three_broomsticks | Wizarding AU

Entry tags:

*meme

Wizarding AU

HARRY POTTER AU MEME

You're a wizard! Or perhaps you're a magical creature or a ghost. More importantly, where do your loyalties lie? Are you the Dark Lord or one of the Death Eaters? Perhaps you teach at Hogwarts or work at the ministry. Are you a member of the Order of Phoenix? Are you a student in Hogwarts? In which house did the Sorting Hat place you?

Leave a comment with your character's name and canon and your preferences in the title line. Then put down a few ideas about your character in your top level. Both AU characters and canon characters are welcome.

List of prompts: (Choose from these or make up your own.)

1. HOGWARTS
Are you a teacher or a student? Which house are you in? What subjects do you teach? Next week might be the most important quidditch match of the year and you're the team captain! Maybe you're the potions professor and someone just blew up their cauldron.

2. AURORS
Are you a trainee? The head Auror who has been dueling with dark wizards all your adult life? A dark wizard? Catch you if we can! Or maybe you're an auror breaking curses in a Death Eater safehouse.

3. DIAGON ALLEY
A bustling locale filled to the brim with wizarding shops and taverns. Are you a business owner? Perhaps you're a wand maker or a student buying your books for the next year in Hogwarts. Maybe you just want to get a shot of firewhiskey in the Three Broomsticks.

4. MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Do you work here? You could be in the Department of Mysteries, handling a new case about vanishing cabinets. Or maybe you work in the misuse of muggle artifacts office, dispelling singing teacups or flying cars. Is it a busy day, a slow week, or just another day in the office? Maybe you're one of the gossips who just heard of the newest bit of juicy gossip.

5. THE OLDEST AND PUREST BLOOD
Were you born to a pureblood family? Perhaps you're an heir of great, questionable fortune. Maybe you'd like nothing to do with your family who supports the Dark Lord. What if you fell in love with someone your family doesn't approve of? Or maybe both of your parents are muggle born and this is still all new to you.

6. FLYING
There are great many ways to fly: broomsticks, hippogriffs, dragons. Take your pick and soar through the skies!

7. DUELING/SPELL CASTING
What's the fun in being a wizard if you can't cast spells? Are you good at something specific? Do you use silent spells a lot? Perhaps you're the best dueler with a wand that's been seen for ages. Or maybe you're just starting out, and a spell just backfired in your face.

8. ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES
Did your spell go haywire? Did you stick a satsuma up your nostril? It happens. Happily there's a hospital for your needs. Or maybe you work there, healing all those poor and silly wizards who turn up in desperate need of your care.

9. AZKABAN
A fortress island in the middle of the Northern sea, full of the most dangerous dark wizards. Are you a resident, or visiting? Watch out for those dementors!

10. POTIONS
You brewed the best pick-me-up potion but something went wrong? Maybe you ended up purple in the face. Or you gave a love potion to the wrong person. Maybe you mixed your hangover potion with magical viagra? It happens. But now you have to deal with it.

11. MAGICAL CREATURES
Do you work with dragons? Perhaps you have some giant blood in you. Or maybe you were bit by a werewolf and your first full moon is nearing. Maybe you found an injured unicorn. Or your house has become infested with boggarts.

12. WILD CARD
Come up your own scenario.

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[Phichit is a 4th year Slytherin student and one of the Quidditch team's Chasers. He's one of the few students who is very much the opposite of his house's "image" -- while he is a Pureblood, he's one of the kindest kids at Hogwarts, and makes friends with pretty much everyone regardless of their House or blood status. He seems somewhat naive, still totally in love with all the new magic he learns, but he can also be quite sneaky, especially when it comes to pushing his friends out of their comfort zones!]

[ BODYSLAMS IN HERE ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT: First-Year Hufflepuff; Pureblood (mixed from Light and Dark lines, of course; complicated family life). His Sorting was a surprise to nearly everyone; bets were totally on Slytherin. Hyper-competitive, incredibly skilled in battle magic, and arrogant -- all of which gets him into plenty of trouble. Struggles with friendship, and tends to be a loner. Favorite class is Care of Magical Creatures, though he'll never admit it. Totally not raising an orphaned behemoth bat-creature off in the Forbidden Forest. ]

Come at me with your ideas! :D

[5th year Ravenclaw, of course. Is a Quidditch keeper, because he appreciates having that tactical view of the arena. Is available for tutoring if you find him in the library/common room and annoy him enough.]

1st year 'Puff or Gryf, very quiet and completely fearless with flying and magical creatures.

[Fourth year Slytherin, is a model student mostly because she never gets caught with her weird magic/science experiments she does after dark. Muggle technology enthusiast. Thinks Wizards are silly for writing them off when their technology is, at this point, as powerful as magic in many ways. Will find a way to get wifi to the castle if it kills her.]

[Gryffindor, sixth year, prefect. Orphaned during the Second Wizarding War and adopted (along with her brother) by Michael and Stacy Mason, famous both for their work helping Potterwatch and now as reporters in some of the new alternate Wizarding media. Georgia is starting her own Hogwarts paper.]

[The angriest Hufflepuff. Fifth year. Spends a lot of time doing research in the forbidden section of the library and fighting with people who call him short.]

[Seventh year, Gryffindor. Falls asleep in class a lot.]

[ Small, quiet Cassandra Davies was of uncertain blood - she'd been found at around the age of seven wandering the streets in Holyhead, Wales as the sun rose, covered in blood. She'd been taken in by a young witch despite the uncertainty of her heritage and the concerns of the rest of the community.

She'd been mute when they found her, though no one was entirely sure if it was physiological or psychological. She hadn't spoken during the four years she spent growing up in Holyhead, but she'd proven a smart, curious child. She seemed intrigued by both magical and muggle society, so her heritage was even further muddied. Still, she had proven good at going invisible in shadows, usually accidentally, so they knew she had magic.

Come age 11, she had received her Hogwarts letter, and been sorted into Gryffindor, still without speaking a word. It made her a bit of an oddity at school, even now in her third year, but she didn't seem bothered, most of the time. She'd made the Quiddich team her second year - a natural at flying, with a surprisingly strong arm, made her a terrifying beater - and was at least passing all her classes that didn't require casting spells. She was a bit behind in both Transfiguration and Charms, due to her silence, but seemed to be starting to develop reliable unspoken magic. Still, it meant she was still in both classes with the first years, on a special dispensation from the headmaster.

There was, understandably, a fair amount of gossip about her. She didn't seem to notice it, but it was well known that one shouldn't bully her, either - she'd dealt with a couple of unfriendly Slytherins and upper-classmen in her own house when she was a first year with very well-placed and unseen-by-the-teachers hits to sensitive places, and her wide innocent eyes got her out of trouble quite easily, at least that first year. Even so, she doesn't really have any friends in her House, and her only friend is a fifth year who is so deep already into studying for her OWLs that she doesn't really have time to spend with her.

Cassandra's a third year now, but even the younger kids will probably have heard of her by now. Especially since she takes Charms with one class (Gryffindor and Ravenclaw) and Transfiguration with another (Slytherin and Hufflepuff).

AND NOW THAT THE NARRATION HAS RAMBLED FOR FAR TOO LONG...

She's currently sitting at a table in a study area, with her wand out and a teacup in front of her, trying to transfigure it. It's not working out very well. (A couple of nearby Ravenclaw second years are sniggering at her attempts.) ]

Edited (whoops surname needed, especially since I changed it bc i'm weird that way) 2017-01-22 01:51 (UTC)

[ The stacks have little to offer him. Nosing through the titles, scanning the pages, there's nothing of what he's looking for. Even the Groundskeeper's suggestions--

(offered, unawares, with Damian careful not to show his true intentions)

--bore no fruit.

Bestiarium Magicum, The Encyclopedia of Bat Eyes... Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them... Marauding with Monsters (ugh, useless tripe)... His patience, what little of it exists, is wearing thin. And those blasted giggles aren't helping; every malicious little faux-whisper, directed at the Davies girl, grates at his focus.

Enough.

His books drop to the table with a heavy slam. Damian Wayne, first-year Hufflepuff and (rumored) ill-conceived scion to the Pureblood House of Wayne, takes his seat at the table across from Cassandra with noisy aplomb and the screech of wood dragging against stone.

The sniggering Ravenclaws are startled into silence, even before the weight of Madame Pince's disapproving stare rests on them all from her desk.

Damian, however, acts as if he notices none of this, primly flipping open the topmost book with a click of his tongue -- what might be either an acknowledgment of her existence, or a general sound of disdain. Perhaps both. ]

[ Cassandra starts when he sits down with such an audible display, and shoots a chagrined look at Madame Pince - despite the fact that she hadn't made a sound. She's not used to people sitting with her intentionally, other than Brown, and never so pointedly.

She shoots a quick sideways glance at the Ravenclaws, now with their noses in their books, pretending they hadn't even noticed Cassandra or the Hufflepuff firstie that had sat down with her. (She knows who he is, of course, but she tries not to listen to gossip and rumors. Even though she hears pretty much all of them.)

She looks back at him and gives him a small, tight smile. It's pretty clear, in that split second before she turns her attention back to her teacup, that she's more bothered by the Ravenclaws than she was letting on.

It's hard, to be 13 and (nearly) friendless and strange, even among wizards.

She gestures with her wand, and the teacup rattles slightly on the tabletop, turning a nice shade of bronze but otherwise not changing, and certainly not changing into the brass inkwell they're to be tested on at the end of the week. She lets out a little huff of a sigh and droops a bit. ]

[ His pokerface is well-crafted, as if it might well be total coincidence that he so aggressively staked his claim on this table. But she receives a glance up from under his lashes at her smile -- then, just as quickly, he looks back down to his text, something like embarrassment heating his face as he ducks over the pages.

Focus. Find the information he needs. There has to be something in one of these books, but no matter what he guesses (dire bats, dragons, griffins?) nothing turns up at all.

Nothing like Goliath--

He huffs out an annoyed breath at her next failed attempt, distracted all the same, and reaches out to stop her wand, mid-flick, with a bat of the back of his hand. ]

Your form is acceptable. It's intent. You're asking the cup too nicely to change its nature -- tell it to change, and expect nothing less than full obedience.

[ Transfiguration is simply an expression of mastery; of taming; of mind over matter. It's all the same, whether you're lacking wand, or voice, or both. ]

[ She stares, wide-eyed, as he speaks. It's one thing for someone to make a silent (well, non-verbal, anyway) point to bullies, it's another for probably the best first year transfiguration student to be giving her advice.

Specifically advice that has nothing to do with "maybe if you just spoke", that's the advice she always gets.

She meets his eyes over her wand for a long moment, then looks back to the teacup. She's asking too nicely? Well. She takes a moment, thinks of the sniggering Ravenclaws, how much she wants to tell them to shut up, and tries to channel that force and demandingness into the teacup.

It turns into a bronze inkwell. It still has a noticeable china pattern on it, but it's a bronze inkwell. A slow grin spreads across her face.

She pockets her wand and grabs a scrap of parchment, and her self-inking quill, and scribbles for a moment before pushing the scrap across the table to her tablemate. ]

Thank you! No one ever put it that way before.

What are you having trouble finding? I'm not bad at CoMC, maybe I can help.

[ Hm. She's writing something. His stare, sharp, curious, watches as she scribbles away, and he takes the scrap when it's pushed over to him, giving it a quick read. Followed by a haughty sniff -- a little bit of preening.

Damian prides himself on his observational skills: when he's right, he's right. ]

Magic has more to do with personality than instructors care to emphasize.

[ There was a time when wizards had neither spells nor wands, and they still managed just fine. In that same vein, there's very little that's accidental about a young wizard's 'accidental' magic. Damian, for instance, at the tender age of five, had fully intended to turn his uncle Dusan into a snake, and so it simply happened. ]

I am... attempting to identify a species.

[ Carefully making no mention of why, or where he's seen it, of course. ]

It could be a crossbreed. Or something else. Here--

[ The boy picks up his own quill, adding a quick, rough sketch to the scrap of paper before he slides it back over to her: something similar to, but not quite, a manbat; with a squashed, dog-like face, bat ears, dragon-esque wings, and a stubby tail. Cute, in a strange way. And surprisingly detailed. ]

[ Cassandra purses her lips slightly, looking at the drawing. That is a very specific, very detailed drawing. But she's not questioning why. Not yet. She's just trying to think.

She does a lot of extra credit work, and a lot of reading, and has seen at least the spine of almost every book in the library. The properly restricted section is, of course, off-limits, but there are some books that are reserved for the older students only, except by a teacher's request. She's brought in her fair share of notes for Madame Pince from various teachers, over the past two years and change.

She takes out a new piece of parchment - note-sized but not torn - and very very carefully begins to write. If Damian looks carefully, he might recognize a near-perfect imitation of the handwriting of their Care of Magical Creatures professor. She lists a few titles she knows off the top of her head, of more obscure magical creature books, usually unnecessary for the younger students.

She doesn't bother signing it, having brought in enough notes before to know that would give away the game, then sets her quill down, stands up, winks - cheekily, even - at Damian, and walks to Madame Pince's desk.

She hands the note over with a small smile and waits. Madame Pince looks it over, then retrieves four books from high shelves behind the desk, hands them off to Cassandra, and returns to whatever it is she was doing.

Cassandra returns with a triumphant smile. These books might not help, but it'll be more resources to pull from than he had before, right? She sets two in front of him and takes two for herself, immediately beginning to flip through the top one without even a moment's pause. ]

[ Hogwarts, the safest place in the wizarding world? Please.

Stepping back onto the school grounds for the first time in decades, John immediately had the all the old things that his co-Slytherins used to say racketing around his mind once more. Most of it a... let's say healthy skepticism about the structure of magical society.

He was always a unique case, John, which was what the teachers would say when he was in earshot and they were too stuck in old, stiff British politeness to just say "hopeless case", which was the truth. There weren't many muggle-borns that had been deemed worthy of the serpent's house, and none of them ever coped with it with John's particular style. His "particular style" being to learn the darkest, oldest, creepiest darkest magic he could to spite his peers. Still, being one of the most singularity hated students in the school's history afforded him a particular perspective on political matters. On one side was a thinly-veiled rise of what John could only describe as "wizard nazis", on the other was a charismatic patriarch whom saw the world as pieces on a chess board, including the school of children he presided over. Which was why the moment John had finished his studies, he took his demons (internal and literal) and fucked off as far from the rest of Britain's magical society as he could get, contenting himself to dabble pettily in occult nonsense.

Until a certain patriarch with his white beard and twinkling eyes found John again one day in a London pub.

Dumbledore had not troubled himself to mention that he'd come to interview John for a job, but it was obvious enough with all the faux-concerned questions about his "safety". More like everyone else's safety. More like the old man wanted on his side the wild card, the agitator, the mudblood who knew dark spells that would make You-Know-Who blush.

Even John wasn't sure why he'd folded and sold out to the old man. But it was getting harder to find suitable candidates to teach Defense. Maybe he could be a walking cautionary tale, his very existence a deterrence from any other brats who might want to give the Dark Arts a spin. His job had only become more of a pain when he'd received a considerable pile of gold from the Wayne and Al-Ghul clans with a strongly-worded "request" to provide private advanced lessons for Damian.

Today's lesson, Patronuses. Might as well try stuff the kid is halfway-likely to use. Plus watching him try to come up with happy memories would be bloody hilarious. ]

Mind yer' wand technique. Clutch that stick any tighter and it's like to snap, mate.

[Hufflepuff, fourth year. Tiny but stubbornly determined Seeker on his House Quidditch team. Frequently does better in practice than in the actual match, getting performance anxiety with the whole school coming out to watch. Probably has like one or two others he considers to actually be friends, even if he's pretty much friendly with everyone.]

[ Now what is she up to?

He's not foolish enough to spin around in his seat and gawk, giving her play away, but he turns his head to watch from the corner of his eye as Davies waltzes up to Madame Pince, handing the note over. She looks like butter wouldn't even melt in her mouth; silvertongued, despite never speaking a word. Pince doesn't even question the validity of the note, pulling the requested titles out for her perusal.

He is, grudgingly, impressed. Upon her return, his eyebrow is quirked, and something like a smirk tugs at his lips, even as he turns the pages of his new text. It's an older volume, bound in dragonskin, with yellowed and smudged pages. Much more promising, this one, delving far deeper into the taxonomy of more exotic magical creatures, beasts of remote locations or unique existence. ]

How Slytherin of you, Davies. It makes me wonder if the Sorting Hat must be going senile in its old age.

[ Coming from a Wayne, it's a compliment. He's thumbing through region-specific species. First the United Kingdom, then the Netherlands, over to India, down to Bialya-- ]

--a ha.

[ The quiet exclamation that says he thinks he's found it. Excitement overtakes him a little, caught up in the discovery, and he turns the book her way to share, tapping the page. ]

Behemoth. Guardian beasts of the hidden royal tombs, and of the Sceptre of Kings.

[ The information on them is sparse, but the accompanying illustration matches Damian's sketch -- depicting a giant cross between a bat and a dragon, large enough to swallow a man whole. And, from the summary, the creatures were considered all but extinct, even mythological, same as the magical item they were said to protect; a forgotten note in a history book, and not something Damian would have simply stumbled across. ]

[ Damian Wayne, scion to the Houses of Wayne and al Ghul, pedigree Pureblood and a boy with stunning aptitude for battle magic, has long since run out of patience. The well is dry. Every attempt, he inches closer to an outright tantrum. At this moment there's a snarl on his face, wand--

(hawthorn wood, phoenix feather core, 12.75 inches and reasonably supple in flexibility)

--clenched tightly in his fist. Chances are, Damian's temper will snap long before his wand does, however. ]

My technique is fine!

[ As is his pronunciation, his posture, the force of his will, and nothing has come of it except for the faintest whisp of silver. As good as failure, and a slap in the face for a boy who considers himself to be superior at magical skill. ]

Why isn't it working?

[ Because the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul would, without a doubt, be scraping the bottom of the barrel for a happy memory strong enough to be a talisman. No surprise there to anyone who knows anything about that family history. ]

[ Cassandra leans over, peering intently at the book, and lets out a tiny, soft, "oh." It's barely audible, but it's definitely more than an exhalation of air. She doesn't seem to have noticed, though, as she intently reads the section in the book.

She sits back after a moment, taking the scrap parchment again. ]

Does that help?

[ His stare jerks up, a little, at the noise. Everyone said that the Davies girl couldn't speak, couldn't make a sound at all, but then again, everyone else was stupid.

It's no business of his, of course. Still, he's somehow pleased by it anyway. ]

Yes. Sort of.

[ He's looking at the illustration with furrowed brow, now, reading and re-reading the scant amount of information on the creatures. It's something, but it doesn't even begin to cover the scope of questions he has.

More practical things. Care. Feeding-- ]

What do you think a creature like that would eat? A true carnivore?

[ Completely offhanded, as if it's just a casual, passing curiosity. ]

[ She gives him a long, shrewd look, but doesn't call him on his totally casual curiosity. ]

Raw meat. Some with bones in. We always fed the dogs stuff with uncooked bones, it's good for them, the farmers said.

[ She pauses before pushing the note towards him, then adds ]

We can get some from the kitchen probably.

[ She gets a shrewd look right back, weighty, calculating. A little like a game of chess -- only with trust. His eyebrows raise, cool, even as his thumb fiddles with the edge of the slip. ]

I suppose we could. Hypothetically.

[ The house elves don't often ask questions, and Hufflepuff's common room is right next to the kitchens. Conveniently located. ]

...tell me, Davies, would you fancy a picnic some evening? Out on the grounds?

[ His tone -- still oh-so-very-casual -- makes it clear that this is an invitation amongst thieves: her, him, a basketful of raw meat, and a stolen trip out to the Forbidden Forest. Breaking the rules together is the only hand of friendship he knows how to extend. ]

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