liminy-lemony:

deathdaydungeon:

liminy-lemony:

severusdefender:

severus actually freezes for a long time when he hears about that because didn’t potter used to get borderline aneurysms whenever severus so much as used a spell?

The same potter who hexed every single person he didn’t like. It doesn’t aurprise anyone (except the girl who doesn’t understand a whiff of wizarding politics). Potter would be the type who doesn’t like being CALLED a death eater, it’s such an ugly word.

Idea: he joins, and splits the group with himself at the helm.

The Potter family were nice.  Mr and Mrs Potter, despite their fortune, have always been nice.  They didn’t look down on other witches and wizards, not like other Pureblood families did – not like the Blacks or the Malfoys or the Averys.  They didn’t know many Muggleborns, and they certainly didn’t know any Muggles – but then, that was to be expected, given the social circle which they frequented.

Still, they knew right from wrong, good from bad, and the virtue of being nice.  They may not know any Muggleborns personally, but it didn’t mean that you had to subscribe to the narrative being pushed in the wizarding media – the mentions of borders and walls and camps were most distasteful.

They shielded their beloved son from a lot, but they were certain to instil their core values – Muggleborns were no lesser, and Death Eaters were the enemy.  It was a little cursory, but it would do for a child – right from wrong, good from bad, and the virtue of being nice.

James wasn’t bad.  He was exuberant.  They frowned at his letters when they saw he’d taken up with a Black – “How did you stumble across a Black?  Isn’t he one of the Slytherins?” – but then smiled with delight when they learned how the young pureblood been sorted.  It wasn’t just letters from James – they received a few from the Black family (all immediately burned, and never once mentioned to James), and more again from Professor McGonagall.  She was new, they thought – Transfiguration likely hadn’t been the same since Professor Dumbledore took the post of Headmaster – and just didn’t understand.  James knew right from wrong, good from bad, and the virtue of being nice.

He talked a lot about the Muggleborn girl, who had some funny ideas on integration between the Muggle and magical community, and he’d befriended the afflicted boy, and even that strange podgy boy with skittish features which quietly made their skin crawl.  No, James wasn’t bad.  He talked a lot about the Slytherins who were aiming to be Death Eaters, and the one who was friends with the Muggleborn – it didn’t make a lot of sense; how could a Death Eater be friends with a Muggleborn – but he talked quickly and with his mouth full, never wanting to sit and discuss, but instead aiming to bolt from his dining room chair to resume his adventures on his broom.

Exuberant.

He was always the hero in those games – his fist aloft, clapping himself and his friends, flying effortlessly around the grounds.  So it was of no surprise when the Potter parents were informed of an incident.  The details were vague, but as James proudly told them, “I saved him.  That Death Eater boy.  I saved him.”  And that was all his parents needed to know – despite their concerns about how the werewolf boy was stumbled upon, and despite their concerns about how James knew where to go, the fact that he’d endangered himself to save another – and to save a boy, no less, who was committed to the wrong political cause – that was enough.  James knew right from wrong, good from bad, and the virtue of being nice.  They didn’t worry about his detentions so much anymore, and when the Head Boy badge was bestowed upon him, it felt right.  He was a good boy.

He’d had no aspirations to join the Ministry.  They thought he might have taken up politics, and aligned himself with Dumbledore.  They thought he might have taken up journalism, and carved a niche for himself as a man with morals.  They thought, in the worst case, he might have become an auror – but they weren’t prepared for him to say he was a vigilante; a freedom fighter.

“Can’t you do that within the Ministry, dear?  At least that way, you could have a good pension.  Your father and I won’t be around forever.”
“Not with the methods I want to use,” he’d said, darkly.  And then he’d laughed.  “Lighten up, mother.  You can’t fight Death Eaters with tripping jinxes.”

They’d exchanged an anxious look, the Potter parents.  But neither of them said anything, because their son was telling an uncomfortable truth; the line between light and dark was anything but clear – and they didn’t want to be the ones to tell him to restrain himself, leaving him free to be sliced to ribbons by a Death Eater with fewer morals.  After all, this was war, and wizards and witches do dark things in times of war – and there was nothing to worry about; James was a good boy.

It seems unthinkable that they defeated Voldemort after the way that he’d risen, but a few years later, his values were completely derided.  James didn’t become a journalist, or an auror, and he didn’t remain a freedom fighter – but he did join the Ministry, keen to make his mark in the laws of the land.  He’d dated Evans – married her, even – and her influence could be found in his voting record.  He hadn’t pushed any amendments himself, but he was happy to cast his vote in line of relaxation of the laws.  After all, Death Eaters were bad, and Muggleborns were good.

He’d never really got on with her sister.  Or her sister’s husband.  Or their revolting kid.  Or her parents, oddly enough, who didn’t seem pleased at his forthright manner – but he knew that it was because he’d fished her out of their world and whirled her off to his.  They were a funny lot, Muggles.  He’d said as much to Reggie Black, who had seen the light mid-war and moved over to align with Siri.  Oh, how he missed Siri.  But Reggie was a fair swap now that he was out of his parents’ influence.  Both dead.  Dragonpox.

“It wasn’t Dragonpox,” Reggie said, one day, straightening the ornaments on the desk.  He glanced at the closed office door of the Prime Minister.  “It was a Muggle virus.”
James’ eyes widened.  “A Muggle virus?”
“Yeah, I heard them,” Reggie whispered.  
“And they haven’t told anyone?”
“Didn’t want to spread panic.”
“Didn’t want to spread panic!”  James looked furious.  “But it killed hundreds!  Three generations of the Malfoy family.”
“No loss, is it?”  Reggie shot him an amused look.
“Well…”  James looked uncomfortable.  “It’s still magical blood, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t true, but it was that easy.  Reggie wasn’t Siri.  Siri had stopped listening before the politics his parents shouted about made any sense – but Reggie was in deep.  He believed.  He believed what his parents said, and what his housemates told him.  He saw that kid – the underfed one who died in the battle at the Ministry – saw the abuse his Muggle father saw fit to bestow on him.  And he heard what James had to say about those Muggles that Evans came from.  But Reggie wasn’t stupid, so he manoeuvered his way into the Muggle world via the Ministry, just to see for himself.  Everything he’d heard growing up was right – the Muggles were dangerous.  They didn’t have magic to help them, but they managed to cause each other great distress – they fought and murdered and shouted in the streets.  They discriminated and imprisoned each other, and created metal birds to drop poisons and explosives on faraway lands.

Tom Riddle had gone too far.  That was his mistake.  Reggie grabbed his quill – separation between magical and Muggle; not Muggleborns.  And no funny masks, or scary cloaks, or stupid names.  Lord Voldemort.  How ridiculous.  No, Reggie needed someone with standing – someone who wasn’t already tainted with what had gone before.  A war hero, preferably with a medal or two, but someone who was seen as a radical.

Who better to add weight to the message than a pureblood vigilante-turned-respected-politician who married to a Muggleborn?

It started slowly.  A vote here, and a vote there.  A speech to ten people, and then a speech to one hundred.  A polemic in the Prophet.  An amendment.  A speech to a thousand.  Amendments which were passed unanimously.  A speech to two thousand.  A law.  And another.  Borders and walls and camps.  Fear sold well.  It always does.  More laws, more segregation, more votes, more commentary in the media.

A march.  And a speech to five thousand.  A rally.  Law after law after law.  And then an internal vote.  He’d long been regarded as the true leader of the party, and the driving force behind them.  Then came the starkest moment – when he permitted use of the Unforgivables.  In certain licensed circumstances.  By aurors.  By politicians.  By anyone of worth within society.  “It is to keep our world free,” he had insisted.  “It’s for your own protection.”  It made sense: he could have such tools at his disposal, because he was good.

And then they held the public vote, which was a forgone conclusion.  The new Minister for Magic stood to make his speech, and as he warned about the integration of the two worlds – the platform on which he had long campaigned – a sole voice was heard from the crowd.

“We’ve heard this all before.  You’re nothing but a Death Eater, Potter!”

His wand moved quickly, but the aurors already had the wizard in their grip.  Frankie Longbottom.  He scanned the crowd, who watched the scene with their hearts in their mouths.  Was this the start of dissent?  A riot?  

“We do not use such language,” he said, carefully.

Longbottom’s arm was pressed behind his back, and his face was twisted in pain.  “Yeah, well, if the sorting hat fits, Potter!”

The reverberation of shock around the crowd almost made him lose his composure.  Would he really be dethroned so early into his reign?  Would this moment come back to haunt him?  By a Longbottom?  

He straightened his back.  “If the sorting hat fits?”  And then he smirked, and he pointed his wand directly between Longbottom’s eyes.  “Well, if the sorting hat fits, then who am I to argue?

 Crucio!”

And the crowd clapped and cheered as the quivering man was dragged away.  After all, James Potter was protecting them.  James Potter knew right from wrong.  James Potter was good.

ooooooo

this is very good. i like the subtleties… the small throwaway lines here and there, makes quite an impact

i have a special soft spot for the parents existing here bc canonically, they’re an aged couple and james is their only child, so to have the dynamic referred to is awesome and also depressing bc how else would an aging couple react to their only child being an absolute…

thank ♥