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[Dec. 9th, 2010|10:15 pm]

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Andrew Radcliffe, called Drew was wandering around Hogwarts in the gray dawn that followed the Yule Ball. The party this year had been exceptionally bright and shiny and happy, considering that the Wizarding World hadn't had much to celebrate recently. Drew was of the opinion that the professors had deliberately looked past things that they otherwise would have caused punishments to rain down.

He'd already run into several fourth years who had gotten intoxicated, and he didn't relish the people who would need to clean it up. As he walked, he scratched his fingers against the thick sheet of parchment that was folded into an envelope into his pocket. The wax seal was thick and it felt official against his thumb. He hoped she'd love it. He thought she would.

Now he loitered outside the Slytherin common room, waiting for someone to let him in. He'd left Morgana's side for a moment, needing to go and get her present; it wasn't something that he'd wanted to keep in his pocket all night--if he'd hurt it or lost it he'd be angry as hell with himself. But now that he could give it for her, he smirked, and his eyes sparkled.

She'd love this; he knew she would. Well, he hoped so.
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[Nov. 24th, 2010|10:00 pm]

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A place had been found at last, with room enough for Michael, herself, Thomas and the Emma. It still seemed odd to think of them in that way, but their life had somehow formed a family unit in the middle of all of this uncertainty and worry. And happiness, despite everything she had learned and how she was certain that she was blowing up like a balloon at a muggle child's party, she felt happy. After so many years of everything being laced with danger and swollen with worry, it was odd to have a just state of contentment and not running with fear of one's life. Of course after so long, it wasn't as if they were idle; Michael had been spending much of his time working on breaking the spell, reading whatever he could get his hands on that might have merit, and Wicca herself had been taking on the daunting task of packing.

It was odd in some ways to go through her things from so many years of just having them here. Most of her time living Wicca had simply lived in her office and her flat had been nothing more than a place to sleep, eat and occasionally shag Michael, but since everything had happened the it had somehow become home, and now she was packing up to move twice essentially. There was the place for the four of them, and then there was the trip to Hogwarts which really was the place that Wicca had called home for most of her life. In some ways, it was if they were simply stepping into her father's life. Thankfully they weren't going to be moving into his cottage, because that would be even more weird than how their life already was.

So now Wicca stood in front of her shelves, her wand wrapped between two fingers and tapping against her lip. She'd gotten into the habit of clothing that had been a bit baggy, hoping to camouflage her pregnancy for as long as she could. There was no shame in the fact that she was having Michael Potter's child, and Emma had definitely been conceived after the shooting... but she didn't want their to be those awkward questions and she didn't want to watch people could backwards in their head and then have their judgements waiting on her. Several books went flying into the crate at her feet, and several others went into a pile. Wicca's book selection was no where near as helpful as Michael's but anything that seemed like it might even have the least bit of importance was in the crate, and everything else could be dealt with at the other house.

She hummed softly and her other hand rested against her stomach. The formally flatness was rounding the smallest bit now, and it was odd to feel that hardness and know that their daughter was growing inside her.
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[May. 4th, 2009|11:37 am]

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Albus knew that Voldemort wasn't gone. Oh, Tom Riddle was gone for now, but even as a lad the boy had more plans and plots then most grown men did. Tom was waiting, biding his time for something to happen, and when it did happen, it would be big. Dumbledore stroked Fawkes' plumage, his hand moving down the birds neck as he considered. So many things had happened since Voldemort was supposed to be gone, it seemed like it had been years when it had only been a few short months.

Hogwarts was quiet now, it was all long shadows and sleeps. Winter had tucked it in at last, and if he looked out the window of his office, he would see the grounds coated in white. There was something about a good snow that had always made him retrospective, and he was especially feeling it tonight. A letter had been started, and it was sitting on the desk in front of him, half finished. The words were looked over his crescent glasses, and he wondered if perhaps he should have made this offer long ago, instead of waiting for Michael Potter to become injured.

He remembered Michael Potter as the brilliant boy who was polite and yet bored. Albus had wanted to keep him at Hogwarts long enough to instill in him something that would protect him from Lord Voldemort's winning ways. Tom would see a kinship with Michael Potter, there was no doubt about that, but he had hoped that if he was kept safe here at Hogwarts, then the concept of being on the right side would be enough to protect him once he was outside. It worked; Michael had become the top auror at the ministry, and now he was going to offer the man another job where he could do just as much good, if not more: the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship.

It was sad how it was coming to this, though. Everyone had heard the story about how Michael had been shot, and he had heard the details about how it had been dark magic which had influenced her to do so. Sebastian had informed Albus of all of this as if he didn't already have the insider information. Albus had been worried about Thomas Potter; and he was reminded of his thought that he should have gotten closer to the boy, especially if he had his father's talent. Any thought of closeness had been taken however, by the war that was being raged, and especially by the losses and betrayals within the Order.

Dumbledore's thoughts turned, not for the first time or for the last, to Sirius Black. He had thought about the man often since Halloween, and even more so since Wicca had been writing to him in an effort to try and get Black a trial. He agreed with her, Sirius Black should have a trial, but the fact that Albus himself had given evidence that two days before James had informed him of Sirius being his secret keeper... that it probably wouldn't change anything. And now Wicca had been thrown off her job, and was living with Michael Potter. Funny how all of these things connected.

He sat up, after a moment, and picked up the sugar quill again, touching the feathered tip to his lips. The parchment was brushed briefly, and he started once more.


I have heard that you are planning on retiring from the Auror department. Have you considered teaching? Come and have tea with me. How's tomorrow at four?

Warm Wishes,
Albus Dumbledore.

There, this note was much shorter and more to the point, and that worked better somehow. The note was sealed with his symbol, and he attached it to Fawkes' leg, sending him to find Michael at Wicca Bridgewater's flat.
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[Aug. 20th, 2008|10:21 am]

James Potter always gave Lily Evans lilies. The first lily had been clumsy pulled from the frail air with no smell and a too big head that wobbled on a weak stem. The lily was white tipped with with the same shade as her copper hair. He had been so unable to concentrate on making it (his attention was on the fact that she had finally said yes to going with him and how she looked with her hair like that) that when she touched it the petals had fallen off like snow around her. The second one was better. Every morning at breakfast, no matter what the season or hour there was a lily waiting at the side of her plate and his grin sitting next to her.

Granted, his obsession for being able to give Lily lilies meant that he needed to become better at it. Sirius thought it was grandly amusing, and Lupin used a word that sounded suspiciously like a cough described 'whipped' more then once, but he was able by the end of the month he had mastered the ability to produce all sizes, shapes, colors and types of lilies as well as having the ability to charm regular ones. He turned lilies into rainbows and crimson, he made them sing... he made them talk...

The morning of their wedding, James and Sirius had stood outside Lily's room and floated lilies into her room by the thousands, so that when she woke up the room would be filled with flowers that sang 'Lily in the sky with diamonds'. His thoughts wandered, as he wandered home. Sirius always seemed to accuse him of being a lightweight when it came to fire-whiskey...and maybe he was. After the second or third glass, he found himself rather bouncy and the words tumbled from his mouth without any sort of order or meaning.

He liked it, but he was worried about one Mister. P. Foot. Without Moony, Sirius always seemed shrunken and it worried James. So, he tried to spend as much time with his mate as he could until Moony could get back from doing whatever Dumbledore had sent him to do. So, he drank far too much, and ended up stumbling out the steps to Sirius's flat and down the street in the early hours of the morning. Today the hour was earlier (or later) then most. Four glasses of fire-whiskey, and James had almost felt (been) sick. He had been too unfocused to try and aperate (Merlin knew he might end up spliching himself, and that would be embarrassing.)

So when the first blue rays of dawn were filling the sky as he started walking down the street, he grinned a bit, and his fingers moved through his hair, poofing it up. His steps rambled as he headed to the flat that he knew was a short distance from Sirius's...if he could only find it. The smell of lilies caught him and he closed his eyes below his glasses before he followed his nose to the flower stand that was putting out it's wares. “I'll buy them all,” he said to the surprised looking muggle. “All the lilies.” He reached into his pocket, and he fumbled for the hundred dollar bill he always kept folded deep down inside. Oh, he had to find a few things first; there was the money bag with the real money, a snitch, a bag of bertie botts and his wand.

The hundred dollars was enough for the muggle not to protest when James filled his arms with the soaking wet flowers, the bundle of the mix almost as big as his arm span. His face burrowed into the petals, and he inhaled deeply. There now, he could find his way home. It was only two streets down and too the left! A rather large grin moved over his face as he headed in that direction. One he was back on wizarding streets (blimey, he had been lost hadn't he?) he climbed up the stairs and looked at the flowers again. They really could do with some improvements poor things.

Like this one, it really should be the color of Lily's eyes. He touched his wand to it, and the charm turned the white the precise jade. He frowned, and then the color shifted to her hair, and alternated between the two. Wait, he liked the white a well. Another flick of his wand and he added a third layer of color, the run to the white. He leaned back against the door, his head hitting it with a solid crack as he moved his wand over to the next lily. Purple, he decided. Lily liked purple.
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[Aug. 9th, 2008|12:34 pm]

If someone had told her about all of the paperwork involved in being auror when they sprouted out about the glory of the hunt and the greater good, Wicca Bridgewater probably would have reconsidered her career choices. A low sigh and a cocking of her neck pulled her from the pages that were before her. On nights like this, it was easy to believe that the Ministry required five forms filled out in triplicate and sealed with the Ministry's seal every time an auror managed to place one toe out of the office. Wicca was the sort of auror who managed to place off her paperwork until she absolutely needed to do it, and by that point she normally had a pile of it to be done.

Which was, of course while she was here this late. Purple socked feet wiggled against the top of her cluttered desk, and a roll of parchment was laying in her lap. Really, she was trying to focus, but sometimes focusing just seemed so hard and so far away. Her hands wrapped around the mug that contained her fifth or sixth cup of coffee, and in the space free between her fingers, the mug scrawled things in a hand that was more akin to a horror movie then anything else. 'I would step over your dead body for my coffee.' Sebastian Bridgewater had thought it was in very bad taste when she picked it up at the joke shop, but Wicca needed something to make the place where she spent most of her time feel like home.

If it wasn't for the space issue, Wicca probably would have moved into the Ministry. All of her time was spent here or out on missions for here, and the flat on Kingly Street never seemed more then a passing memory, or a dark box in which she managed to grab three or four hours of sleep every once in a great while. So, the standard hundred centimeters of the desk served as home. Somewhere below the paperwork were the three pieces of personality she allowed herself. On the upper corner of her desk, near the outside was a small cactus that was shifting into a sickly yellow. Her friends at school had always joked about her Black thumb in herbology, but someday she would eventually overcome that.

The second piece of home on the desk was a rather large chunk of raw Amethyst that was well worn from being rolled between her fingers. A nervous twitch, her father had called it, rather like sucking on her hair when she was a kid. He despaired of her ever not having nervous twitches, and the fact that she was imprinting the crystal had lead to the third piece of home on her desk. It was actually in a space that was relatively clear of clutter. Her father had found it in some sort of muggle shop and had given it to her. The consistency was a bit like...well, it was hard to describe, but it was called a stress ball and one was meant to squeeze it when things got a bit dicey. Wicca found that it worked, mostly because it amused her. It had been passed around the office more then a few times. Raven Rookwood across the way was rather fond of it, and Wicca had needed to nick it back from her more the once.

A loud humming followed before she picked up her wand and held it in one hand, sipping coffee with the other as she tried to get some of this damned paperwork done.
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[Aug. 4th, 2008|07:24 pm]

[Current Music |Sonata Artica-Full Moon]

Two moons. Twice the moon had come to call on him, and still the thought ripped through his mind as claws tore through his skin. Twice he had changed, feeling bones snap and reform, skin stretching and fur sprouting and he wished that someone else could feel his pain. Twice his unpure blood had spilled onto the ground of the shrieking shack and he had fought it, fought his thoughts before he had decided that he would do this. If her blood was so pure, then he would make it better. It was a fitting end for the bitch, and he would make it something that she would regret for the rest of her useless life.

But for right now, vengeance was what was keeping him together as he sagged slightly against the weight of la lune. It was there, rising and pressing against him, calling him like a siren. She was the one he loved and hated, and he could feel the sweat moving against his forehead as the skin became increasingly tighter and the world became less comfortable for him then it normally was. He paced back and forth, arms swinging widely at his sides. His muscles needed to move they would atrophy. Already the movements felt tighter as his arms weren't meant to swing that way.

Shoulders rolled forward, and he was panting through his mouth now as he paced behind Sirius. His fingers crooked into claws that wouldn't release, and he could feel the bones that were melding together against his will. It was sheer aderlaine and power that was holding back the change, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could do it. “Hurry.” He growled the words, curling his tongue around them. His tongue felt too thick and it flicked against teeth that were too heavy to be entirely human anymore. “Hurry, he urged again and he swallowed a bit as he leaned his stomach against the railing.
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Forever burdened with the knowledge, I should have been so much more. [Jul. 31st, 2008|04:38 pm]

[Current Music |Brudershaft]

Hogwarts always had become a home for lost little boys. There was something about the magical halls and the feeling of power flowing from the building through your wand and into your head. Hogwarts always had secrets to discover, and it always had new thing to teach. Well, that was the thing about a school, he supposed. And Hogwarts had never ceased to teach him things. Right now it was teaching him that Dumbledore was onto his little games, and that he would never allow him to be a teacher at Hogwarts. Oh well, there were other things that the little visit had taught him.

The Black family had become a great disappointment to him, other then the possibility of Bellatrix someday deciding to settle down. The Black boys were seemingly going to be completely pointless, with everything that their hag mother had put them through, and Narcissa was already promised to be a good little dark wife. Voldemort had given up on hope of someday finding someone from the Black family for a small plan he had in the back of his mind..it wouldn't work with only three families... but as he was walking through the halls he saw someone who could only be a Black.

It took him two days to speak to Lucius and to get the dirt on the boy who had an entirely different name. Oh, he may have been a Potter too (filthy blood traitors), but there was no doubt he was a Black as well. Voldemort smiled his thin snake smile as he read about the Potter boy's accomplishments. He was brilliant, and Voldemort could almost see the power that irradiated from him. Hogwarts had become another home for a lost little boy who was so much more then a Prefect and a boy who had received perfect OWL scores.

The more scrounging through the past and the reports from teachers, the more he was learning about this boy. Gift, brilliant and without a doubt looking for something. He remembered his sixth year, how completely bored and pointless it was. He had plenty of time for independent study and for finding the Chamber of Secrets...but most of the time was spent simply thinking of the days when he would be free and performing what small plans he could get away with below the hooked nose of Albus Dumbledore. If it wasn't for the Chamber, all of his research into spells would have been pushed back by a year.

Somehow he doubted that Michael Potter was spending his year so productively. Well, at least not yet. He felt a kinship to the boy, and he looked towards the calendar. He was sure, like so many boys before him, that Michael was going to be spending the the Christmas holidays alone at Hogwarts with what simpering professors managed to spend too much time with their work. Well, that wouldn't do for Michael Black, it simply wouldn't. No, he had a much better plan, and a much better destiny.

A hand absently moved to the small snake that was curled around his wrist. Someday, she would grow up to be big and strong, but for right now she had just hatched from the egg. A small hiss was made to the serpent (she was always the best person to converse with) and one spidering finger crossed crookedly across her scales. “Yes, I think Yule will do quite nicely. Don't you, Nagini? It's quite fitting that two people without families should share a meal together.” The snake hissed softly in response before Voldemort's wand flicked out.

A thick piece of parchment appeared before him, grafted with the seal of the Gaunt family. He would have liked to use the seal of Slytherin, but it was too well known and he didn't the boy to get the idea that this was some sort of prank played by the more useless members of his House. He flicked his wand, and words appeared, engraving deep into the parchment, the words bleeding emerald green ink.

My dear boy,

Has Hogwarts lost it's luster yet? I know it did for me once I had scored my OWLs. It had lost it's luster even before then if I'm honest with myself. Still, it was always a place for me to learn, and to hone my skills. Being at Hogwarts showed me my true nature, Michael, and I suspect your time here will be equally so fruitful. I know you, I've sat where you're sitting now, in the library I imagine as all of your friends go home to parents who love them and tell them how special they are. I know you tell yourself it doesn't matter....but my
dear boy you are more special then any of them. I'm inviting you to spend Yule with me in my country estate and I do hope you will come. Enclosed is a portkey that will go active at midnight tomorrow. The ring is a legacy of your birthright, Michael...and just one of many.

I do hope I will see you,
Your friend,

The paper was charmed so that only Michael would be able to read it. The mentioned ring was platinum, and there was an emerald in it. The Black crest wound outside the stone, but the engraving was fading off and one needed to look very closely to see the seal with the words “toujours pur” along the inside of the circle. The ring could only be worn by the true Black heir...a fact he would explain to Michael when he came to dinner wearing the ring.

And Voldemort was certain that Michael would come. After all, he had spent his life knowing he was different, and now he would know why he had felt that way. The draw of knowing who you were and who you could be was an obsession. When he had been a boy, he had looked for his family with a passion, and he had found them...now he would save Michael from the need to look. “Soon, Nagini. Soon.” He cooed the words to his snake as the common owl came fluttering into the room. The parcel was sealed with magic and then it was released to Hogwarts.

In twenty-four hours, the boy's destiny would start to be realized, and it would be brilliant.
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