dystopian planet and at the distinct evolution of magic on both his planet and Remus's.

[zarinari]

Snapetober One-Shot: Half a Step Too Close

Discord hosting the challenge: https://discord.gg/65uECy7Yep

Day 3 Prompt: Polyjuice Mishap

Preview: A missing ingredient, a midnight stake-out, and a closet far too small for two.

Pairing: Severus Snape/OC

Rating: Teen+

“It’s just as I thought,” Severus muttered, dark robes whispering past as he prowled the shelves. Outrage pressed hot beneath my ribs, not mine but his—the lingering side-effect of the magical accident that had tangled us together almost a year ago.

“Thought what?” I asked, though the answer was already sparking at the edge of my thoughts.

He pivoted, eyes glinting like knives in the torchlight. Potter. The name landed intensely in my chest, all teeth and certainty, rattling against my own nerves before he even spoke the rest aloud. I recoiled inwardly, hating the way his voice slid through my head, thought bleeding into thought until I could hardly tell which was mine.

“Potter. And his meddling friends. They’ve decided to go rifling through my storeroom again.”

I exhaled through my nose, steadying myself against the static crawl of his derision. “That’s a bold conclusion to leap to, given the dozens of other mischief-makers in this castle.”

His lip curled. “None so predictably foolish. Boomslang skin and lacewing flies don’t vanish on their own. And unless you believe Peeves has taken up experimental brewing, the culprits are obvious.”

I blinked at him. “You’re going to have to enlighten me. What exactly does that combination scream to you?”

His nostrils flared. “Polyjuice Potion.”

The name landed without weight. “And that means Potter, why?”

A flicker of his exasperation pulsed through me. “It means, Winters, that Potter and his little cabal brewed it once already—in their second year. In a lavatory.” His eyes narrowed, dark with disgust. “Illicit, unsupervised, and catastrophically incompetent. Do try to keep up.”

I rolled my eyes as I leaned past him, my eyes tracing the neat row of jars. “Or maybe someone else might be clever enough to know you’ll always blame Potter first.”

A beat of silence. The scuff of his shoes carried him a step closer, nearer than necessary, suspicion prickling through my skin as sharply as if it were my own.

“You’re here to assist, Winters. Not to argue.”

“Assist with investigating,” I said lightly, though my pulse quickened at his closeness. “And I thought investigation started with considering more than one suspect.”

His eyes narrowed, his irritation brushing harsh across my skin. “I need your assistance with more than your insufferable theories.”

I let my smile tug at the corner of my mouth. Perhaps it was reckless to needle him, but I couldn’t resist. “Oh, do tell. I adore it when you admit you need me.”

Irritation gave way to annoyance, and he stepped back, the pressure of his presence easing. Relief slid through, chased at once by a pang of disappointment I prayed he’d mistake for something else.

“Potter will undoubtedly come blundering in beneath that invisibility cloak,” he said, his tone clipped and precise. “I need you to use that peculiar trick of yours—sensing movement without sight.”

I arched a brow, leaning lightly against the shelf for balance. “You’re asking me to stand in the corridor in the middle of the night, barefoot, in winter, waiting for a child who may or may not appear? And hope he doesn’t notice me?”

“Don’t be absurd.” His dry disdain flickered through me. “I’ll be there too. We’ll watch from the side corridor.”

I snorted, more to cover the way his confidence rippled through me than anything else. “Oh, joy. So much better.”

His mouth thinned, and his exasperation brushed the back of my neck. “Or, if you prefer, the adjacent storage closet. Out of sight. Close enough to intercept him.”

My stomach gave a small, traitorous twist. A closet. Naturally. As if the bond didn’t make proximity intolerable enough already.

Still... I couldn’t deny it was a good plan. Even if it wasn’t Potter, the vantage point would let us catch whoever it was with ease. That is, if they even bothered to show.

I let out a long, reluctant sigh, rolling my shoulders as I straightened. “Fine,” I said, stepping away from the shelves. “But if we’re going to spend half the night hiding in a cupboard, I’m taking a nap first.”

Without waiting for his reply, I brushed past him toward the door, ignoring the smug satisfaction bleeding off him, lingering like smoke as I made my way down the corridor.

“Take a step back, Severus. You’re making it difficult to concentrate.”

Disdain rippled through me before he answered. “There is nowhere to step, Winters. Unless you prefer I attempt to phase through the wall.” His breath stirred against the back of my neck, and I clenched my jaw.

We had been crammed in the closet for hours. Exhaustion dragged at my limbs, but between the constant hum of the bond bleeding his contempt into me and the suffocating awareness of his nearness—his sleeve brushing mine whenever he shifted—sleep was an impossible thought. My only saving grace was the focus I forced outward, pulsing threads of essence beyond the door in slow waves, searching for the faintest disturbance in the corridor. I leaned forward against the door, resting my forehead against my forearm propped against it, as though bracing myself could keep the bond—and him—from pressing too close.

“Why do you even have to be here?” I asked at last, keeping my voice low, though the words itched hotter than I meant. “I could have easily managed this on my own.”

His reply came soft and lethal. “And leave you to miss it entirely? You lack the discipline for such a watch. Besides—if it is Potter, he will not get the satisfaction of slipping by me again.”

The words dripped with loathing, every syllable thrumming through the bond like a struck wire. But underneath the venom, something steadier pressed against me—an edge I almost mistook for vigilance. Almost.

I huffed, a smile pulling despite myself. “I’ll never understand what it’s like to have a fourteen-year-old for a mortal adversary.”

“Quiet, Winters,” he murmured, voice silk over steel. “If you’re speaking, you’re not paying attention.”

His severity pressed through the bond, curling hot beneath my ribs. I should have let it lie. I should have swallowed the smile. But the silence between us felt too tight, the air too close, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.

“If this is just a ploy to get me alone in a closet,” I murmured, the smile tugging anyway, “you could’ve just asked.”

The bond flared sharp and hot, so sudden it stole my breath. He went very still behind me. Too still.

“Winters,” he said at last, my name drawn low and dangerous.

Something in the way he said it curled down my spine, too heavy, too blunt. He had spoken my name a hundred times before, but never like that—never like it meant something more than a reprimand. Heat rose traitorously in my cheeks, and I hated myself for it.

I bit my lip, pulse tripping, waiting for the lash of his temper—or perhaps something else entirely.

Then the faintest tremor brushed against my essence outside the door. Movement.

I straightened suddenly, forehead leaving the door with a thud, and the shift knocked him back. The realization struck with it—he had been leaning in close. Far closer than I’d realized until that moment.

I ignored the twist low in my stomach and whispered instead, “Someone’s outside.”

He didn’t waste a breath. Severus shouldered past me, wand already in hand, light flaring at the tip. “Lumos.” The door swung wide and he swept into the corridor with the force of a storm.

And nearly collided with Alastor Moody.

The scarred man stood planted in the middle of the hall, his magical eye whirring as it snapped to us.

“Merlin,” I exhaled, pulse still racing. “It’s just Moody.”

Severus’s wand lowered, but only halfway. His eyes narrowed, suspicion practically vibrating through the bond. “And what precisely brings you prowling this corridor at midnight?”

Moody’s good eye squinted. “I could ask you the same. Hiding in a closet, the two of you—”

“We were making out,” I cut in, deadpan. “Don’t you know? We’re sixteen.”

Severus’s head whipped toward me, eyes flashing, and before Moody could bark a laugh he snapped, “We were investigating. Someone has been stealing from my stores. And unlike some, I prefer to confirm my suspicions with evidence.”

Moody’s mouth twisted, scars pulling taut. “Best be careful what closets you go poking your noses into. Never know what might be lurking.” His magical eye whirred, fixing on me for a beat too long before snapping back to Severus.

Severus’s wand didn’t lower. “And perhaps you might explain why you were loitering in the very corridor where my ingredients keep disappearing.”

Moody gave a gravelly chuckle that didn’t touch his other eye. “Paranoia doesn’t suit you, Snape. Not every shadow in this castle hides your enemies.”

The bond throbbed with his fury, tight and black, but neither man shifted. They stood locked, suspicion cutting the air sharp enough to taste.

I let out a curt sigh. “Alright, children. If you’re going to glare at each other until sunrise, I’m going to bed.”

Severus’s head snapped toward me, incredulous. “Winters—”

His protest lashed through the bond, strong and unrelenting, but I only rubbed at my temple. “It’s three in the morning. If someone was going to sneak by, they would’ve done it already. You really want to jump out at every staff member who happens down this corridor?”

Silence.

Moody’s scarred lip curled, but he gave a grunt and turned away, his wooden leg thunking down the corridor. Severus lowered his wand at last, though the fury bleeding through the bond told me he was nowhere near finished with this.

I only shook my head and brushed past him, too tired to match his fury with my own. “Goodnight, Professor.”

I told myself I should be grateful to escape that closet—the press of his presence, the bond tightening until I could hardly breathe. Grateful to put distance between myself and the weight of his voice curling my name.

And yet… as I walked away, some traitorous part of me ached to know what he would have said if we hadn’t been interrupted. The question clung, sharp and breathless, long after the castle’s silence closed around me.

Full collection of my Snapetober one-shots on my AO3: Link Full collection of ALL Snapetober one-shots on AO3: Link

[birgerjones]

The International Wizarding School Tournament (Grindeldore)

Young Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore meet each other at the International Wizarding School Tournament, 1897.

Story: "Gellert Grindelwald and the Lost Future, " by Birger, ao3

Hogwarts had never looked like this. The school grounds had been transformed into something vast and international, alive with movement, color, and magic from every corner of the world. The Black Lake shimmered under a pale autumn sky, and upon its surface floated the massive iron ship of Durmstrang, dark and imposing against the water.

Along the far lawns stood elegant, winged-horse-drawn carriages. Rows of enchanted tents stretched beyond them, each larger on the inside, housing students and teachers from distant lands.

Inside the castle, the Great Hall was crowded. All four houses, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, stood in ordered formation, nearly one thousand students gathered beneath the enchanted ceiling. At the front stood the staff. Phineas Nigellus Black proudly stood at the center. Beside him were the faculty. Armando Dippet leaned slightly on his cane yet watched the hall with alert eyes. Galatea Merrythought stood composed, her gaze scanning the students like a general before inspection.

Among them, out of place, though unmistakably brilliant, stood Albus Dumbledore. Sixteen years old, already the most gifted student Hogwarts had seen in decades, Albus stood with the teachers because of Headmaster Black’s insistence. He hated this, the favoritism, the expectation, and the quiet certainty that everyone, teachers and students alike, already knew what role he would be forced to play.

Below, in the Gryffindor ranks, stood his younger brother, Aberforth Dumbledore, watching Albus with discomfort. Nearby, Elphias Doge stood focused, watching his best friend with pride. Among the Ravenclaws stood a certain fourteen-year-old: Garrick Ollivander, already known for his fascination with wandcraft, observing everything with sharp curiosity.

Phineas raised his hand.

“Hogwarts,” he began, his voice echoing through the hall, “stands today at the center of history. It is my great honor to announce that this year, we will host the first-ever International Wizarding School Tournament.”

A ripple of excitement spread through whispers with barely contained energy.

“Eleven of the most prestigious magical institutions in the world have answered our call,” Phineas continued. “Each will send one champion, chosen by the Goblet of Fire, to compete in three tasks of extraordinary difficulty.”

He let the words settle.

“The reward,” he said, “is eternal glory and the unquestioned pride of one’s school.”

Albus felt the weight on his shoulders. He didn’t need to look to know what everyone was thinking. He would be chosen. He didn’t want it, but that would not matter.

Phineas turned toward the great doors.

“Let us welcome our honored guests.”

The doors swung open.

“Beauxbatons Academy.”

A hush fell as Nicolas Flamel entered, serene and ageless, his presence carrying quiet authority. Behind him came fifteen students in flowing blue robes, moving with effortless grace, almost dancing as they entered, their steps synchronized, their magic shimmering faintly in the air like perfume.

Phineas descended to greet him. The two men exchanged polite nods of old respect. The Beauxbatons students lined up along the tall windows.

Phineas turned again.

“Durmstrang Institute.”

The atmosphere shifted, and the doors opened once more, and cold seemed to follow them in.

Freya Bernadotte entered first, her presence as commanding as ever. Behind her came fifteen students in crimson robes. They moved in precise formation, their boots striking the stone in perfect rhythm. Flames ignited around them, coiling and bending as if alive, dancing to their movements.

Among them, Gellert Grindelwald moved with grace. His eyes drifted across the sea of students. Across the hall, standing among teachers yet clearly not one of them, was a boy who did not belong where he stood. Their eyes met. Gellert didn’t know who he was looking at but something in him stilled.

Albus felt it too, a strange and unexplainable pull of significance. As if, without knowing why, he was looking at someone who would matter deeply.

Phineas and Freya exchanged greetings, their voices distant to both boys.

Still, they stared. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment broke. Gellert turned, falling back into formation as the Durmstrang students lined up beside Beauxbatons. His gaze did not leave Albus.

Phineas continued.

“Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Hestia Cole entered with her delegation consisting of fifteen American and Canadian students walking with confident ease, their style distinct, their energy different.

One by one, the schools followed: Castelobruxo, Mahoutokoro, Uagadou, Koldovstoretz, Yinglong Academy, Indrajala, and Heka Institute. Each arrival brought new magic, new traditions, and new power into the hall.

Once the last school had taken its place, the rigid formations softened into movement. Teachers exchanged measured greetings, while students began to mingle across old rivalries and new boundaries.

Voices rose in a dozen languages. Laughter followed. Magic flickered subtly in gestures, in posture, in quiet displays of confidence.

Gellert had barely stepped away from his group when Lyra suddenly gasped.

“Garrick!”

Before he could react, she was already moving, slipping through clusters of students with surprising speed. A boy from the Ravenclaw section turned just in time to be pulled into a tight embrace.

“Lyra!” he laughed, startled but pleased. “You made it!”

Gellert approached more slowly, watching with mild curiosity.

“Gellert,” Lyra said, turning and pulling him closer, “this is my cousin, Garrick.”

“Grindelwald, is it?” he said. “I’ve heard the name.”

Gellert gave a small nod. “And you’re the wandmaker.”

Garrick smiled faintly. “My family, yes. Every student at Hogwarts, everyone, carries a wand crafted by my parents. There isn’t a better wand in Britain.”

Lyra beamed with pride.

Gellert tilted his head slightly. “Have you ever heard of the Elder Wand?”

Garrick flinched.

“You shouldn’t speak of it so casually,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s not just a story. If it exists… it’s the most powerful wand ever made.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Gellert said, watching him closely.

Garrick hesitated. “Power like that doesn’t come without consequence. Whoever wields it… attracts enemies. Powerful ones.”

Gellert’s expression didn’t change. “I think I saw it once.”

Lyra blinked. “What?”

“In Vienna,” Gellert said. “At Gregorovitch’s shop. When I was eleven.”

Garrick stared at him. “Gregorovitch wouldn’t just display something like that.”

“He didn’t,” Gellert replied. “But I saw something… different. Something he didn’t want anyone to notice.”

Before Garrick could respond, a quiet shift in the air drew their attention. Someone had approached. Gellert turned, and there he was again. Albus stood before them. Their eyes met once more.

Lyra’s hand tightened slightly at her side. She didn’t like this, though she couldn’t say why.

Gellert stepped forward first. They shook hands.

“Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Albus Dumbledore.”

The names hung between them, quiet but significant.

“Where are you from?” Albus asked.

“The Black Forest,” Gellert replied. “Bavaria. My father is the German Minister for Magic.”

Albus nodded politely.

“I live in a village called Godric’s Hollow,” he said. “In England. With my mother, younger brother, and sister.”

Gellert studied him for a moment, then asked, “Why were you standing with the teachers?”

“Headmaster Black seems to think I’m… exceptional,” Albus said carefully. “He wants me to represent Hogwarts in the tournament.”

“Hm.” Gellert’s gaze sharpened. “And are you?”

Albus met his eyes directly.

“What can you do,” Gellert pressed, “that others cannot?”

Albus considered him for a brief moment. He raised his hand, and blue fire bloomed in his palm. It was not wild. Not uncontrolled. It burned steadily, beautifully, alive yet obedient, casting shifting light across his face.

A ripple of awe spread through the nearby students at the sight of wandless magic. Gellert’s breath caught. Lyra stiffened. Garrick appeared to be slightly jealous but wouldn't dare to show it.

“Wands focus magic,” Garrick said quickly, almost defensively. “They refine it. Improve it.”

“They are tools,” Albus said calmly. “Useful ones.”

Across the hall, a group of African and Asian students barely glanced over before returning to their conversations. To them, it was nothing unusual. However, to Gellert, it was everything. The blue flames reflected in his eyes as he stared at Albus.

“Impressive,” Gellert said quietly.

Albus extinguished the fire with a slight motion of his fingers.

The moment lingered until it was broken.

“Interesting trick.”

The voice was confident. Too confident.

Both Gellert and Albus turned, their expressions sharpening almost in unison.

A tall, broad-shouldered boy stood before them. His robes bore the distinct markings of Ilvermorny.

He gave a slight nod. “Percival Graves. Wampus House.”

Gellert’s annoyance was immediate and visible.

“Wampus,” he repeated flatly. “And what exactly does that stand for?”

Percival didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed amused.

“Warriors,” he said. “Strength. Courage. Action.”

Gellert exhaled slowly, unimpressed. “Personality-based sorting,” he muttered. “Idiotic.”

Lyra shifted slightly, sensing the tension.

“We don’t divide students like that at Durmstrang,” Gellert continued. “You’re either capable, or you’re not.”

Percival’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “It’s more than that.”

“Is it?” Gellert replied coolly.

Albus stepped in.

“It’s not entirely different from Hogwarts,” he said. “I’m in Gryffindor. Similar idea.”

Percival glanced at him with renewed interest. “You?”

Albus nodded. “My mother was from Ontario. Iroquois. She attended Ilvermorny and sorted into Wampus.”

“That explains it,” Percival said, almost to himself.

“Explains what?” Gellert asked.

“The wandless magic,” Percival replied. “Native traditions don’t rely on wands at all. Magic is… internal. Direct.”

Albus gave a small, thoughtful nod.

“I’ve read about it,” Percival continued. “Studied it, actually. Ilvermorny encourages it, if you’re capable.”

Then, with a flick of his fingers, green fire ignited in his palm.

It burned brighter than Albus’s blue flame. It was wilder, less refined, but still controlled.

A few nearby students turned again, murmuring.

Gellert watched closely. Before he could speak, another voice cut in.

“Percival.”

A black girl approached with quiet authority. Her robes marked her as Horned Serpent, and the intelligence in her eyes was unmistakable.

“We’re leaving,” she said, already turning.

Behind her, a cluster of Ravenclaw girls lingered, clearly waiting.

Percival smirked slightly. “Duty calls.”

He extinguished the flame and gave Gellert and Albus one last look. “We’ll see which system is ‘idiotic’ on the field.”

Then he was gone, pulled effortlessly into Seraphina’s orbit.

Gellert glanced at Albus.

“I want to represent Durmstrang, and I want to win.”

Albus raised an eyebrow slightly. “I assumed as much.”

“Teach me,” Gellert said.

Albus blinked. “Teach you?”

“Wandless magic,” Gellert clarified. “What you did.”

Lyra stiffened again. Garrick looked outright offended.

“You’re asking a rival,” Garrick said.

“Yes,” Gellert replied simply.

“You don’t waste time,” Albus said.

“Neither do you,” Gellert replied.

For a moment, it seemed Albus might refuse, out of pride, out of loyalty, out of simple caution.

Instead, he smiled.

“Very well,” he said. “I accept.”

Lyra’s unease deepened. Garrick frowned.

They left the castle without a word. The noise of the Great Hall faded behind them as Gellert and Albus walked side by side down the sloping grounds toward the Black Lake. The lake stretched wide and dark before them, reflecting the dimming sky. Along its edges, the visiting ships loomed: the Durmstrang ship, the heavier, rune-carved craft of Koldovstoretz, the elegant, dragon-prowed ship of Yinglong Academy, and the low, gold-accented vessel of the Heka Institute.

Shapes moved beneath the surface. Merfolk glided in the depths. Their pale forms flickered in and out of view. Farther out, the Giant Squid raised one enormous tentacle briefly before slipping back into the black water.

They stopped at the shore. Albus stepped forward slightly.

“Magic doesn’t always need direction,” he said. “Sometimes it needs… permission.”

Gellert folded his arms. “That sounds vague.”

Albus smiled faintly. “It is. But it works.”

He raised his hand and the surface of the lake trembled. Then, slowly, smoothly, a sphere of water lifted into the air, hovering above his palm.

“No wand,” Albus said. “Just intent. Control.”

Gellert stepped closer, watching intently.

“Your turn.”

Gellert exhaled and focused.

He raised his hand, but nothing happened.

He narrowed his eyes, concentrating harder. The water stirred, ripples spreading outward from the shore, uneven and restless.

“Too forceful,” Albus said quietly. “You’re trying to command it.”

“I am commanding it.”

“Yes,” Albus replied. “That’s the problem.”

Gellert frowned but tried again.

The water churned, then stilled. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing would happen but then a small portion lifted. Barely more than a ripple made solid. It wavered and then collapsed.

Gellert tried again more carefully. The water responded, hesitantly at first, then more clearly. A small sphere rose, uneven but real, hovering just above his hand. For a few seconds, he held it. Then it fell.

“…I almost had it.”

“You did have it,” Albus said. “For a moment.”

Gellert glanced at him. “A moment isn’t enough.”

Albus didn’t respond to that.

Instead, after a brief pause, Gellert asked, “How did your parents meet?”

Albus hesitated, but only briefly.

“My mother,” he began, “was born in Ontario, Canada. Into a Muggle family. A Native American tribe.”

Gellert listened, silent.

“When her magic appeared,” Albus continued, “she was taken by MACUSA. Because of Rappaport’s Law, wizards and Muggles are kept completely separate in America.”

His voice remained calm, but something colder moved beneath it.

“She was adopted into a magical family,” he said. “But they weren’t… kind. They didn’t like where she came from. Who she was.”

Gellert’s expression darkened slightly.

“She was sent to Ilvermorny,” Albus went on. “That’s where she met my father. He was there as an exchange student from Hogwarts.”

A faint softness entered his voice.

“They fell in love. And when she turned eighteen, she left. England was… an escape.”

Gellert nodded slowly. “She chose her own life.”

“Yes.”

“My mother is Muggle-born too,” Gellert said. “From Transylvania. She came from a Hungarian family of catholics.”

Albus turned to him, listening.

“They rejected her,” Gellert continued. “Magic didn’t fit into their world. She had to leave. She was taken in by a traveling magical family of gypsies. They gave her a place and taught her.”

Albus watched him closely.

“When she graduated,” Gellert said, “she met my father. A pureblood. She saw his wealth and power.”

“And she married into it,” Albus said.

“Yes.”

Gellert looked out over the lake.

“She spent her life as an outcast,” he said quietly. “Then suddenly… she belonged.”

Albus understood more than Gellert expected. For a moment, neither spoke. The distance between them, between Durmstrang and Hogwarts, between their worlds, felt smaller and almost irrelevant.

“Albus!”

The voice cut through the stillness. Running down the slope toward them was Aberforth. In his hands were two brooms.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he said, skidding to a stop. “We got a letter from home.”

Albus stiffened immediately. “What is it?”

Aberforth looked distraught. “It’s Ariana. She…she did it again. Magic. In front of Muggles.”

Albus’s face went pale, hearing his sister's name.

Gellert frowned. “Ariana?”

Albus shook his head quickly. “I can’t explain.”

He stepped forward, already taking one of the brooms.

“I have to go.”

“Is it serious?” Gellert asked.

“Yes.”

Albus mounted the broom and glanced back once. “I’ll return tomorrow.”

Then he kicked off, rising smoothly into the air. Aberforth followed close behind. Together, they flew into the darkening sky, toward Godric’s Hollow. Gellert stood alone by the lake, desperately trying to master wandless magic. The water stirred, but it did not rise.

[scrollsandserpents]

THE SLYTHERIN ORPHAN

She wasn't supposed to exist.

Thirteen years hidden. Thirteen years erased.

Violet Blackwood grew up in a Muggle orphanage, her magic a wild, untamed thing that made leafs dance and boys fly across rooms. No letters. No visits. No record of her birth in any magical book.

Until Dumbledore found her.

Now she's been dumped into Hogwarts as a third-year. She is years behind, wearing muggle clothes, wielding a wand that spits in her face. The Slytherins despise her. Snape looks at her like her existence offends him. And the whole castle whispers: Who IS she?

But Violet has secrets.

Wandless magic that shouldn't exist A locket that won't open A trail of ancient blue light only she can see And a face that makes a convicted murderer weep

DRACO MALFOY CAN'T LOOK AWAY

"You're the only real thing in this whole bloody castle."

He's the Slytherin Prince. She's an orphan from nowhere. Their stolen moments in the Astronomy Tower are a beautiful rebellion until things go sour.

THE TWINS CHOOSE HER

While Slytherin turns her into a ghost, Fred and George Weasley pull her into their world. Gryffindor tower becomes her sanctuary. Their mother knits her a Christmas jumper, her first real present ever.

"You're Violet. Our Violet."

SIRIUS BLACK WHISPERS A NAME

During the chaos of the Shrieking Shack, a escaped convict looks at her face and freezes.

"You look just like... Elena. You could be her daughter."

Her mother had a name.

Someone hid her. Someone erased her from magic itself. And now Dumbledore is digging through war-era records, his face growing graver by the day.

"Some families hid their nature for very good reasons," he warns. "The answers may come with unexpected implications."

READ IF YOU LOVE:

Draco as a morally gray disasterFred & George as protective, chaotic found family Sirius Black as the key to a devastating past Snape with layers of mystery (why does her golden hair make him SHAKE?)

THE CASTLE IS KEEPING HER SECRETS

But the Dementors want her soul. Sirius Black knows her face. And somewhere in the ashes of a war... the truth is waiting.

📖 Read on Wattpad & AO3

ScrollsAndSerpents (@ScrollsAndSerpents)

Hi there! I'm ScrollsAndSerpents, a Slytherin with a Ravenclaw's heart and a passion for exploring the hidden stories o...

https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrollsAndSerpents

[sonickitty]

found my new favorite description of transmasc sex

[wizardingworldlibrary]

Wandless Magic Masterlist

All Our Secrets Laid Bare (ao3) - firethesound_HP_archive Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Harry/OMC E, 149k

Summary: Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

A Year Like None Other (ao3) - aspeninthesunlight T, 789k

Summary: A letter from home? A letter from family? Well, Harry Potter knows he has neither, but all the same, it starts with a letter from Surrey. Whatever the Dursleys have to say, it can't be anything good, so Harry's determined to ignore it. But when the Potions Master forces him to read his letter, Harry gets sent down a path he'd never have walked on his own.

It will be a year of big changes, a year of great pain, and a year of Harry confronting his worst fears. But from the most unexpected of sources, Harry Potter will finally get a chance to have that which he has never known: a family.

A sixth year fic, this story follows Order of the Phoenix and disregards any canon events that occur after Book 5.

Devilish Romance (ao3) - Madriddler Draco/Harry, Draco/Harry/Blaise, Sirius/Remus E, 81k

Summary: Harry Potter, a warlock on the crux of his sixteenth birthday, is both excited and scared to become a full member of his coven. With more feminine interests than his peers, Harry is scared of being mocked and ridiculed, both for his interest, and being The Coward's Son. Raised by his Uncles Sirius and Remus, Harry finds an unlikely friendship in fellow warlock Draco Malfoy, who has huge aspirations for both him and Harry: summoning a demon, and binding him to their service. They just wasn't expecting on summoning the Son of the Devil themselves...

Finely Drawn Lines (ao3) - The_Sinking_Ship Draco/Harry E, 61k

Summary: Draco doesn’t consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus. From the curl of his lips to the exact number of lines that form at the corners of his eyes when he laughs, Draco has catalogued every shade of one Harry James Potter between the pages of his sketchbook. So long as Potter remains none the wiser, Draco will have no trouble controlling his crush.

But when Potter comes to him with a dangerous proposition, Draco fears things are about to get so much more complicated.

In The Forest Of Dean (ao3) - T3Tohru Hermione/Harry, Susan/Ginny E, 961k

Summary: A complete rewrite of Book Seven. A darker, more dangerous, and more realistic outlook on war. Mostly Hermione-centric.

Mostly follows canon, but provides a different look at how the relationships in HP could have formed had Hermione realized that she and Ron did not fit well together and that Harry, her best friend, was really what she was looking for the whole time. This is the story of what could have happened between Harry and Hermione in The Deathly Hallows after Ron leaves in a grittier war-torn world.

Features added subplots, alt POVs, and OC characters.

Lumos (ao3) - birdsofshore Draco/Harry E, 41k

Summary: Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

Sensitive Touch (ao3) - orphan_account Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Luna/Ginny E, 193k

Summary: When Draco Malfoy encounters a struggling and frustrated Harry desperately trying to tie his shoes after a meltdown in the Great Hall, his curiosity regarding the incident leads him to seek the help of the two people closest to Harry: Ron and Hermione.

After even they are shocked to hear the extent of Harry's issues, though Hermione had her suspicions, he discovers more about the man than he ever thought he knew before.

that's what you do, baby (ao3) - xiiphiase Regulus/James, Sirius/Remus, Barty/Evan, Pandora/Lily E, 47k

Summary: In which Regulus has had a crush on one James Fleamont Potter since he was eleven years old, and James is a lovable, oblivious idiot who platonically kisses people when he's happy/excited. James kisses Regulus in a moment of excitement, chaos and pining ensues.

The Accidental Animagus (ao3) - White_Squirrel Luna/Harry, Hermione/Neville T, 666k

Summary: Harry escapes the Dursleys with a unique bout of accidental magic and eventually winds up at the Grangers' house. Now, he has what he always wanted: a loving family—and he'll need their help to take on the magical world and vanquish the dark lord who has pursued him from birth. Years 1-4.

The Heart's Honest Truth (ao3) - bixgirl1, carpemermaid Draco/Harry E, 16k

Summary: Draco is cursed to speak in questions. Well...Spelled, thanks to the stupidly improper archival practices of the fourth century. Harry Potter is there to save the day, but Draco isn’t going to give in to his help so easily. Fortunately, the method of saving might be more satisfactory than Draco expected this time.

The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy (ao3) - magpie_fngrl Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Justin Finch/Fletchley/Harry E, 37k

Summary: Zacharias Smith writes a tell-all about the D.A. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are not happy about it.

The Sun and the Moon (ao3) - Silverlynings Draco/Harry M, 78k

Summary: After the age of thirteen a simple touch can mean the blossoming of a soul-mark and the beginning of an impossible to ignore relationship. Starting in the beginning of fourth year, Harry's life is about to get a lot crazier than he ever imagined. On top of the Triwizard Tournament Harry will have to tackle handling a soul-bond with the last person he ever expected to bond with.

Unsinkable (ao3) - orphan_account Hermione/Draco T, 237k

Summary: After a fight gone wrong in the Department of Mysteries, sworn enemies Draco and Hermione are thrown into a mysterious pensive-like portal and come out the other side onto the RMS Titanic. In a race against time and without their wands, the unlikely duo will have to fight against the binds of their new identities as well as their animosity toward each other in order to survive.

What Happened to Draco Malfoy (ao3) - ghostlynimbus Draco/Harry E, 44k

Summary: Draco Malfoy has been missing since the end of the war. Harry has moved on, mostly.

But when, years later, Draco is found in an auror raid of an illegal omega trafficking ring both their lives are changed.

when evil blooms (ao3) - thedoomofvalyria Draco/Harry E, 83k

Summary: Harry wanted a normal 8th year, but the mysterious and beautiful flowers growing around the castle have other ideas. They're up to something. And so is Draco Malfoy.