finnly.
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SOLEMNLY SWEAR
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Fandom [ 𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓶𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓻 ] (In Character)
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finnly.
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Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
Peter
Today was the day. All day Peter had been distracted worrying. Sweat seemed to pour down his back like a fountain and pool in his palms. He’d tried to focus on his classes. As if that ever worked. Even if he did manage to pay attention, nothing ever worked right. Today the words he clung to for a distraction seemed slippery and pointless. Instead Siri’s twitching would draw his attention again and again. The beautiful boy of course had no worries about the upcoming event. No, he was so eager he couldn’t keep still. By Transfiguration Peter had tried jinxing actual ants into the boy’s pants, but the spell failed, much to his frustration. He was just too nervous. And Padfoot’s emotions ran over any calming he attempted. There hadn’t been talk of anything else these past days. You would think he’d have had enough time to prepare for the idea, but instead as the countdown neared its end, his own nerves roared.
He wasn’t like Remus, who’d protested attending at all. He wanted to like these things. But he’d much prefer a night at the Three Broomsticks. Bodies packed in tightly, it was easy to get lost in the crowd, anonymous to all but his best friends. Then he could relax, lose himself to dancing. It was the only time his body felt free. It was a messy energy, betwitching in its ability to bring the crowd together. That was the kind of music Peter loved. He liked his fife, the spells he could cast on it, but he never felt the power those bands could create. Dances. Formal Hogwarts Dances were different. He lost the comfortable muggle clothes for starched robes. The Great Hall could easily hold everyone even without the age limit to attend. There was so much space Peter felt he stood out at every moment. It was impossible to get lost in the crowd. Every eye was on the Marauders, though he was always the afterthought for most of the student populace.
That was for the best. Yes, if he ever went to St. Mungo’s he would have to get used to attention, but let’s be honest, with his grades they’d never take him. Only Poppy would say anything positive about him. He was better in the background, keeping watch. He was best forgotten by everyone but his friends. That was why he was so nervous for this dance. He could actually stand out in the Great Hall, and then what’d he do? Freeze? Flee? Attention made him want to transform and find a safe nook with the other rats. Which was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.
So here he was, having stolen what felt like a pint of Siri’s antiperspirant. With a flick of his wand, he added a spell to make it last, at least until the after party. The charm easily left his wand without thought. Thankful, his nerves hadn’t ruined that, he left the bathroom. Nearing his bed, he tossed his wand onto it, then knelt beside his trunk. It was already open with Minnie, his kneazle having made a nest inside. She eyed him suspiciously. Sighing, he leaned backward and sat. “C’mon. You know what today is.” Slowing blinking at him, she said nothing. It spoke volumes. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. I just…” Kind of don’t want to go. “I’m going.” Reaching out, he lifted her, going, “Minnie” when she seemed to double in weight. Being 18lbs as it was, this message was blatant. Pulling her into his lap, he ran his fingers through her long fur, checking for knots. “I’ll be fine.” Meowing twice, she gracefully left his lap before launching herself onto the bed. Kneading his pillow into appropriate softness, she laid down, her eyes still on him. Somehow though, her attention made him feel safe. Or stronger.
He turned back to his trunk. It only held his clothes. He’d taken out the supplies for school and filled the provided desk with them. Still, he’d been in such a rush everyday this week that it was a mess. For a moment, he dug through the fabrics, pulling out school robes and sweatpants alike. With a grunt of frustration, he tipped his trunk, letting the clothes spill right out on the floor. Followed by ridiculous number of bottles of alcohol. Right. Remus had vetoed his trunk for the storage of tonight’s drinks. Well, they were unharmed by the fall, having been spelled unbreakable. On top of the pile of clothes were the dark blue robes his mother had picked out for him. Proper robes for the proper pureblood he was. He knew his mother was hoping he’d catch the eye of someone. She’d given up on him working at St. Mungo’s ages ago. She just wanted him to marry up.
Pulling the robes out of the pile, he flung them onto the foot of his bed, careful to miss Minnie, but covering up his wand. So he had to flip them over again to retrieve it. Standing up, he stretched then righted his trunk with his foot. Flicking his wand, he entoned, “Pack.” The bottles went in first. Then his clothes rose up together, folding themselves then laying neatly into the luggage. If only he weren’t so messy, he wouldn’t be so good at the charm.
Shaking his head, he laid out the wrinkled robes on his bed, running a hand down them in a futile attempt to smooth them. Magic it was, with another swish of his wand, the wrinkles were ironed out. He really would make an excellent househusband. He undressed from his school robes quickly, before pulling on the robes. They had enough frill to make a doll. “What do you think Minnie?” He spun for the kneazle. Then turned and focused on James, who’d evidently stolen a bottle from his trunk while he was in the bathroom. “Share you rotter.” Walking over, he drank a huge gulp from the bottle.
Today was the day. All day Peter had been distracted worrying. Sweat seemed to pour down his back like a fountain and pool in his palms. He’d tried to focus on his classes. As if that ever worked. Even if he did manage to pay attention, nothing ever worked right. Today the words he clung to for a distraction seemed slippery and pointless. Instead Siri’s twitching would draw his attention again and again. The beautiful boy of course had no worries about the upcoming event. No, he was so eager he couldn’t keep still. By Transfiguration Peter had tried jinxing actual ants into the boy’s pants, but the spell failed, much to his frustration. He was just too nervous. And Padfoot’s emotions ran over any calming he attempted. There hadn’t been talk of anything else these past days. You would think he’d have had enough time to prepare for the idea, but instead as the countdown neared its end, his own nerves roared.
He wasn’t like Remus, who’d protested attending at all. He wanted to like these things. But he’d much prefer a night at the Three Broomsticks. Bodies packed in tightly, it was easy to get lost in the crowd, anonymous to all but his best friends. Then he could relax, lose himself to dancing. It was the only time his body felt free. It was a messy energy, betwitching in its ability to bring the crowd together. That was the kind of music Peter loved. He liked his fife, the spells he could cast on it, but he never felt the power those bands could create. Dances. Formal Hogwarts Dances were different. He lost the comfortable muggle clothes for starched robes. The Great Hall could easily hold everyone even without the age limit to attend. There was so much space Peter felt he stood out at every moment. It was impossible to get lost in the crowd. Every eye was on the Marauders, though he was always the afterthought for most of the student populace.
That was for the best. Yes, if he ever went to St. Mungo’s he would have to get used to attention, but let’s be honest, with his grades they’d never take him. Only Poppy would say anything positive about him. He was better in the background, keeping watch. He was best forgotten by everyone but his friends. That was why he was so nervous for this dance. He could actually stand out in the Great Hall, and then what’d he do? Freeze? Flee? Attention made him want to transform and find a safe nook with the other rats. Which was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.
So here he was, having stolen what felt like a pint of Siri’s antiperspirant. With a flick of his wand, he added a spell to make it last, at least until the after party. The charm easily left his wand without thought. Thankful, his nerves hadn’t ruined that, he left the bathroom. Nearing his bed, he tossed his wand onto it, then knelt beside his trunk. It was already open with Minnie, his kneazle having made a nest inside. She eyed him suspiciously. Sighing, he leaned backward and sat. “C’mon. You know what today is.” Slowing blinking at him, she said nothing. It spoke volumes. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. I just…” Kind of don’t want to go. “I’m going.” Reaching out, he lifted her, going, “Minnie” when she seemed to double in weight. Being 18lbs as it was, this message was blatant. Pulling her into his lap, he ran his fingers through her long fur, checking for knots. “I’ll be fine.” Meowing twice, she gracefully left his lap before launching herself onto the bed. Kneading his pillow into appropriate softness, she laid down, her eyes still on him. Somehow though, her attention made him feel safe. Or stronger.
He turned back to his trunk. It only held his clothes. He’d taken out the supplies for school and filled the provided desk with them. Still, he’d been in such a rush everyday this week that it was a mess. For a moment, he dug through the fabrics, pulling out school robes and sweatpants alike. With a grunt of frustration, he tipped his trunk, letting the clothes spill right out on the floor. Followed by ridiculous number of bottles of alcohol. Right. Remus had vetoed his trunk for the storage of tonight’s drinks. Well, they were unharmed by the fall, having been spelled unbreakable. On top of the pile of clothes were the dark blue robes his mother had picked out for him. Proper robes for the proper pureblood he was. He knew his mother was hoping he’d catch the eye of someone. She’d given up on him working at St. Mungo’s ages ago. She just wanted him to marry up.
Pulling the robes out of the pile, he flung them onto the foot of his bed, careful to miss Minnie, but covering up his wand. So he had to flip them over again to retrieve it. Standing up, he stretched then righted his trunk with his foot. Flicking his wand, he entoned, “Pack.” The bottles went in first. Then his clothes rose up together, folding themselves then laying neatly into the luggage. If only he weren’t so messy, he wouldn’t be so good at the charm.
Shaking his head, he laid out the wrinkled robes on his bed, running a hand down them in a futile attempt to smooth them. Magic it was, with another swish of his wand, the wrinkles were ironed out. He really would make an excellent househusband. He undressed from his school robes quickly, before pulling on the robes. They had enough frill to make a doll. “What do you think Minnie?” He spun for the kneazle. Then turned and focused on James, who’d evidently stolen a bottle from his trunk while he was in the bathroom. “Share you rotter.” Walking over, he drank a huge gulp from the bottle.
Sirius had been ready since before they’d gotten out of Ghoul Studies. Considering he’d skipped the class to do so, that was reasonable. Well, as reasonable as Siri got. To be honest, Peter was just glad he was waiting downstairs, not up in the dormitory trying to dress each of them. He could imagine it. He was lucky the Gryffindor hadn’t tried to fix his hair.
Even knowing he’d borrowed some of that Bubotuber pus, so he couldn’t turn all of their arses green, Peter took the threat Siriusly. The boy was a ticking bomb, ready to explode on the dancefloor. If they didn’t get him there soon, he’d explode on them. “I’m heading down,” He called to Remus and James, before going down. Once he was in sight, he slowed his walk, taking the stairs as a debutante. “Lord Padfoot, how patient you’ve been.”
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Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
Severus
Severus stormed into the common room, his robes flaring behind him like wings. He did not pause, merely snapped, “Shut it Black” with a sneer as he passed the well-dressed boy. Casting a tempus, he silently snarled at the time. Immediately, he head to the stairs to his dormitory, taking them two at a time easily with his long legs. As he walked, he began to unbutton his robes. He knew he was late. He’d just finished up the diluted baneberry potion he’d created. Then he’d lost time taking notes on his observations. He hadn’t even had time to test it! Instead, he had to go to this inane dance, full of horny imbeciles, none of which wanted anything to do with him. Why Bartemius would want him there was a mystery he had yet to solve. The Death Eaters might have acknowledged his work, but he had no standing for the boy to curry. His unmatched strength in potions had made others attempt to bribe him, but if that was Barty’s goal then he was a fool. Still, Severus was well aware of his lack in regard to everything else.
Flinging the door open, he dropped his bag on his bed before sprinting to the bathroom, pulling his loosened robes over his head. Barty was still in there, dressed yet messing with his hair. Even on normal days, he would take an hour to fiddle with his hair. As if he wasn’t already attractive enough. He had everything. Sure, his father was an asshole, but he still had his influence. Rumor had it the Dark Lord wanted to recruit him. An honor the man may not have rejected, but he hadn’t accepted either. It made Severus furious. Meeting his eyes, he snapped, “I know,” before tossing his robes into the corner of the bathroom for the house elves. Stepping into the shower and jerking the curtain shut behind him, he finished undressing tossing his boxer shorts onto the pile of his robes. Then he turned on the water.
His shower was short, almost reminiscent of those at Spinner’s End, except for the warmth of the water. Experience had taught him efficiency. He was so grateful to Lucius to finally be free of that place. He was making income finally, now able to brew for those in the Dark Lord's circle. Most would not take his work without the Potions Newt, but it wasn't like Dumbledore would ever let a Slytherin take the test early. His mind occupied, his body worked on automatic.
He did wash his hair thoroughly, rinsing out the potion that protected it from the fumes of his experiments. It tended to make his hair look greasy, but Severus preferred to go utilitarian instead of fawning over himself like his fellow Slytherins. Still, he did not add it in after he washed his hair. Sticking a hand out from the curtain, he summoned a towel and wrapped it around his hips. It had been five minutes. His hair was already starting to curl without the weight of the potion. Severus ran a hand through it with a scowl. Shaking his head, he let a halo of droplets spread around him, before turning to leave.
Severus stormed into the common room, his robes flaring behind him like wings. He did not pause, merely snapped, “Shut it Black” with a sneer as he passed the well-dressed boy. Casting a tempus, he silently snarled at the time. Immediately, he head to the stairs to his dormitory, taking them two at a time easily with his long legs. As he walked, he began to unbutton his robes. He knew he was late. He’d just finished up the diluted baneberry potion he’d created. Then he’d lost time taking notes on his observations. He hadn’t even had time to test it! Instead, he had to go to this inane dance, full of horny imbeciles, none of which wanted anything to do with him. Why Bartemius would want him there was a mystery he had yet to solve. The Death Eaters might have acknowledged his work, but he had no standing for the boy to curry. His unmatched strength in potions had made others attempt to bribe him, but if that was Barty’s goal then he was a fool. Still, Severus was well aware of his lack in regard to everything else.
Flinging the door open, he dropped his bag on his bed before sprinting to the bathroom, pulling his loosened robes over his head. Barty was still in there, dressed yet messing with his hair. Even on normal days, he would take an hour to fiddle with his hair. As if he wasn’t already attractive enough. He had everything. Sure, his father was an asshole, but he still had his influence. Rumor had it the Dark Lord wanted to recruit him. An honor the man may not have rejected, but he hadn’t accepted either. It made Severus furious. Meeting his eyes, he snapped, “I know,” before tossing his robes into the corner of the bathroom for the house elves. Stepping into the shower and jerking the curtain shut behind him, he finished undressing tossing his boxer shorts onto the pile of his robes. Then he turned on the water.
His shower was short, almost reminiscent of those at Spinner’s End, except for the warmth of the water. Experience had taught him efficiency. He was so grateful to Lucius to finally be free of that place. He was making income finally, now able to brew for those in the Dark Lord's circle. Most would not take his work without the Potions Newt, but it wasn't like Dumbledore would ever let a Slytherin take the test early. His mind occupied, his body worked on automatic.
He did wash his hair thoroughly, rinsing out the potion that protected it from the fumes of his experiments. It tended to make his hair look greasy, but Severus preferred to go utilitarian instead of fawning over himself like his fellow Slytherins. Still, he did not add it in after he washed his hair. Sticking a hand out from the curtain, he summoned a towel and wrapped it around his hips. It had been five minutes. His hair was already starting to curl without the weight of the potion. Severus ran a hand through it with a scowl. Shaking his head, he let a halo of droplets spread around him, before turning to leave.
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izayoiix
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izayoiix
cяч мε α яıνεя
♡coded by uxie♡
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revalia
#𝖊𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖉
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kevin
𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖
♡coded by uxie♡
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revalia
#𝖊𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖉
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finnly.
macaroni enthusiast
♡coded by uxie♡
finnly.
macaroni enthusiast
♡coded by uxie♡
izayoiix
cяч мε α яıνεя
♡coded by uxie♡
Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
Peter
Melin, he’s as bad as Mother. Peter couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks, rising to the tips of his ears as Padfoot’s fingers brushed his neck. It brought up different feelings than when Mother did it though. He always felt small yet safe when the older boy did this. Almost like when he could snuggle into his canine form, lost amongst his fur. Warm, like a hug. He secretly loved that he cared enough to fix him.
Still, he probably should have checked the mirror before coming down. He was just in too much of a hurry. He was tense, the earlier banter not enough to calm his nerves. Rolling his eyes at Sirius’s quip—like he would want eyes on him—he stepped out of the way, further into the common room. Let Sirius be the welcoming committee. Peter leaned against the back of a couch, trying not to wipe his sweaty hands on his robes. He almost wanted to rush the others, just to get this over with. Surely this pressure building at the bottom of his throat would go away once he was in the Great Hall. Nothing left to anticipate, it couldn’t be too much worse than any other day he was late to breakfast and had to pass the full tables to get his saved seat. No one wanted to pay Pettigrew any attention. Not when he had the protection of Sirius and James to draw the eye. If nothing else, he could leave with Moony, using setting up the afterparty as an excuse. By his grumblings, as he came down the stairs, Peter couldn’t help but think he’d take the out.
Peter winced at the reminder of Prongs and Padfoot’s disaster with the alcohol. He would like it noted that he had no hand in destroying Dorcas’s books. He would have offered his trunk to begin with, knowing that McGonagall would assume the others either pressured him into doing so or as a prank on him. It wouldn’t have been too much of a loss in either case. Peter might blush easily, but he’d learned to use that tool, to blush on command. His bashful face had yet to fail him against the cat animagus. Sure, she thought he was a bullied idiot, but he’d reached the point of not caring. His fellow marauders cared, that was really all that mattered.
Oh, lovely, Dorcas heard. Peter was surprised she was giving them a chance. His childhood friend was kind down to her bones, but she was no pushover. She must not have been expecting it to survive their dorm. Which to be fair, was true enough. She came down the steps in a vivid orange dress that looked like it’d flare out into a circle if she spun fast enough. Not ridiculous at all. As Sirius spoke, he sidled around the young man to come up to her. “You look great. I like the coLOR,” Peter’s voice rose at the end in surprise as Evans raced past him. What was she doing so late? The head girl usually was as put together as a calendar. Well, if anyone could pull off fashionably late, it was her.
Looking back at his pair of friends, he sighed as he watched Sirius suddenly seemed to stop…he’d stepped back, probably to give everyone space as Dorcas came down as well, and just stop mid-sentence. Moonstruck again. Peter could, and did (to himself at least) admit his three friends were the hottest guys in Hogwarts. But as good as Remus looked in his blue suit, he still looked like Remus. Sirius just seemed to lose the plot every so often when the teen was in his vicinity. It was hilarious. Especially as Mr. Flirt if it Moves seemed so clueless. Peter glanced at Dorcas, rolling his eyes. Maybe they could set up a bet on how long it’d take Padfoot to figure it out. Then again, with Mary…
James interrupted his thoughts, falling down the steps he was so sloshed. The hypocrite. Sure, warn Peter not to drink too much. He should have stolen more of the whiskey. Still, he couldn’t help but laugh at him, “You have the worst vision at the best of times Prongs.” Turning to Remus, he finally answered his question, “You look fine. Don’t stress.”
And then Evans reappeared wearing a pale green dress that faded as it went down. Merlin, that was faster than even he took. So much for girls taking the longest (outside of Sirius.) He stepped away as she neared Dorcas, heading to his fellow Marauders’ side. There was an awful moment of panic when Lily referenced the punch. He’d left the alcohol in his trunk. How could he have forgotten it, even with his nerves? Then he remembered. That was Moony’s job. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he shook his head. He needed to get this over with. It was affecting him too much. Crossing the common room, he pushed the portrait open, then bowed like a butler, unfurling his arm, “Ladies first.”
Melin, he’s as bad as Mother. Peter couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks, rising to the tips of his ears as Padfoot’s fingers brushed his neck. It brought up different feelings than when Mother did it though. He always felt small yet safe when the older boy did this. Almost like when he could snuggle into his canine form, lost amongst his fur. Warm, like a hug. He secretly loved that he cared enough to fix him.
Still, he probably should have checked the mirror before coming down. He was just in too much of a hurry. He was tense, the earlier banter not enough to calm his nerves. Rolling his eyes at Sirius’s quip—like he would want eyes on him—he stepped out of the way, further into the common room. Let Sirius be the welcoming committee. Peter leaned against the back of a couch, trying not to wipe his sweaty hands on his robes. He almost wanted to rush the others, just to get this over with. Surely this pressure building at the bottom of his throat would go away once he was in the Great Hall. Nothing left to anticipate, it couldn’t be too much worse than any other day he was late to breakfast and had to pass the full tables to get his saved seat. No one wanted to pay Pettigrew any attention. Not when he had the protection of Sirius and James to draw the eye. If nothing else, he could leave with Moony, using setting up the afterparty as an excuse. By his grumblings, as he came down the stairs, Peter couldn’t help but think he’d take the out.
Peter winced at the reminder of Prongs and Padfoot’s disaster with the alcohol. He would like it noted that he had no hand in destroying Dorcas’s books. He would have offered his trunk to begin with, knowing that McGonagall would assume the others either pressured him into doing so or as a prank on him. It wouldn’t have been too much of a loss in either case. Peter might blush easily, but he’d learned to use that tool, to blush on command. His bashful face had yet to fail him against the cat animagus. Sure, she thought he was a bullied idiot, but he’d reached the point of not caring. His fellow marauders cared, that was really all that mattered.
Oh, lovely, Dorcas heard. Peter was surprised she was giving them a chance. His childhood friend was kind down to her bones, but she was no pushover. She must not have been expecting it to survive their dorm. Which to be fair, was true enough. She came down the steps in a vivid orange dress that looked like it’d flare out into a circle if she spun fast enough. Not ridiculous at all. As Sirius spoke, he sidled around the young man to come up to her. “You look great. I like the coLOR,” Peter’s voice rose at the end in surprise as Evans raced past him. What was she doing so late? The head girl usually was as put together as a calendar. Well, if anyone could pull off fashionably late, it was her.
Looking back at his pair of friends, he sighed as he watched Sirius suddenly seemed to stop…he’d stepped back, probably to give everyone space as Dorcas came down as well, and just stop mid-sentence. Moonstruck again. Peter could, and did (to himself at least) admit his three friends were the hottest guys in Hogwarts. But as good as Remus looked in his blue suit, he still looked like Remus. Sirius just seemed to lose the plot every so often when the teen was in his vicinity. It was hilarious. Especially as Mr. Flirt if it Moves seemed so clueless. Peter glanced at Dorcas, rolling his eyes. Maybe they could set up a bet on how long it’d take Padfoot to figure it out. Then again, with Mary…
James interrupted his thoughts, falling down the steps he was so sloshed. The hypocrite. Sure, warn Peter not to drink too much. He should have stolen more of the whiskey. Still, he couldn’t help but laugh at him, “You have the worst vision at the best of times Prongs.” Turning to Remus, he finally answered his question, “You look fine. Don’t stress.”
And then Evans reappeared wearing a pale green dress that faded as it went down. Merlin, that was faster than even he took. So much for girls taking the longest (outside of Sirius.) He stepped away as she neared Dorcas, heading to his fellow Marauders’ side. There was an awful moment of panic when Lily referenced the punch. He’d left the alcohol in his trunk. How could he have forgotten it, even with his nerves? Then he remembered. That was Moony’s job. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he shook his head. He needed to get this over with. It was affecting him too much. Crossing the common room, he pushed the portrait open, then bowed like a butler, unfurling his arm, “Ladies first.”
Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
Stopping at the bathroom’s entrance, Severus clenched his jaw, his face growing thunderous as he felt his magic darken. It was difficult to remember why he could not curse the fleeing boy. How dare he use that nickname. He hated it. Even before he’d only let Lil-EVANS use it. It had felt like proof that he was special, that he was—He slammed his occlumency shields down, his face turning blank. With growing skill, he tightened the cork on the poisonous thought that tried to get free. Damn Crouch for affecting him. Imagining the vial hidden deep in a lost cupboard, he felt his shoulders relax again. Even his anger was a distant flare.
Letting out a slow breath, he entered the dorm room, grateful it was empty. Everyone might have seen his scars when Potter had used his spell against him last year—even with his occlumency in force, the humiliation still burned deep in his gut—the young man hid them as well as he could. The salves he had created had lessened the imprints on his skin and had hidden the history of surviving him, but they were not gone. Once more, he thanked Lucius for the escape. No longer would he take out his anger on the young man’s body.
Striding to his bed, he flicked his trunk open with his wand, then summoned his dress robes. They were black of course, severe and professional, but more importantly, they were new. Unlike the ratty robes that would have shown his ankles without lengthening charms, this year all of his clothes were tailored to his long form. Lucius had insisted, and as humiliating as it was to owe the older man even more, he was grateful. At least it was one less thing Black could use against him. Draping the robes across his bed, he slid his long fingers over the soft fabric, marveling at the feel. The agile digits made quick work of the buttons, opening them halfway down before dropping the towel. He stepped into the robes, pulling them over his bony shoulders, then began to redo the buttons once more. He could have used magic to do this, but for some things, it felt more natural to do it the muggle way.
Severus found himself in front of Crouch’s full-length mirror, fixing his collar. The robes fit perfectly. He remembered Narcissa insisting he chose robes with the cloak, insisting the form-fitting robes would decrease his wing-like flares he was so infamous for. Spinning on his heel, the cloak did just as it was designed, flaring out in his wake. Retrieving his wand from his bed, he slid it into his arm holster, built into the robes. It was the one thing he had insisted on, beyond the lack of color. He did not dare go unarmed in Hogwarts. It was nearly as unsafe as dear old dad was. His heart ached to feel safe again. He hadn’t been since the last time he was at the Evans, where the only danger was Tuney’s scorn. Once more he snarled at his weakness. Why could he not control his mind? Lil-Evans had betrayed him.
He needed to go. He did not want to go, even more than he had previously. Like all events, it would be torture. The best he could hope for was to escape before the Marauders tried to humiliate him. The knot in his stomach was enough to make him wish for something to soothe his nerves, but he’d yet to design a calming draught that did not make him feel off instead of calm. With a sigh, he climbed the stairs, reaching the common room. Nodding to the few younger Slytherins, he strode past, leaving the House and entering the dungeons. The walk to the Great Hall was quick, his long legs eating the distance easily. He entered following what must have been a Hufflepuff, to wear such an eye-watering yellow. Scanning the crowd, he gratefully found his target quickly, standing next to Black junior. Students spread out of his way, his sneer a warning in and of itself. Stopping in front of his target (unintentionally blocking any view of Mary), he nodded, “Crouch.” There. He was here.
izayoiix
cяч мε α яıνεя
♡coded by uxie♡
izayoiix
cяч мε α яıνεя
♡coded by uxie♡
revalia
#𝖊𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖉
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revalia
#𝖊𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖉
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