Warning: I like to write gory, poetic descriptions. My note at the bottom* goes over possible future warnings.
Potter Luck meet Sky Attraction: Harmony, we've been introduced before
by sol-lune
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Hara officially decides the Wizarding World can piss off when she wakes up in Italy alone with an ache in her chest after witnessing the murder of her beloved godfather. The discovery of a rather insistent connection between herself and a myriad of dangerous individuals will serve as a nice distraction during the grieving process.
Turns out, Hara Potter and any mafioso within a 70 kilometre distance of her makes for a terrifyingly heated combination.
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"Location: The Ministry of Magic"
She had been foolish and he paid the price.
Voldemort sent the dream, vision, fake of Sirius, and she fell for it, blinded by her fear and desperate in her love. Ron had been up in arms, ready to follow immediately, blinded himself by his loyalty to her. Hermione, ever cautious, tried to stop her, but Hara was so determined, so sure. She had rushed to the Ministry, friends in tow - gods, how could she have dragged them along? - thinking she could save Sirius.
Instead he had to save her.
When the Order arrives in a flurry of white light, reminiscent of furious, avenging angels descending from the heavens, the situation goes from an execution, wands drawn and held to their throats, to an exhilarating fight and Hara knows they have a chance. A group of schoolchildren cannot defeat some of Voldemort's best, but the adults, many who had fought in and survived the first war, bring hope and the illusion of safety with them. Still, as she aims more and more vicious spells, how dare they touch her friends, at the Death Eaters, she reminds herself to apologize to the people who risked their lives to help her.
She knows Sirius will understand her reasoning, even if other members won't, because he would have done the same, has done the same before. And when this was all over, he would ruffle her already messy hair and pull her into such a firm hug the smell of cigarettes and his musky cologne would linger on her clothes for hours. Sirius always brightened her mood. She tightens her grip on her wand and turns to see him laugh, handsome and dangerous, as curses whiz past his head.
"Hara," he called, with that rare, real smile that meant she reminded him of her parents and he was caught up in pleasant memories. "Nice one!"
She grins back helplessly as they advance together on the last Death Eater. He casts a fierce spell that freezes and blasts them back so hard against the wall she can hear the snap of bone from where she's standing. It's over.
And then-
Sirius falls into the Veil.
Hara doesn't even have the chance to scream.
She can only watch as his starlight eyes go dim and he starts to sink.
The world goes quiet.
Then, she is rushing forward because she is the youngest Seeker in a century and she can catch him. She can yank him out, she can bring the warmth back into his shining eyes, she can be fast enough. She can save him and he'll swing her around with a barking laugh and everything will be okay. There is still time.
... run... RUN- there!
Her focus narrows onto his tattooed hand and she lunges for it. Fingertips skim the milky, whispering surface of the Veil when the air is knocked from her lungs as Remus catches her around the waist and heaves her away. She is flung backward, arm still stretched out in front of her, straining, as Sirius' hand disappears completely into the mist.
He is gone.
Some part of the glow inside her chest shrivels up, dead and ugly, and breaks like her dreams of a happy home. She makes to follow him and Remus tackles her to the ground, pulling her behind some rubble and holding her close even as she kicks and screams, writhing about in his arms, scratching and clawing.
His hand catches on something around her neck- she can't breathe -and the thin chain gives out with a sharp tug, snapping. He cries into her hair, begging her to stop. His voice is full of heartbreak, the desire to keep his best friend's daughter alive and the recognition that he is the last one.
None of this registers to Hara who is now looking at the figure standing in the doorway, the person to blame for Sirius' death.
Bellatrix Lestrange née Black.
With a certifiable halo of unruly black curls shaking around her starved face, Lestrange bares her yellowed teeth into a mocking grin and moves to slip away. An anger Hara has never felt before howls for justice in the form of bloody vengeance and retribution. She bursts into golden flames that spread to coat her head to toe.
Shoving Remus off with a surge of strength, she leaves him on his knees clutching a cold galleon and runs from the damned room: blood pumping, heart beating fast in her ears, legs burning as she takes reckless chase after Lestrange. Hara is burning holy fire and she wants to turn Lestrange to ash.
Skidding to a stop in the empty atrium, she snarls as the woman crows in pride over killing her own cousin. Hara forces her way right through the initial recoil of disgust and uncertainty to point a steady wand and practically bellow the curse that is spat from her mouth like bittersweet poison:
CRUCIO!
Lestrange shrieks as she is thrown to the dark floor. Her gaunt features become even more strained and the dim light casts harsh shadows on her face. Hara feels a terrible emptiness as she looks down at the woman who shares Sirius' distinct, proud chin. The curse drops, and as feeling slowly returns to her, she finds herself struck still, trembling and horrified (but not regretful) with extinguished flames.
Monsters, the both of them.
The woman giggles, a cackle of insanity. Though the Blacks are known for madness, it is clear something broke within her years ago. Her pieces no longer fit together cleanly, maybe they never did, and Hara feels a flicker of empathy that she quickly squashes. Lestrange doesn't bother getting to her feet. She is still a true Black, despite her marriage, and has zero fucks to give to anyone, except who she considers worthy.
Hara, so pathetically weak, can only think of Sirius. If it had been her killed, cousin or not, he would have ripped Lestrange apart with his bare hands. There would be no finesse, no "taking his time." It would have been an obliteration, the destruction of a threat and enemy. He would have no problem biding his time if he had to wait. Sirius had bottled up and clung to 12 years of hatred for his former best friend. The only reason he hadn't murdered Pettigrew was because she requested that he not, for his own sake.
Violence and death are the Black way of dealing with traitors and other unpleasantness. It hadn't bothered Hara then and it doesn't bother her now.
She wants to rip Lestrange's chest open like an oyster and grind her pearl of a beating heart against the cool linoleum of the Ministry floor until it disappears into nothingness. She wants to hurt her and paint the walls red with bloodspray. She wants to avenge Sirius and decorate a tribute with Lestrange's bleached bones and dripping entrails.
The problem is the breath of a moment where her rage and the hate she has never felt to such an extreme before turned into blank apathy. The moment where Lestrange was no longer even human in her eyes, just a thing that had taken from her, that had stolen what was hers. The magic had devoured at her soul and fed off of everything, good and bad, inside her. Hara knows, she knows, she'll lose herself if she pursues any further.
She is at the edge of a precipice and before she can make her choice: turn away and return to the Earth or fling herself into the sky and think of flying, Voldemort and Dumbledore enter the room. Lestrange escapes and Hara is stuck, gasping for air as fire coats her skin again, between two raging entities as they battle. For the second time that day, she is held back as Dumbledore pushes her away.
Her fists contract, nails biting into skin, and when Voldemort shoots a curse toward Hara with malicious intent in his lackluster, devil-red eyes she glares at him, dredging up all her hate, and wills for an inferno, even as a sort of futility creeps in and murmurs Sirius. Dumbledore, face drawn and angry, shoots his own spell forth to intersect it. They end up colliding and the backlash hits Hara in a burst of bright colors.
She blacks out instantly.
notes:
*Regarding warnings, mind the rating and read at your own discretion. Even though this story is intended to be on the lighter side, there's likely going to be at least a few dark scenes. Here's a list of possible topics I'll be exploring or mentioning: violence and gore, obsessive love or fixation, trust issues, past abuse, suicidal thoughts, torture. At the moment, I don't know whether I'll be going into racism and sexism. (Chants to self: "lighthearted, this is my story, everyone is equal if I say so.")
However, I guarantee I will not be writing any rape, sexual abuse, or homophobic scenes. Boundaries might be tested with intimacy, but consent will be respected and protected. There will also be absolutely zero shaming or intolerance concerning sexuality.
end.
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The next chapter is already written (it's a lengthy one, so I'm a bit stuck on the editing) and in it, Hara meets a few members of a certain family from KHR. ~Who could they be?~
xxx
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