17. Fanfiction: Trees of Mourning
Title: Trees of Mourning
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG-13 for character death
Characters:Marlene McKinnon, Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall, Fabian Prewett, Gideon Prewett, Molly Weasley, Caradoc Dearborn, Amelia Bones, Bellatrix Black, Andromeda Black, Narcissa Black, Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Emmeline Vance, Lily Evans, Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore, Alice Longbottom, Frank Longbottom, Lucretia Black, Ignatus Prewett, Gellert Grindelwald
Pairings: Marlene McKinnon/Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall/Lucretia Black, Severus Snape/Lily Evans, Fabian Prewett/Caradoc Dearborn, Gideon Prewett/Amelia Bones, Sirius Black/Emmeline Vance, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Bellatrix Black/Voldemort Alastor Moody/Dorcas Meadowes
Era: First War
Word Count:3,343
Prompt: Nest_of_Spiders Day Two
Note: Credit for bold descriptions goes to: http://www.metaphysicalzone.com/celtic/
Leaves of the summer, lovely summer's pride,
Sweet is the shade below your silent tree,
- William Barnes, Leaves
Willow: Willow people have good memories and are articulate, strong willed and resourceful, emotional and enigmatic.
“Do you think,” Arabella asks one evening over tea, “That just because she is dead, I must stop living as well?” Minerva shakes her head at the strange question; most of Ara’s questions are strange. Being a squib has given the older woman time to question everything, and the insight on both worlds to question things neither muggles nor wizards think important.
But she knows she must answer this question. It’s all about the griveing process, and while Ara’s grieving process is different from anything she’s ever seen before, Minerva quite likes the willow tree planted outside, with Marlene scratched into its root. “Of course not, Ara,” she tells her, careful of the way she words her response. She’s learned, over the pass few weeks, that the simplest mistake could send the squib into heartwrenching sobs, “Marlene would want you to live. She was so full of life, herself, she’d expect it.”
Ara nods, but tears well up in her eyes, “That’s just it, Minnie. If she can die, and Lord knows she was so full of life, than what’s to say the rest of us have the right to live?”
For once, the Gryffindor doesn’t have an answer.
Hawthorne: Hawthorn people are mercurial, innovative, creative, and confident. Easily bored, they crave mental stimulation and challenge. They are eloquent and gifted performers, exuding natural charm.
The rest of the Order thinks he’s changed sides, but Fabian knows Caradoc better than anyone else in the world and somehow he just knows that his lover is gone. He can feel it, in his heart and in his bone, the better part of him is gone forever. “Are you certain, Mr. Prewett?” Dumbledore asks for what feels like the fiftieth time that evening, but still, Fabian answers with undoubted loyalty. (Gideon always says he should’ve been a Hufflepuff.)
“Yes, sir,” calm, confident, because he can’t show how much this is tearing him apart inside. He’s the jester, the laughter, the comic relief people turn to in these dark times, begging for him to make them smile. “I just…he wouldn’t do something like that.”
Dumbledore nods his head, as if agreeing with him, so the redhead is thrown when his old professors says, “Sometimes, Mr. Prewett, one does not know one’s friends as well as one thinks he does.”
And Fabian suddenly wants to grab him. He wants to look Dumbledore in the eye and scream at him that he knows Caradoc as well as anyone ever can. He knows the muscles in that man’s back. He knows the hidden fears that torment that man late at night. He knows the exact color of that man’s baby hair and can tell you exactly how many eye lashes that man had last August third. He knows how the man gasps in pleasure, and he knows how to cause that pleasure. He knows Caradoc Dearborn better than he knows himself.
But he can’t say this out loud, so he rises from the chair and shakes the other man’s hand, hoping, praying that Dumbledore understands. He’s silent the entire time, but somehow, Dumbledore can see it in his eyes.
The funeral for Caradoc Dearborn is held three weeks later. Everyone in the Order attends.
Hazel: The Hazel was the tree of wisdom and it was a crime punishable by death to fell one.
Her brothers are dead.
Her sweet, overly protective, slightly neurotic brothers are both dead.
She can’t handle this.
Gid and Ian were just here. They were just in her kitchen, not an hour ago, making jokes about Arthur’s graying hair and laughing at Bill’s attempts to get on the toy broomstick they had gotten him for his birthday last year. He still hasn’t mastered it, which is a shame, because once he’s on it there’s no one in the world who can claim he’s not magnificent.
That’s not the point.
The point is: they were here. Standing, right next to her, and eating cake she made this morning. Gid was throwing the cake at little Charlie, who was throwing his cake right back at his favorite uncle, and Ian was talking to baby Percy, not yet one, about the properties of bezors.
And now they’re dead.
She was there, when they died. She was fighting some other masked giant when Fabian and Gideon fell to the ground in unison, the only sound left audible on the battlefield was Bellatrix’s loud, scornful laugh. Molly knows that laugh, knows it anywhere, because she used to know what Bellatrix sounded like when she really laughed.
She knows Bellatrix hasn’t laughed in years.
That’s not the point.
The point is: she watched her brothers die. Gideon, always so wise, always able to offer a word of advice. He was so sarcastic and witty that many thought him the epitome of Ravenclaw. She loves him so much it hurts, and now he isn’t here to love her back. Fabian, the jokester, her parents’ pride and joy, the life of the party. He died with a smile on his face. She likes to think it was his way of saying not even death scared him. But she knows it did.
She can’t remember they’re last words, the last things they said to her or what color socks they were wearing. She can’t remember what to tell Milly when she shows up; crying something hysterical and staring at the diamond ring on her finger like it’s going to bring them back.
But she can remember their four hazel eyes and the way they all flashed to her just as the spark left them, and she remembers that killing hazel is punishable by death.
Somehow, some way, she’s going to kill that bitch.
Birch: They are loyal but reserved in showing affection.
Alastor doesn’t cry at the funeral. He stands in the front, as he doesn’t want to sit in the pew because it’s old and dirty and she should’ve had something better, even if it is all her family could afford. They didn’t want his help, neither financially nor with the planning. He isn’t a part of their family, never was, and not even grief will make them accept him into their folds.
He doesn’t speak at the eulogy. He doesn’t think words are enough. He can’t find a way to express the gaping hole that keeps growing inside of his heart. He can’t figure out the right sentences that will show these people how he’s falling apart. So he remains silent and allows other people to share their memories. As the last person sits down, he chokes.
He doesn’t go up to her casket to look at her. He can’t. He’s not strong enough. He, Alastor Moody, the same man who killed nine Death Eaters single-handedly, after ripping off their masks so he could see the light leave their eyes, he’s not strong enough to look at one measly corpse. It’s pathetic, really, but it’s true.
He knows no one else can see his pain, so he suffers in silence and, when everyone else is gone, promises he’ll never love anyone again. He knows Dorcas understands, he knows she’ll wait for him.
Rowan: They thrive on change, becoming impatient with convention or restriction, artistic and original; they can appear detached and aloof.
He isn’t dead, she knows, but he’s as good as and she thinks that gives her the right to mourn. She isn’t exactly sure how much of a right she has to mourn, as Sirius was never really hers. He never really belonged to anyone, really, except maybe James. Maybe. Not even Remus can say Sirius was his, because that would be presumptuous. Sirius was always changing, always flying from one thing (or girl) to the next, without any care what so ever about how other people would react. He was loyal only to the Marauders-and Lily and her, maybe-and everyone else could’ve died as long as his friends survived.
Which is why this, him betraying James for Voldemort, doesn’t make any sense at all. It makes even less sense for him to go after Peter the following morning, instead of fleeing, like he should’ve, like everyone expected him to. She doesn’t understand it, any of it, so she thinks it’s better to pretend he’s dead and be done with it. No one ever really understood Sirius, besides James, and now that James is dead and buried, she isn’t about to waste her time trying to solve a puzzle that can’t be solved.
She buys flowers and puts them on top of the rubble at Godric’s Hallow. Lilies, white and pure, for her best friend, and Dragon snaps, James’s favorite, in red and gold. Next to them, in a separate bouquet, are yellow roses, friendship, for Sirius. She hopes someone understands.
Ivy: Cheerful, expansive and magnetic, they win friends easily and dislike offending others.
Alice is a Hufflepuff, completely and without a doubt. She is sweet to a fault and loyal to the death. It’s one of the reasons Frank married her, she knows, and it’s one of the reasons their marriage has survived this terrible war. Now that it’s over, she can stop being lifeless and mourn the deaths. She can stop being brave and allow Frank to wipe away her tears. As soon as they survive this, their final test.
She tells herself this, over and over again, as she looks into Bellatrix’s eyes and wills herself not to scream. The pain is becoming unbearable now, but nothing hurts more than the sound of Frank’s screams. She has to be strong; she has to keep going, because if they can get through this, they won’t have to worry about anything else.
Then she hears the screams stop, and she knows that they have lost. She knows that he has broken down, that he is beyond repair, because if it hadn’t gone that far, he’d keep screaming, just so she’d know he’s alive. He’s dead and Neville probably is too, but she has to hold out until Moody can get here, she has to keep fighting back the insanity, even though she can feel the numbness crawling up her spine. She wants her wand, she wants her baby, but really she just wants this all to be over.
When she hears the door open upstairs, hears the angry shouts of Death Eaters and Moody’s unmistakable growl, she allows the darkness and the pain to overpower her. Neville’s safe now, they’re all safe now, and everything will be just fine.
Reed: Reed people are complex, tenacious and fearless. Proud and independent, they have great strength of character and rarely compromise.
“You think I’m just going to allow her to die?” Lucretia Black-Prewett asks, her voice raising several octaves as she looks upon her husband with pure disgust and mortal outrage, “How dare you assume I’m going to allow the only person I’ve ever loved to die?” She knows she’s being vindictive and tearing apart old wounds with nothing sharper than a dull spoon, but honestly, Minerva’s on her doorstep and she’s dying. What, exactly, is Lucretia expected to do?
Ignatus shakes his head and gives her the key to the potions’ room, “Of course not, Lucy, go….help her.” Their marriage is not one of love, it is one of convenience. He knows she’s in love with the Gryffindor teacher and she knows his heart will forever belong to a muggle he fell in love with when he was sixteen. They’ve accepted these things and they’re still together, as happily as they can be expected to be. Alice, Andrew, and Anthony do not ask when their mother shows up randomly at school, and Lucretia doesn’t comment on the fact that all of Ignatus’s business trips take place in Muggle Devon. It isn’t secrecy, it’s truth.
“Minnie, listen to me,” Lucretia says, as she forces another potion into her lover’s mouth, “You must live. It’s important and it’s necessary. You have to live. You cannot die because I will not allow it and you have never disobeyed me before.”
She wants it to work; she wills Minerva’s life back into her and refuses to see the death that is creeping into her lover’s eyes.
It takes months, but Minerva finally opens her eyes again, and Lucretia Black-Prewett proves yet again that she will never lose.
Holly: Holly people are practical, capable and steadfast in adversity, cautious, logical and efficient.
He isn’t there when she dies, bright green light followed by a scream and then deafening silence. He isn’t there when they find her body, mangled and misshapen on the bedroom floor of her three-room flat, bloody and bruised but still so beautiful. He isn’t there when they lower her body into the ground and cover her grave in roses charmed red, gold, and green. He isn’t there, now, just like he wasn’t there, before, and it all makes perfect sense because he hasn’t felt this lonely since he was seven years old.
He did what was needed of him, and now he will stay with Dumbledore and be safe. She’s dead, there is nothing more for him to do but move on. He must forget her eyes, forget her lips, forget the way her smile was like the dawn and her laughter like the wind. He must forget that he loves her, even as he cries her name in his sleep.
“Look...at…me”
He must forget, it’s the only practical thing to do.
Vine: Vine people are discriminating, authoritative and set high personal standards. They appear cool and detached but are secret romantics and can be sensitive, vulnerable and self critical.
No one knows of his secret trip to Nuremgrad but Arabella Figg, and he knows she won’t say a word because she understands. Instead, she allows him to go through her fireplace once a week to the one place in the world no witch or wizard should have to see in a lifetime. She knows he goes there to mourn a dead love, even as he looks upon his living lover.
Upon his return, she always has tea ready. Hot, bitter, just the type of brew he needs to be jerked back into the reality he forsakes the moment he walks through Nuremgrad’s gates. She smiles, motherly, as he sips his tea, and does not ask him any questions. Even though they are friends, he is her leader, and true friendship is impossible between them.
Still, she guards his secret well, and he wonders if she is the only person left alive-truly alive, for he and Gellert an Aberforth cannot count-who knows of his love.
Oak: The Oak was the sacred tree of the Druids, symbolizing truth and steadfast knowledge…Natural leaders, they remain calm in a crisis and are not easily swayed by opposition. Although serious minded, they are cheerful and optimistic and do not give up easily.
Andromeda leaves the house in a flurry of curses, screaming, and tears. Her aunt blasts her off the tapestry and her mother curses her name, her children, and her love. Her father writes her out of the will and Bellatrix dismisses her as a sister, a confidante, and a friend. Regulus is silent the entire time, but she can see the hatred in his eyes. She isn’t sure if he hates her because she’s leaving or hates her because she can, but either way she knows he will never love her again. Sirius gives her a smile, rueful and friendly, and she would return it, if she wasn’t fearing for his life.
Only Narcissa is quiet, only Narcissa doesn’t speak.
She invites everyone to the wedding, but only Narcissa comes. She sits in the back dressed in dark, emerald green and crisp, silver lace. She does not cry, she does not speak, and there’s even a slight hint of a smile on her lips as Andromeda walks passed her, clad in white.
Later that night, after Bellatrix has beaten her for going to the wedding and her parents have forbidden her from leaving the house again, Regulus visits her room and asks why she would go to the wedding when Andromeda was dead to them.
Rising her crystal eyes to meet Regulus’s black orbs, she smiles somewhat sardonically and whispers, “Because she is not dead to me.”
Alder: Alders must learn the art of diplomacy or they waste energy in fruitless disputes.
Regulus stands in front of the boat and listens to the waves as the crash against the shore. He knows that he is dying now; he can feel it in his bones and taste it on his tongue. Somehow, he is not terrified. Even without his brother’s Gryffindor courage, he is not afraid that Death is coming and for once he is not about to run away. Instead, he checks his pocket once again for the locket before lowering his body into the boat. Kreacher is staring up at him in fear, whispering broken words and trying to row as fast as he can.
But Regulus is beginning to lose his sight, and he doesn’t think it matters any more.
Bellatrix always told him he’d never amount to much. She said he doesn’t have the right gifts, doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut and doesn’t know when to speak up for himself. He’s never asked for anything in his entire life, because he’s never had to, and he’s very, very used to always getting what he wants. Right now he wants to avenge Sirius, and he knows this isn’t enough, but it’s something.
He’s never been very good at fighting for what he wants, but this is his brother, for the love of Morgana, and he has to try. Even if it will end up killing him.
Elder: It was unlucky to burn Elder.
It’s her first murder, a test to prove herself in the Dark Lord’s eyes, and she knows she cannot fail or he will brand her weak, a woman not worthy of his time. She refuses to allow him, her only love, to see her as anything other than worthy of him. She wants to get it over with quickly, but she knows that a simple Killing Curse will not be enough.
Carefully, unwilling to wake her victims, she walks into the room and lights their sheets on fire. When they wake up, screaming, her black silhouette is the only hint they have to knowing who their murderer is. Their screams echo through the barren hills as their house lights up the empty sky.
She is not afraid of her screams. She is not afraid of the lifeless look in their charred faces when she returns in the morning. She is afraid only when she finds out their names, Mary and Garret Elder. Her mother always said it was unlucky to burn Elder.
She backs away quietly, but she can already feel her sanity slipping away.
Ash: Ash people need to focus their mental abilities or they can become nervous and irritable.
Dorcas does not like to be alone during the day, but she knows it’s necessary, she knows she has to hide. Voldemort knows she’s turned on him now, and her only chance at life is self-imposed imprisonment in this house that’s too big when Al isn’t around. She spends the days singing to herself and packing up her belongings, just incase she’s forced to flee. It’s routine and it’s boring, but it keeps her busy. She lies to herself during the day and says that the monotony isn’t driving her insane.
When he attacks, she isn’t ready for it. She hasn’t used magic in days and her skills aren’t as fast as they should be. She’s nervous and off-balanced and she thinks, desperately, that she could’ve bested him if only she had been practicing. She’s dead before she gets the chance to realize that this isn’t fair. But she’s still alive long enough to remind herself that nothing ever is.
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG-13 for character death
Characters:Marlene McKinnon, Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall, Fabian Prewett, Gideon Prewett, Molly Weasley, Caradoc Dearborn, Amelia Bones, Bellatrix Black, Andromeda Black, Narcissa Black, Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Emmeline Vance, Lily Evans, Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore, Alice Longbottom, Frank Longbottom, Lucretia Black, Ignatus Prewett, Gellert Grindelwald
Pairings: Marlene McKinnon/Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall/Lucretia Black, Severus Snape/Lily Evans, Fabian Prewett/Caradoc Dearborn, Gideon Prewett/Amelia Bones, Sirius Black/Emmeline Vance, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Bellatrix Black/Voldemort Alastor Moody/Dorcas Meadowes
Era: First War
Word Count:3,343
Prompt: Nest_of_Spiders Day Two
Note: Credit for bold descriptions goes to: http://www.metaphysicalzone.com/celtic/
Leaves of the summer, lovely summer's pride,
Sweet is the shade below your silent tree,
- William Barnes, Leaves
Willow: Willow people have good memories and are articulate, strong willed and resourceful, emotional and enigmatic.
“Do you think,” Arabella asks one evening over tea, “That just because she is dead, I must stop living as well?” Minerva shakes her head at the strange question; most of Ara’s questions are strange. Being a squib has given the older woman time to question everything, and the insight on both worlds to question things neither muggles nor wizards think important.
But she knows she must answer this question. It’s all about the griveing process, and while Ara’s grieving process is different from anything she’s ever seen before, Minerva quite likes the willow tree planted outside, with Marlene scratched into its root. “Of course not, Ara,” she tells her, careful of the way she words her response. She’s learned, over the pass few weeks, that the simplest mistake could send the squib into heartwrenching sobs, “Marlene would want you to live. She was so full of life, herself, she’d expect it.”
Ara nods, but tears well up in her eyes, “That’s just it, Minnie. If she can die, and Lord knows she was so full of life, than what’s to say the rest of us have the right to live?”
For once, the Gryffindor doesn’t have an answer.
Hawthorne: Hawthorn people are mercurial, innovative, creative, and confident. Easily bored, they crave mental stimulation and challenge. They are eloquent and gifted performers, exuding natural charm.
The rest of the Order thinks he’s changed sides, but Fabian knows Caradoc better than anyone else in the world and somehow he just knows that his lover is gone. He can feel it, in his heart and in his bone, the better part of him is gone forever. “Are you certain, Mr. Prewett?” Dumbledore asks for what feels like the fiftieth time that evening, but still, Fabian answers with undoubted loyalty. (Gideon always says he should’ve been a Hufflepuff.)
“Yes, sir,” calm, confident, because he can’t show how much this is tearing him apart inside. He’s the jester, the laughter, the comic relief people turn to in these dark times, begging for him to make them smile. “I just…he wouldn’t do something like that.”
Dumbledore nods his head, as if agreeing with him, so the redhead is thrown when his old professors says, “Sometimes, Mr. Prewett, one does not know one’s friends as well as one thinks he does.”
And Fabian suddenly wants to grab him. He wants to look Dumbledore in the eye and scream at him that he knows Caradoc as well as anyone ever can. He knows the muscles in that man’s back. He knows the hidden fears that torment that man late at night. He knows the exact color of that man’s baby hair and can tell you exactly how many eye lashes that man had last August third. He knows how the man gasps in pleasure, and he knows how to cause that pleasure. He knows Caradoc Dearborn better than he knows himself.
But he can’t say this out loud, so he rises from the chair and shakes the other man’s hand, hoping, praying that Dumbledore understands. He’s silent the entire time, but somehow, Dumbledore can see it in his eyes.
The funeral for Caradoc Dearborn is held three weeks later. Everyone in the Order attends.
Hazel: The Hazel was the tree of wisdom and it was a crime punishable by death to fell one.
Her brothers are dead.
Her sweet, overly protective, slightly neurotic brothers are both dead.
She can’t handle this.
Gid and Ian were just here. They were just in her kitchen, not an hour ago, making jokes about Arthur’s graying hair and laughing at Bill’s attempts to get on the toy broomstick they had gotten him for his birthday last year. He still hasn’t mastered it, which is a shame, because once he’s on it there’s no one in the world who can claim he’s not magnificent.
That’s not the point.
The point is: they were here. Standing, right next to her, and eating cake she made this morning. Gid was throwing the cake at little Charlie, who was throwing his cake right back at his favorite uncle, and Ian was talking to baby Percy, not yet one, about the properties of bezors.
And now they’re dead.
She was there, when they died. She was fighting some other masked giant when Fabian and Gideon fell to the ground in unison, the only sound left audible on the battlefield was Bellatrix’s loud, scornful laugh. Molly knows that laugh, knows it anywhere, because she used to know what Bellatrix sounded like when she really laughed.
She knows Bellatrix hasn’t laughed in years.
That’s not the point.
The point is: she watched her brothers die. Gideon, always so wise, always able to offer a word of advice. He was so sarcastic and witty that many thought him the epitome of Ravenclaw. She loves him so much it hurts, and now he isn’t here to love her back. Fabian, the jokester, her parents’ pride and joy, the life of the party. He died with a smile on his face. She likes to think it was his way of saying not even death scared him. But she knows it did.
She can’t remember they’re last words, the last things they said to her or what color socks they were wearing. She can’t remember what to tell Milly when she shows up; crying something hysterical and staring at the diamond ring on her finger like it’s going to bring them back.
But she can remember their four hazel eyes and the way they all flashed to her just as the spark left them, and she remembers that killing hazel is punishable by death.
Somehow, some way, she’s going to kill that bitch.
Birch: They are loyal but reserved in showing affection.
Alastor doesn’t cry at the funeral. He stands in the front, as he doesn’t want to sit in the pew because it’s old and dirty and she should’ve had something better, even if it is all her family could afford. They didn’t want his help, neither financially nor with the planning. He isn’t a part of their family, never was, and not even grief will make them accept him into their folds.
He doesn’t speak at the eulogy. He doesn’t think words are enough. He can’t find a way to express the gaping hole that keeps growing inside of his heart. He can’t figure out the right sentences that will show these people how he’s falling apart. So he remains silent and allows other people to share their memories. As the last person sits down, he chokes.
He doesn’t go up to her casket to look at her. He can’t. He’s not strong enough. He, Alastor Moody, the same man who killed nine Death Eaters single-handedly, after ripping off their masks so he could see the light leave their eyes, he’s not strong enough to look at one measly corpse. It’s pathetic, really, but it’s true.
He knows no one else can see his pain, so he suffers in silence and, when everyone else is gone, promises he’ll never love anyone again. He knows Dorcas understands, he knows she’ll wait for him.
Rowan: They thrive on change, becoming impatient with convention or restriction, artistic and original; they can appear detached and aloof.
He isn’t dead, she knows, but he’s as good as and she thinks that gives her the right to mourn. She isn’t exactly sure how much of a right she has to mourn, as Sirius was never really hers. He never really belonged to anyone, really, except maybe James. Maybe. Not even Remus can say Sirius was his, because that would be presumptuous. Sirius was always changing, always flying from one thing (or girl) to the next, without any care what so ever about how other people would react. He was loyal only to the Marauders-and Lily and her, maybe-and everyone else could’ve died as long as his friends survived.
Which is why this, him betraying James for Voldemort, doesn’t make any sense at all. It makes even less sense for him to go after Peter the following morning, instead of fleeing, like he should’ve, like everyone expected him to. She doesn’t understand it, any of it, so she thinks it’s better to pretend he’s dead and be done with it. No one ever really understood Sirius, besides James, and now that James is dead and buried, she isn’t about to waste her time trying to solve a puzzle that can’t be solved.
She buys flowers and puts them on top of the rubble at Godric’s Hallow. Lilies, white and pure, for her best friend, and Dragon snaps, James’s favorite, in red and gold. Next to them, in a separate bouquet, are yellow roses, friendship, for Sirius. She hopes someone understands.
Ivy: Cheerful, expansive and magnetic, they win friends easily and dislike offending others.
Alice is a Hufflepuff, completely and without a doubt. She is sweet to a fault and loyal to the death. It’s one of the reasons Frank married her, she knows, and it’s one of the reasons their marriage has survived this terrible war. Now that it’s over, she can stop being lifeless and mourn the deaths. She can stop being brave and allow Frank to wipe away her tears. As soon as they survive this, their final test.
She tells herself this, over and over again, as she looks into Bellatrix’s eyes and wills herself not to scream. The pain is becoming unbearable now, but nothing hurts more than the sound of Frank’s screams. She has to be strong; she has to keep going, because if they can get through this, they won’t have to worry about anything else.
Then she hears the screams stop, and she knows that they have lost. She knows that he has broken down, that he is beyond repair, because if it hadn’t gone that far, he’d keep screaming, just so she’d know he’s alive. He’s dead and Neville probably is too, but she has to hold out until Moody can get here, she has to keep fighting back the insanity, even though she can feel the numbness crawling up her spine. She wants her wand, she wants her baby, but really she just wants this all to be over.
When she hears the door open upstairs, hears the angry shouts of Death Eaters and Moody’s unmistakable growl, she allows the darkness and the pain to overpower her. Neville’s safe now, they’re all safe now, and everything will be just fine.
Reed: Reed people are complex, tenacious and fearless. Proud and independent, they have great strength of character and rarely compromise.
“You think I’m just going to allow her to die?” Lucretia Black-Prewett asks, her voice raising several octaves as she looks upon her husband with pure disgust and mortal outrage, “How dare you assume I’m going to allow the only person I’ve ever loved to die?” She knows she’s being vindictive and tearing apart old wounds with nothing sharper than a dull spoon, but honestly, Minerva’s on her doorstep and she’s dying. What, exactly, is Lucretia expected to do?
Ignatus shakes his head and gives her the key to the potions’ room, “Of course not, Lucy, go….help her.” Their marriage is not one of love, it is one of convenience. He knows she’s in love with the Gryffindor teacher and she knows his heart will forever belong to a muggle he fell in love with when he was sixteen. They’ve accepted these things and they’re still together, as happily as they can be expected to be. Alice, Andrew, and Anthony do not ask when their mother shows up randomly at school, and Lucretia doesn’t comment on the fact that all of Ignatus’s business trips take place in Muggle Devon. It isn’t secrecy, it’s truth.
“Minnie, listen to me,” Lucretia says, as she forces another potion into her lover’s mouth, “You must live. It’s important and it’s necessary. You have to live. You cannot die because I will not allow it and you have never disobeyed me before.”
She wants it to work; she wills Minerva’s life back into her and refuses to see the death that is creeping into her lover’s eyes.
It takes months, but Minerva finally opens her eyes again, and Lucretia Black-Prewett proves yet again that she will never lose.
Holly: Holly people are practical, capable and steadfast in adversity, cautious, logical and efficient.
He isn’t there when she dies, bright green light followed by a scream and then deafening silence. He isn’t there when they find her body, mangled and misshapen on the bedroom floor of her three-room flat, bloody and bruised but still so beautiful. He isn’t there when they lower her body into the ground and cover her grave in roses charmed red, gold, and green. He isn’t there, now, just like he wasn’t there, before, and it all makes perfect sense because he hasn’t felt this lonely since he was seven years old.
He did what was needed of him, and now he will stay with Dumbledore and be safe. She’s dead, there is nothing more for him to do but move on. He must forget her eyes, forget her lips, forget the way her smile was like the dawn and her laughter like the wind. He must forget that he loves her, even as he cries her name in his sleep.
“Look...at…me”
He must forget, it’s the only practical thing to do.
Vine: Vine people are discriminating, authoritative and set high personal standards. They appear cool and detached but are secret romantics and can be sensitive, vulnerable and self critical.
No one knows of his secret trip to Nuremgrad but Arabella Figg, and he knows she won’t say a word because she understands. Instead, she allows him to go through her fireplace once a week to the one place in the world no witch or wizard should have to see in a lifetime. She knows he goes there to mourn a dead love, even as he looks upon his living lover.
Upon his return, she always has tea ready. Hot, bitter, just the type of brew he needs to be jerked back into the reality he forsakes the moment he walks through Nuremgrad’s gates. She smiles, motherly, as he sips his tea, and does not ask him any questions. Even though they are friends, he is her leader, and true friendship is impossible between them.
Still, she guards his secret well, and he wonders if she is the only person left alive-truly alive, for he and Gellert an Aberforth cannot count-who knows of his love.
Oak: The Oak was the sacred tree of the Druids, symbolizing truth and steadfast knowledge…Natural leaders, they remain calm in a crisis and are not easily swayed by opposition. Although serious minded, they are cheerful and optimistic and do not give up easily.
Andromeda leaves the house in a flurry of curses, screaming, and tears. Her aunt blasts her off the tapestry and her mother curses her name, her children, and her love. Her father writes her out of the will and Bellatrix dismisses her as a sister, a confidante, and a friend. Regulus is silent the entire time, but she can see the hatred in his eyes. She isn’t sure if he hates her because she’s leaving or hates her because she can, but either way she knows he will never love her again. Sirius gives her a smile, rueful and friendly, and she would return it, if she wasn’t fearing for his life.
Only Narcissa is quiet, only Narcissa doesn’t speak.
She invites everyone to the wedding, but only Narcissa comes. She sits in the back dressed in dark, emerald green and crisp, silver lace. She does not cry, she does not speak, and there’s even a slight hint of a smile on her lips as Andromeda walks passed her, clad in white.
Later that night, after Bellatrix has beaten her for going to the wedding and her parents have forbidden her from leaving the house again, Regulus visits her room and asks why she would go to the wedding when Andromeda was dead to them.
Rising her crystal eyes to meet Regulus’s black orbs, she smiles somewhat sardonically and whispers, “Because she is not dead to me.”
Alder: Alders must learn the art of diplomacy or they waste energy in fruitless disputes.
Regulus stands in front of the boat and listens to the waves as the crash against the shore. He knows that he is dying now; he can feel it in his bones and taste it on his tongue. Somehow, he is not terrified. Even without his brother’s Gryffindor courage, he is not afraid that Death is coming and for once he is not about to run away. Instead, he checks his pocket once again for the locket before lowering his body into the boat. Kreacher is staring up at him in fear, whispering broken words and trying to row as fast as he can.
But Regulus is beginning to lose his sight, and he doesn’t think it matters any more.
Bellatrix always told him he’d never amount to much. She said he doesn’t have the right gifts, doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut and doesn’t know when to speak up for himself. He’s never asked for anything in his entire life, because he’s never had to, and he’s very, very used to always getting what he wants. Right now he wants to avenge Sirius, and he knows this isn’t enough, but it’s something.
He’s never been very good at fighting for what he wants, but this is his brother, for the love of Morgana, and he has to try. Even if it will end up killing him.
Elder: It was unlucky to burn Elder.
It’s her first murder, a test to prove herself in the Dark Lord’s eyes, and she knows she cannot fail or he will brand her weak, a woman not worthy of his time. She refuses to allow him, her only love, to see her as anything other than worthy of him. She wants to get it over with quickly, but she knows that a simple Killing Curse will not be enough.
Carefully, unwilling to wake her victims, she walks into the room and lights their sheets on fire. When they wake up, screaming, her black silhouette is the only hint they have to knowing who their murderer is. Their screams echo through the barren hills as their house lights up the empty sky.
She is not afraid of her screams. She is not afraid of the lifeless look in their charred faces when she returns in the morning. She is afraid only when she finds out their names, Mary and Garret Elder. Her mother always said it was unlucky to burn Elder.
She backs away quietly, but she can already feel her sanity slipping away.
Ash: Ash people need to focus their mental abilities or they can become nervous and irritable.
Dorcas does not like to be alone during the day, but she knows it’s necessary, she knows she has to hide. Voldemort knows she’s turned on him now, and her only chance at life is self-imposed imprisonment in this house that’s too big when Al isn’t around. She spends the days singing to herself and packing up her belongings, just incase she’s forced to flee. It’s routine and it’s boring, but it keeps her busy. She lies to herself during the day and says that the monotony isn’t driving her insane.
When he attacks, she isn’t ready for it. She hasn’t used magic in days and her skills aren’t as fast as they should be. She’s nervous and off-balanced and she thinks, desperately, that she could’ve bested him if only she had been practicing. She’s dead before she gets the chance to realize that this isn’t fair. But she’s still alive long enough to remind herself that nothing ever is.