The Good War

by inwardtransience

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth Potter is repeatedly drawn into situations she wants absolutely nothing to do with. People just refuse to leave her the hell alone. (fem!Harry, dark!independent!Harry, mentor!Snape, F/F, playing with tropes for fun and profit)

35. Third Year — XVI

Tamsyn

People aren't that bad about me and Severus. It's annoying, yeah, but people were already pretty fucking annoying about the Girl Who Lived stuff to begin with. Mostly people from light families, dark kids hardly even bring it up, which is kinda funny, considering, you'd think it'd be the other way around. That I'm cool with him, to the point of choosing to live with him and everything, is an extra reason for them not to like me, especially since they think of it as me choosing Severus above Dumbledore. (Which is stupid, because I never lived with Dumbledore anyway, but most people don't know that.) But they already had plenty of other reasons they don't like me, mostly down to me being a creepy devil child and not the perfect good light hero they wanted, so it honestly doesn't seem to make that much of a difference.

I guess it might be worse if Dumbledore was making a point of trying to stop it, but he really isn't doing anything about it, hasn't even said anything publicly, besides just that he'll respect the decision of the Council of Family Law and the Wizengamot and give me up if they tell him to. Severus says he's not doing anything about it because he thinks of Severus as one of his people, so it doesn't make much difference, but Dorea says he's politically weak right now anyway, due to the Weasley girl being killed at his school and not even managing to catch the person who did it (so I guess good job on that one), and nobody in government is doing well with Sirius breaking out and still on the loose, and the stupid Girl Who Lived shite is actually working in my favour this time, since the articles made it clear that I'm the one suing to be removed from his custody, so maybe he couldn't do anything about it even if he wanted to. I've even heard rumours people are going to try to use the hearing coming up to try to get even more mud on him, hopefully to get him kicked out of office. Which, honestly I might think was a good thing, because fuck Dumbledore, if they weren't using my shite to make their big scandal. Whatever, it'll be over soon.

Ronald bloody Weasley is the most annoying about it, because he thinks I killed his baby sister — so fuck you, Tamsyn. But really, it's not so bad, I try to ignore him. Honestly, I can't wait until I can leave Britain after OWLs, Severus doesn't think it'll be as bad overseas.

Do you know where there's a room tucked in under the stairs somewhere? Below the Entrance Hall, maybe. I guess I haven't really looked, but if the wards really do project up the Grand Staircase that'd be an ideal place to do it. I'll be burning herbs and shite, and also unconscious for most of it, so I can't really do it out in the open anywhere. Unless it's in the middle of the night, I guess, but that's probably not a great idea.

No, there isn't a Latin class at Hogwarts — you're right, though, there probably should be, maybe it's on the list for when they get more professors coming up. Severus got me a private tutor, I had my first meeting with him in Hogsmeade just last weekend. Mostly we just talked about what our lessons would be like, and he gave me a bunch of workbooks and shite. Since I can only see him every once in a while he's mostly going to be marking worksheets and stuff, and talking about things I got wrong and also new stuff, I'm mostly going to be teaching myself to read Latin in my spare time, and not really working on speaking it at all. Which is fine, I already have enough classes to be getting on with, and I only want to be able to read it anyway.

Apparently mages have these neat flashcards, where you write on the inside of the thing what the answer is, and it'll flash a different colour if you get it right or wrong. Susan told me about them, but they're made by a French company, I sent in an order for a big bloody box of the things but they haven't come in yet.

The Mistwalkers all have all kinds of piercings, all over their faces, but also a long line of the things along their spine and their collarbones and hips and even like their nipples and things. I never really thought about doing anything like that before seeing them over the holiday. I mean, I didn't get my ears pierced as a kid, because obviously Petunia would never have bothered, and it just didn't occur to me since. I don't think I'll do my ears though — my hair is fucking impossible, I think it'll get caught in the things too easy. But the ones in their eyebrows and lips are cool looking, and the ones just stuck into them other places.

I'm not saying 100% for sure I want to do it, just something I've been thinking about lately. Maybe I will, but I don't know how distracting they'll be. I don't think they'll be a problem for any other reason, since mages have pain and healing charms, and Daphne said they're enchanted to stop anything from fucking up, so. I could just take them out if they're too annoying, I guess. Supposedly there are also magic tattoos, Susan says some of them move, but I've never seen any myself.

I might tell you about some of Lily's spells and whatever, especially if I need help figuring them out. I haven't spent much time looking at it yet, my class schedule is pretty full, and then there's quidditch and the duelling team, the first couple weeks back at school have been pretty busy.

Anyway, yeah, this letter is stupid long this time. There's something I wanted to ask you about, but it takes some background, and it's kind of not fun stuff, I guess. If you just don't want to talk about this shite, that's fine, just pretend the rest of this letter never happened.

So, we mentioned sex and stuff in older letters, about you and Andy and French-name-I-can't-remember-how-to-spell and whatever. And I remember saying I didn't get it at all, but maybe it was just because I didn't have the right hormones yet. Well, the hormones happened, basically walked right up and slapped me in the face in the library one day, because of course. I'm not saying I actually want to do anything about it, I can barely even tolerate hugs from my friends most of the time, and also it still just sounds kind of gross? I mean, even just touching myself kind of grosses me out a little, I've been rubbing myself against a pillow instead, because ech. But, you know, finding people distractingly pretty, having random sexy thoughts, blah blah, I get that much now at least.

Actually, I've been thinking about using my pensieve for creepy pervert reasons, but interacting with shite in there can be really inconsistent, so I'd probably have to touch myself instead. That and the memories I can use are limited. Still working on that.

Okay, I didn't want to talk about masturbating in this letter like a creep, just stalling, sorry about that. This whole puberty thing has been kind of fucked to begin with, because I'm pretty sure I'm a lesbian? I don't know for sure, I'm not sure how you would even tell, but I've only had distracting sexy thoughts about girls so far, so I think so. And I kind of didn't deal with that so well at first. In retrospect, obviously for fucked up abused kid reasons. My relatives didn't tolerate anything abnormal, you can bet they didn't have anything even remotely nice to say about queers. It doesn't bother me when it's other people, but it set me off for some stupid reason, I don't know.

I'm mostly over that now I think? I mean, I still get a twinge of something now and then, and I still don't want to tell anyone if I can help it (you don't count), but it doesn't really bother me that much. Severus had one of his friends talk to me about it already, and as much as he's a complete arse for talking to his friends about my shite without asking first, that did kind of help, so fine, whatever.

But I'm telling you all this because I fucked up, and don't know what to do about it, and I don't have anyone else I can ask for advice. Back when I was staying at the Greenwood, I accidentally caught Daphne thinking about kissing me, and I kind of freaked out? I don't even know why, honestly, or at least not really — I even read my own mind in the pensieve, and I still couldn't really straighten it out.

If I had to guess, I'd say I didn't really believe that she actually wants to — she's really fucking pretty, and I'm, well, me — so she must want something else, and I had no idea what. I definitely overreacted. Looking in the pensieve, it's obvious she was telling the truth when she said she didn't mean anything by it, she wasn't scheming somehow or anything, and I can't imagine what she might mean to accomplish even if she was. But I reacted very badly, freaking out and trying to compel her to tell me what she wants from me — she didn't know I was a mind mage before, oops — and generally just being a bitch.

I fucked up, is the point, badly. We ended up leaving the Greenwood early, and ever since school started up again its been just painfully awkward. Honestly, probably more on my end than hers, though it's hard to tell for sure. She is definitely more cautious around me than before, though I'm not really sure why — I've been staying away from her mind, don't want to fuck it up even worse — but I have no fucking clue what to say to her now and it's just terribly uncomfortable, and I don't know what I'm doing.

It double sucks because I'm not even really opposed to the idea, honestly? I mean, suddenly finding that in her head startled me, but if she did want to do something — down the road, when I've worked through shite enough I won't just freak out again — I might actually be all for that one day. She was one of the people at school I got on with best before this all happened, and she really is, just, distractingly pretty. Nowhere near ready for anything to happen yet, but I can't help feeling like I fucked up the chances of something maybe happening later by freaking out for no reason because Liz is broken, and that actually kind of sucks, honestly.

So, I should apologise, right? I mean, obviously I should apologise, but I don't really know how to do that. And the whole thing is just so terribly uncomfortable, and I don't know what to say, and I'll probably do it wrong and just fuck it up even worse. Taking a calming potion might help, I guess, but those tend to make me a little babbly, so I'd probably end up saying something wrong anyway, I was going to just ignore it and hope things go back to normal on their own, but I hate how weird and awkward this is, and it'll probably be too late by then. I just don't know what to do.

Sorry for unloading this shite on you. I actually considered just burning this thing and starting over, but I do want to fix this, and I don't really have anyone else I can ask. So, yeah, you can just ignore all that if you want, it's fine.

Elizabeth

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Elizabeth

The legend of the Girl Who Lived is after my time, I only first heard of all this from Ginevra — so I'm afraid I can't speak to what's motivating the behaviour of your classmates, at least not with any authority. The Light, I imagine, likely feel some degree of betrayal over you not turning out as they expected. Which is completely irrational, of course, but these are stories they would have grown up with, and people can be quite irrational when it comes to the reality of the world diverging from the image of it imparted in their youth. Only a minority of the Dark supported the Dark Lord, and naturally haven't the same attachment to the Light's principles and narrative surrounding the war, so I'm not surprised they give you less trouble.

I can confirm that Dumbledore is politically vulnerable — the common belief is that his term as Supreme Chancellor of the ICW is soon to end. This truly has little to do with you, however. He was first elected to the office shortly after the end of the Revolution, and the political environment has changed dramatically since. Most of Grindelwald's ally nations were subject to ICW occupation, and it is those puppet governments who composed the delegations that selected him in the first place. But the ideological composition of these governments has radically changed in the years since. Starting with France in the 60s, most of his former allies have been taken over by communalist majorities — which the ICW knew was inevitable if they allowed legitimate elections in these countries, but given the state of things after the war they hadn't any other choice — and the same has even begun to happen in countries who opposed the Revolution, most infamously Poland just last year.

This second generation of communalists despise Dumbledore — though they're mostly quiet about it, as they realise that openly disparaging the man held to be almost single-handedly responsible for ending war in Europe may be impolitic. They've been biding their time, slowly building a comfortable majority in the Senate before making their move. While I suppose it's possible that they may use this scandal concerning you as a sign it's time to pounce, it truly has every little to do with you.

I'm less well-informed about the internal politics of Britain, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's vulnerable there as well. There have been countless gaffes and minor scandals involving Dumbledore over the years, his sterling reputation always enough to cushion the blow — honestly, the recent Dark Lord crisis worked to temporarily buoy support for his leadership, which had been weakening already in the decade running up to it. The rumour I hear is that Common Fate in particular is getting fed up with him, and he won't make it through a no-confidence vote without them. It is very possible that the scandal around your childhood may be the final straw. We'll have to see.

I'm not going to apologise for killing Ginevra. It isn't inconveniencing you more than I wanted out of that damn book.

Have you given any thought to which school you're going to for Proficiencies? I hear the one in Poland is good.

There is a room under a bend of the Grand Staircase, in fact. If you take the hallway straight from Slytherin to Hufflepuff, take a left at the first junction past the stairs. It should be the same hallway that leads to the kitchens to the right, but it does move around some, it will be the first left regardless. A short ways down you should find a tapestry on the left, a forest scene, near the middle you will find a snake curled around a rose bush. Ask it to let you through in Parseltongue, and you will find a small passage leading straight ahead. This will bring you to a narrow, low-ceilinged hallway — to the right you will find stairs leading down into the elf warrens, but at the left end you'll notice the ceiling is angling downward. Enter the door on the right to find a peculiarly triangular room, directly underneath the stairs. It's quite small, and unused — you'll want to dust it first, and you may find pests in there, doxies or boggarts or whatever else — but it should be in a suitable location, and you'll be left undisturbed for however long your ritual takes.

Do tell me what you see if it works, I'm very curious.

Out of curiosity, I looked up whether the plans for imminent reforms at Hogwarts include adding a Latin class, but so far as I can tell that doesn't seem to be the case. Though honestly I'm not surprised — in modern Britain, proficiency in Latin is taken to be a sign of privilege, as only the nobility or wealthy have the resources to put into tutoring, an association that would weaken if muggleborns were attending free lessons at Hogwarts. It's the same reason Hogwarts doesn't have Alchemy classes anymore.

I did study Latin some in my own time, but I'm hardly proficient enough to be able to read it, even with the help of a dictionary. But you seem to have a better head for languages than I do — I had difficulty with Cambrian and French as well, in the end resorted to subsuming the knowledge from my classmates.

The piercings do sound interesting — I'll admit I have a mild fascination for body modification. I know very little about the Mistwalkers, so I've never seen what you're referring to, but such things are far more common among mages outside the nobility of Britain. The same taboo doesn't exist in the Americas. I've already gotten my ears pierced since coming here, though, while the thought might occur to me now and then, I haven't seriously considered doing anything further. Perhaps one day.

Tattooing is a relatively modern phenomenon — in Europe, that is, it's existed elsewhere for longer — and yes, some of them do in fact move. I've seen some, they're quite interesting. While tattoos can be magic, some can also do magic, permanently enchanting the person's body the same way carving runes into an object would do — this is very illegal, due to the inherent risks to such a thing. (Recall what can happen in cases of faulty enchantments, and keep in mind that it is a person's body being enchanted.) It's not unheard of in certain criminal organisations, but it's exceedingly rare.

My my, Liz, you needn't be so defensive. I'm not going to ignore the rest of your letter. There is very little you could say that would discomfit me, and I feel it important to address some of what you wrote of.

Andy's wife's name was Éloïse. The "é" is a long A sound — without le accent aigu (the proper French term), it would be a short E sound, like in get — and the two dots above a vowel (called diaeresis in English, or le tréma in French) indicate it should be pronounced independently, and not as a diphthong. An "s" between vowels is pronounced like a "z" (as often happens in English), and the final "e" is silent (as also often happens in English) — thus, the name said "ay-loh-ease" is spelled Éloïse. French spelling seems inscrutable at first glance, but once you learn the rules it's perfectly regular.

I would make a joke about welcoming you to puberty, but I'm not certain it's something to be pleased about. I know I found that first year or two alternately irritating and upsetting.

There may be times when one might want to handle a substance that is potentially noxious, or perhaps simply unpleasant, but doesn't have gloves to hand. An imperturbable charm can provide a barrier around one's skin, but it creates a frictionless surface, which can present difficulties when attempting to handle anything. Long ago a more suitable substitute was created, colloquially called the Clean Hands Charm — the incantation is "circumvelo," applied with a simple tap to the surface to be protected. One advantage of the charm is that the texture of the barrier generated is a matter of visualisation, so it may provide as much or as little friction as one wishes.

Or to allow you to masturbate without getting any unpleasant fluids on your hands, if that's what you wish. Certain shops sell devices enchanted to directly stimulate the nerves, you might look into that as well.

You can't bring anything into a pensieve with you, but my understanding is that your presence inside the pensieve is a conceptual image — that is, you appear as you imagine yourself to appear. I of course haven't tested this but, theoretically, if you visualise your hands as though shielded with a Clean Hands Charm, they should be so. I'm not sure whether your body will respond to stimulation as it should while inside, you'll have to test that yourself as well.

On the topic of testing, the enclosed phial contains a memory of me and Julie in fifth year, having sex in her dorm room. Use that as you will.

Generally, homosexuality is far more broadly accepted among mages than among muggles — there are exceptions, but for the most part. I also grew up in a quite intolerant environment, but I suspect I internalised it far less thoroughly than you did. From the sound of it, I don't need to assure you that there's no reason to beat yourself up about it — it's the way some people are, by nature, there's simply nothing to be done about it. There's no reason to be ashamed of things outside your control. Or practically anything else, I would argue, but I was also a creepy devil child, so what do I know.

Besides, some women are "distractingly pretty", and there's no use in denying reality.

I'm sure I can't say what was going on in your head during that encounter with Daphne any better than you can. I would recommend that you spend more time considering what exactly it is you feared of her — explicitly acknowledging what I feared might happen, and realising that it was irrational, helped me get through similar difficulties I had around your age.

Understanding what happened will also make it easier to make things right with Daphne. The first step in smoothing this whole thing over would be to get her to understand what happened, and you can't do that without first understanding it yourself. Exactly how much you want to share with her is up to you, though it's worth noting that the whole picture might not make sense without certain details.

I don't know much about your childhood, so I can't say so for certain. But I suspect properly explaining your reaction will involve telling her of what happened to you. I'm not saying you must describe your abuse in fine detail, no, simply enough to make the connection for her. If you don't feel you can do that, perhaps it might be better to not try to apologise — a bad apology is sometimes worse than no apology at all.

In fact, it might be better to think of it as an explanation, and not an apology — one can hardly blame you for "being broken." Those are not the words I would use, by the way. You're still here, and making a life for yourself beyond your relatives' wishes for you — they may have tried to break you, but they failed. In any case, you can hardly be held responsible for what you needed to make of yourself to survive your childhood, or how that causes you to feel when pressed into unfamiliar situations in the present day. Nor should you apologise for catching a glimpse of what she was thinking in the first place. Mind mages sometimes pick up things from unguarded minds around them, and especially with you being a Seer in addition to being a mind mage, expecting you to perfectly respect the privacy of people's thoughts is unreasonable. You may apologise for not telling her you're a mind mage, if you like — she could hardly be expected to properly guard her thoughts if she hadn't realised they were vulnerable — but I would go no further than that.

On the other hand, you do have some responsibility for what you do, so you should apologise for compelling her. Even if it was something you did unthinkingly in the moment, on instinct, it is still something you theoretically have control over, so can be held to be responsible for it. In your apology you can include that you weren't thinking about it at the time, but only as an explanation for why you acted as you did and not as an attempt to excuse yourself from responsibility for your actions — Daphne will be able to tell the difference.

So far as the apology itself goes, there's not much I can tell you as to how to go about that. It depends too much on the events in question and your friendship with Daphne, neither of which I'm a participant in. I can tell you that it should make you uncomfortable. You are attempting to discuss something you feel guilty for, and opening yourself up to her judgement, a vulnerable position you have no control over — if it doesn't make you uncomfortable, you aren't doing it right.

And that is also an important thing to keep in mind: you have no control over her response. It is possible that you did fuck it up. Even if you explain why you acted as you did perfectly clearly, even if your apology is as perfect as it can possibly be in the circumstances, she may still not be comfortable around you anymore. And if that is the case, you will have to accept that. You can not force her to forgive you. I suppose you can with mind magic, theoretically, but it would require enthrallment executed through many small nudges — a single direct compulsion will cause a conflict within her memory, which given the circumstances she will quickly realise the cause of — and keeping in mind your current skill level and experience I would strongly recommend against attempting such a thing. If your apology is not enough for her, that is her decision, and further badgering about it will likely be counterproductive. If you want your apology to have any meaning whatsoever, you must respect whatever her response to it may be.

It's also possible that she may accept your apology and take up your friendship again, but will no longer be willing to contemplate anything further — some people simply aren't comfortable with the power imbalance inherent in having a mind mage for a romantic or sexual partner. And if that turns out to be the case, there's nothing you can do about that either. Her discomfort with the idea may weaken with time, just as may your discomfort with the prospect of having that sort of relationship at all, but then it may not. And if it doesn't, that is another thing you will simply have to accept.

As I recall, the Greengrasses are a dark family, and the Dark often expect an apology to come with an offer to make amends. Any apology you give should finish with an offer to make it up to her somehow, if she would only tell you how; the ball would then be in her court to accept the apology, and tell you what you need to do to make the two of you even. Often, the injured party won't actually demand any kind of recompense at all, especially between friends — in fact, if she does ask something of you, beyond some small gesture like a promise to not compel her again or tell her if she's making you uncomfortable, or having a meal or studying together or something of the like, you should take it as a signal that she considers your friendship to be broken. But the offer suggests that the apology is being given in good faith, so you should include it anyway. That Daphne is also a Mistwalker may or may not change what she would expect, I would include the offer just to be safe.

As to how to make your apology, if you truly feel you won't be able to do it in person, writing her a letter is acceptable. That way, you will be able to think through more thoroughly what you mean to say, and make sure it all came out right before sending it along. Formal apologies are often done in written form for this reason — it's slightly unusual for school friends, but I suspect she'll appreciate the greater thought put into it. I would start with an explanation of why you're doing it in a letter, which might conveniently transition right into explaining why you reacted as you did. I've personally never been able to get an apology out in person — not one I truly meant, in any case — and have always done them in writing. I would recommend you do the same, if only to prevent any unfortunate misunderstandings.

I'm sorry I can't give you better news than this, but sometimes things simply don't work out. The best reassurance I can give is that, once you have made your apology, how things proceed is up to Daphne — you will have done all that you can, and at the least you will know that you tried. Cold comfort, perhaps, but we live with what we can get.

I would remind you that you are so young, still. Perhaps you have ruined any chances of anything happening with Daphne down the road, perhaps you haven't, but there will be other girls. Relationships at your age (and yet at my age) tend to be volatile, and a missed opportunity is simply that: one opportunity, among who knows how many to come. If it doesn't work out, try not to stress over what might have been too much. Between the business with Severus and Dumbledore, and your studies, and training for the quidditch and duelling teams, you already have more on your plate than anyone could reasonably expect a thirteen year old girl to manage. Try not to give yourself more to worry about, especially when the worry itself is over something so ephemeral.

I realise telling someone not to worry hardly helps them to not worry, but some things are more worthy of it than others. If you have ruined things with Daphne, that is unfortunate, but it's not the end of the world. No matter how distressing it may feel in the moment, that feeling will pass in time — and another opportunity will come, with another girl in another time, and this experience now will leave you better equipped to handle the next one.

Just as with your sexuality, there is no use beating yourself up over things beyond your control. It is worthwhile to try to make it right as long as you can, but once you have made your apology what comes of it is out of your hands. Such is life, I'm afraid.

Good luck,

Tamsyn

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Tamsyn

Have you realised how absurdly long our letters are getting? Seriously, it's going to take me like a couple hours to respond to this...

Yeah, the dark kids being less stupid about the Girl Who Lived stuff makes sense when you think about it, it just seems kind of backward at first glance. Honestly, maybe I would be more friendly with light people if they weren't so fucking stupid about it, which then makes them more stupid about it, it's extremely annoying.

I'm still confused about Grindelwald and whatever. We haven't gotten to that period in history class yet — we're getting up through Cromwell this year — and I haven't really made a point of reading history books on my own. The things I hear are really conflicting? Like, big scary Dark Lord, people talk about him kind of like a continental Voldemort...sort of? A lot of people seem to really hate him and his people, and make a big deal about Dumbledore beating him, and even just that he went to Durmstrang I think is part of why people think it's an evil dark magic school. But not all of it makes sense? Like the things people say are inconsistent, and I'm not really sure what's bad about him — other than there being a big war, obviously wars are bad. Also, I've never heard that his people are so big on the continent these days, you'd think people would talk about that more.

I do know that the Eirsleys fought for Grindelwald, and I get the feeling the Eirsleys are pretty good, politically, so. It's confusing, is my point.

It is kind of a relief that Dumbledore being fucked internationally doesn't have anything to do with me, though, maybe people won't make a fuss when I'm studying there then.

Yeah, about Common Fate, I know that Susan and Daphne both don't like Dumbledore. They are just two teenage girls, but their families are both big in Common Fate, so I still think that suggests something. When they do talk about politics (which we don't much), I always got the feeling that Common Fate sides with the Light so much only because the other options are worse.

The school in Poland is on my list — the University of Cracow, it's called. It's a smaller school — smaller than Beauxbatons or the ICW school, anyway — and their proficiency programme mostly just feeds into their mastery stuff, but I plan to continue on into mastery study anyway, so that's fine. The problem with UC is they don't teach in English at all. I'm already planning on copying French with mind magic, and they teach some classes in French, but it's mostly in Polish and Lithuanian. I guess there's no reason why I can't pick up a second language with mind magic...

The only English-speaking school that looked kind of okay is Salem, but moving all the way to America for school would be complicated. (I can easily use Potter money anywhere in the ICW, but the Americans have their own system.) Since I'm learning French anyway, the school in Paris would be fine, that one's on the list. I'm not sure I want to live in France long-term, though, they have residency requirements, it's a whole thing.

For other schools, I'm also kind of looking at the University of Syracuse — the place looks really pretty, but I'd have to pick up another language, and I think it might be too hot that far south. (Sicily is better about residency stuff than France, though.) Durmstrang is another one — I'd also have to pick up another language for that one, but I like that it's a smaller school, which also means it'll be harder to get into, and they're good about residency stuff, so mixed bag there.

Are you going to Salem? I just realised I never asked.

I found the room under the stairs, and it looks good. I cleaned out the space, but I'm waiting on my order of herbs to come in. I'll tell you how it goes when I do it.

They used to have alchemy classes at Hogwarts? What the hell is alchemy anyway? The impression I've gotten is that it's just, like, really advanced potions or transfiguration or something, but the few things Severus has said about it don't really fit. Apparently he used alchemy to get a bunch of elemental sunlight out of grass to kill a few dementors, and I don't know how the fuck that's supposed to work.

The tattoos sound freaky as hell, but Daphne said it's possible to enchant piercings to do shite, which sounds safer. Probably can't actually enhance a person's body with that, I don't think, but you could probably get it to do all kinds of things.

...I just got multiple ideas for defensive spells, or like something that dispels hexes or conjured things on you automatically, so I guess I might have to get piercings just to play with that.

Okay, French spelling sounds stupidly complicated. Copying it out of someone's head instead of learning it properly definitely sounds like a good decision, fuck that. At least Latin is just what it looks like.

Kind of weird that you just went ahead and gave me masturbation advice, Tamsyn. I mean, I tried the charm, and that was a great idea, I'm just saying.

I would have no idea where to get "devices." Seems like an awkward thing to ask people, and I'm at school so I can't go places very easily, and also I'm not sure they'll sell them to me anyway — did you forget that I'm only thirteen?

No seriously, did you forget I'm only thirteen? Because you basically just sent me porn of yourself. That's a bloody weird thing to do, Tamsyn. I haven't looked at it yet, because what the hell?

Yeah, I'm mostly over the being gay thing. It's still a little weird, and I haven't told anyone (you don't count), but I get that it's not a big deal.

I don't think I was scared of anything in particular with Daphne. I just didn't know what was happening, or what she wanted, and that was scary. It is definitely more Liz is broken because Dursleys stuff, I don't doubt that, but often that stuff isn't really a specific thing, it just is, you know? I don't really know how to explain it, even to myself, so I really don't know what the fuck I can possibly say about it to Daphne.

I mean, I guess I can just say that my uncle was an arse, and now I freak out about things for no reason sometimes, but that doesn't seem like enough somehow. I don't know.

You and Severus both don't like it when I call myself broken, but I don't think you mean the same thing by it I do.

Thanks for the apology advice, and the "pep" talk — you know, you sound a lot older than you are when you say shite like that. Obviously I know fucking things up with Daphne isn't the end of the world, it just bothers me. I think you're assuming I'm way more broken up about it than I am — I want to fix it, sure, but I'm not over here all woe is me, guess my life is over now. Honestly...

Doing it in letter form is a good idea, though, I'm definitely doing that. I'm going to start working on that right now, but I'm probably going to write more than one version before going with one. I'm shitty at this kind of thing, obviously, I don't want to just make it worse.

So yeah, thanks, we can go back to talking about fun nerdy shite and pretend this never happened.

Elizabeth

፠

Elizabeth

Yes, I have realised how long our letters to each other have gotten — writing a reply is taking quite some time for me as well. I choose to take it as a compliment, that a young girl with so many better things to do would rather spend so much time talking to little old me.

Grindelwald and the communalist movement is a long and complicated subject. Communalism can sort of be thought of as analogous to muggle communism, though the comparison isn't perfect. Governments similar to that in Britain, with a small group of wealthy aristocratic families dominating the country while the rest languish in poverty, with few political rights to protect them, humans favoured while all other beings were pushed to the fringes of society, this state of affairs was not so long ago almost universal throughout Europe. The major exceptions were Sicily and Aquitania, where the aristocracy had already been deposed in previous generations, as well as Daneland, Finland, Livonia, and also Albania, who are organised by different principles for historical reasons.

Gellert Grindelwald was born in Stettin, Saxony, which is something of a cultural melting-pot on the magical side. On the muggle side, the city is now part of Poland (though when I was a child it was German), but at the time of the Statute the area was held by the Swedish Empire. When the borders of magical governments were drawn, they attempted to follow linguistic boundaries (primarily for practical administrative reasons), and as the dominant language in the area was Saxon, it was returned to Saxony, as it remains to this day. But the population in Pomerania was and is more culturally mixed than most other regions of Saxony — there are small minorities of Danes and Prussians, and larger minorities of Germans, Poles, and other Slavs from Silesia, Bohemia, and Moravia. The Saxon nobility ruling the country greatly favoured their own people, driving the Slavs and the Danes (and Germans less severely) into deprivation not unlike that of poor Common Houses in Britain, in Stettin concentrated into slums not unlike that of Knockturn Alley in Charing.

It is in these slums that Grindelwald was born, child of a Saxon and an émigrée from Hungary. His family was relatively well-off relative to others in their neighbourhood, his father a tailor, but he would never have been far from the poverty around him. The schooling available to residents was generally terrible, but Grindelwald and his siblings were home-schooled by their mother, Grindelwald himself talented enough he landed one of the few highly-selective full scholarships to Durmstrang.

He was expelled in his sixth year for cursing a fellow student, a son of a Polish nobleman — he was understandably incensed over the boy raping his younger sister (who'd also gotten one of the scholarships a couple years behind him, despite multiple children from the same family getting in being almost unheard of) and not seeing any legal consequences for it. Warned by sympathetic professors that the Saxon government intended to extradite him to Poland to face prosecution upon his return home, he fled to his distant cousins living in Godric's Hollow instead.

Albus Dumbledore, recently graduated from Hogwarts, also happened to be living in the village. The two boys were both angry with the state of Europe — Grindelwald for the enforced poverty he'd grown up innured in and the incident with that Polish noble boy, that they were more concerned with prosecuting Grindelwald than the boy who raped his sister; Dumbledore for the lot of commoners in our country, and personally resentful of his own lacking career prospects due to his common birth, despite his considerable talents — and found a like mind in each other. Together, they came up with an image of what magical Europe should be like, one where the nobility were liquidated and the common people were masters of their own destiny, and started forming vague plans of how they'd go about it. According to Grindelwald's account, they were even lovers for a time. After staying in Britain for a few years, there was an argument with Aberforth Dumbledore, which devolved into a three-way duel, ending with the death of Ariana, the youngest of the three Dumbledore siblings. Confident of his innocence, but fearing he would be blamed for the tragedy — understandably, given his history — Grindelwald fled the country for the Continent.

Years later, he resurfaced in Saxony, shortly after the request for his extradition lapsed. He acquired equipment from somewhere (perhaps stolen), and began a pirate radio broadcast. It often started with commentary on current events, but would then develop into radical polemics. In his passionate addresses, Grindelwald drew a picture of a Saxony where all people were held to be equal persons — not just human mages, but magical beings as well, and even muggle relatives of mages — and the wealth of the country would be held by those common people who toiled to produce it. And he didn't simply speak of pretty dreams, but of a potential future worth striving for. The common people greatly outnumbered the nobility, he argued, they would certainly win if they but stood up and fought — and even that, considering the evils of the country as it was now, any with the means had a moral obligation to do all they could to put a stop to it.

His radio programme became quite popular — and not just in Saxony, it was frequently translated and re-broadcast in neighbouring countries — slowly attracting adherents to the Revolution. The authorities reacted after some years, arresting him for broadcasting without a licence — though the penalty for that particular crime is meant to only be a fine, he received a thirty-year prison sentence instead, in an obvious attempt to deprive the movement he'd inspired of its leader. His tenure in prison was less miserable than it might have been, sympathetic guards sneaking him extra rations and even writing materials, so he managed to keep a journal through his imprisonment, even passing occasional letters to the outside.

His writings were later compiled and published as The Bremen Prison Diaries, you might consider picking up a copy — though it was banned in Britain, you'll have to order an English translation from a communalist bookstore in France, I can help you find one if you're having trouble.

As it turned out, the Saxon authorities acted too late: his following had grown enough that the movement acted even in his absence. Pockets of resistance cropped up, self-organised communes forming in major population centres, which would later be consolidated into de Allianz för eene ne'en Gemeenschop, literally "the Alliance for a new Community" — Grindelwald's political party, for lack of a better term. (The English term "communalist" is from the name of the French Revolutionary militia, le Front Communaliste.) There were massive protests in Bremen, when permitted in the vicinity of the prison, occasionally breaking out into riots, until the government was finally forced to release him only four years into his sentence. His radio broadcasts resumed, now directly associated with and recruiting for de Allianz, the organisation steadily growing over the next years. They started gathering and training a militia — personally led by Grindelwald, who'd gotten some training of his own in Sicily during the hiatus between his flight from Britain and his reemergence in Saxony — until the militia could stand toe-to-toe against official forces. As time went, they began to refuse law enforcement entrée into areas controlled by de Allianz, the communes functioning independently from the official government.

Until, in time, Grindelwald and de Allianz walked into Saxony's government offices, and simply took over the country — there was some fighting, but at this point the growth of his movement had so severely weakened the government's legitimacy that few wished to fight to defend it any longer, and they could put up little resistance. Most of the bloodshed came after the Revolution took over the country: the nobility resisted having their property expropriated to enrich the commons, organising militias of their own, vicious skirmishes popping off now and then over the next decade, enraged commoners sometimes going so far as to lynch wealthy families in misdirected revenge. Despite the unrest, and under-the-table subversion from counter-Revolutionary forces in foreign lands, the Revolution managed to firm their control over the country, things settling down again by the early 30s.

And by that time, there were already independent Revolutions going on in foreign countries. These were often blamed on Grindelwald, and while it is undeniable he played a part in inspiring them, there has only ever been thin evidence that he or his people were directly responsible. Rebroadcasts of his radio programme did go some way to motivating Revolutionary groups all across Europe, amplifying discontent that had already existed and inspiring them to act. It is true that Revolutionary Saxony gave assistance to some of these groups in the form of supplies and training, but only after they had come to be — Grindelwald or his people did not directly intervene anywhere, and they did not start the war themselves.

Regardless, following Saxony there were successful revolutions in Bohemia, Germany, Austria, Illyria, Moravia, and France, aristocratic governments falling in quick succession throughout the middle of Europe. Most of the rest — Holland, Venice, Tuscany, Romania, Hungary, Muscovy, Macedonia — also saw significant Revolutionary movements, those in Bulgaria, Helvetica, Poland, and Lithuania exploding into outright civil war. There was also some Revolutionary presence in Portugal and our own Britain, but the authorities in both countries crippled the movements early by rounding up and imprisoning (or sometimes executing) the leadership, placating the masses with concessions to muggleborns and poor commoners. This was most effective in Britain, all Revolutionary sentiment vanishing early in the period, though it was less successful in Gaelic-speaking areas of the country — there was no major uprising, but the independence movement retains an obvious communalist character to this day.

Only months after Muscovy finally defeated their native communalists, the Lithuanian government fell to the Revolution after a long, brutal fight. Fearing what might come of an openly Revolutionary state on their border, Muscovy invaded Lithuania in an attempt to finish off the already war-weary Revolutionaries before they could consolidate their victory. The Lithuanians, knowing they would loose in a war against the Russians (and badly), sent a delegation to Saxony to ask for help — they along with a handful of other Revolutionary states came to Lithuania's defence, which immediately drew retaliation from various conservative states, and so the war had begun.

Calling it "Grindelwald's war," then, is an obvious misnomer: while one could argue he's undoubtedly responsible for the Saxon Revolution, it was Muscovy who started the war proper. One can debate how responsible he was for the unrest in various countries throughout Europe — and people do, still to this day — but it was not he who escalated to war between nations.

Comparing Britain's most recent Dark Lord to Grindelwald is also inappropriate. Grindelwald had performed some kind of ritual to augment his own magical power — at his height, he was undeniably the single most powerful mage in all of Europe (and perhaps still is today) — and practising with Saxony's militia helped hone his skills until he was a terrifying duellist. In that sense alone may they be considered comparable. As Grindelwald's politics were those of popular democracy — of welcoming muggleborns and nonhumans and even muggles into society, reorganising the government and economy to put power into the hands of the common people — one cannot say he had anything in common with Voldemort. In fact, given that the Dark Lord seemed to promote the interests of the British nobility to the exclusion of the commons, they can be said to be polar opposites.

It's also worth noting that, while Voldemort and his followers called him a Dark Lord, the same is not true of Grindelwald and de Allianz. The use of the term "Dark Lord" is a cultural relic of certain countries in Europe subject to frequent viking raids, referring to powerful magical warlords among the Danes. In the modern day, it's often applied to any leader who violently opposes a legitimate government. People call Grindelwald a Dark Lord as a disparagement, intending to conjure associations with great villains of the past — Voldemort chose to assume those associations himself.

I suppose people in Britain may speak of Grindelwald and Voldemort as though their movements were similar phenomena, but there really is no good cause to do so. The two figures had practically nothing in common.

Looking back on what I just wrote, I realise I went on about Grindelwald and the communalists far longer than necessary to answer the question. I apologise, I find the Revolutions of the first half of this century absolutely fascinating. I was terribly disappointed when the original Tamsyn informed me of Grindelwald's defeat and the subsequent victory of conservative forces — I would have liked to see what would have become of a Revolutionary Europe.

Generally, people outside of Britain aren't concerned with the story of the Girl Who Lived — your survival is an academic curiosity, and little more. People may make assumptions about your politics, given Dumbledore's involvement in the defeat of the Revolution, but I doubt they'll give your presence too much thought otherwise.

Common Fate can be understood to be halfway between the Light and Ars Publica, which one they side with dependent upon the issue in question. Though, Common Fate also have more connections to the commons, so they tend to prioritise the interests of common people rather more often than any other faction in the Wizengamot. If the Wizengamot can be said to have a leftist faction, it would be Common Fate — the term isn't quite appropriate, but it's a passable shortcut to predict the direction of the country's politics.

(Some of the more radical families in the Wizengamot, such as the Greengrasses and Glanwvyls and Eirsleys, could even be said to be communalist, though that isn't a suggestion often made in public for obvious reasons.)

I would be very cautious copying languages with mind magic. Subsuming so much knowledge at once is quite risky, presenting serious danger of injuring yourself and the person you're copying it from. You should thoroughly practise subsuming knowledge from other minds, until it is almost second nature, before even contemplating such a thing.

So far as access to your wealth in America is concerned, I am familiar with a loophole — the University of Cracow has a treaty of sorts with the University of Miskatonic, through which they sometimes share resources, research projects, and staff. You can backdoor resources into America through the Universities, at least enough to live on, though I suspect you'd need to be a student of one or the other to do so.

The University of Syracuse is an excellent institution, possessing one of the most extensive libraries in all of Europe — they hold a wealth of documents on every topic imaginable in dozens of languages dating all the way back to the Golden Age of Athens. But it is in Sicily, I'm not certain I'd be able to tolerate the weather either. Durmstrang is also a good choice, home to one of the best Proficiency programmes on the Continent. (According to ICW ratings, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons trade the top spot back and forth year to year.) They are very selective, true, and prefer to give Proficiency spots to students continuing from their Competency programme, but I would expect you have good odds of being admitted. You are very talented, and you'll have more than enough time to study up to Continental standards — depending on which Proficiencies you apply for, I doubt you'll have any trouble meeting their standards.

I would recommend ordering revision booklets for each Competency exam you expect to take, as soon as possible. I don't imagine you'll have too much trouble in Charms or Potions — though the material is slightly different, so you may want to look over the material just in case — but the ICW-standard curricula in Transfiguration and Defence are very different from how the subjects are taught in Hogwarts. Particularly, the Transfiguration Competency includes elementary alchemy, and the Continent has looser laws governing the practice of magic, which is reflected in the Defence Competency. There are also Competencies in more subject than there are OWLs, so you might consider studying other subjects on your own if they catch your eye.

No, I'm not at Salem. I choose to attend an American Indian school instead, Chimidēwigamig Agondēwāsigankāning — I'm not entirely certain I have that right, most of the time it's called simply Chimiwāsikāning. It's the major state school of an American nation that corresponds to most of the Great Lakes region, I suppose, straddling the border between Canada and the United States. English is a significant minority language here, as the muggleborns primarily speak English, though I've learned the local language as well. I didn't copy it all at once: I'm pretending to be an omniglot, so I gradually copied the language bit by bit as I interacted with native speakers — a conveniently believable explanation, so long as I'm careful not to be caught, and one that carries far lesser risk of accidentally hurting myself. Also there aren't many fluent muggle speakers conveniently walking around I can copy it from and obliviate of the experience, so.

The place is quite beautiful — it's situated on a lake in the middle of a forest, some of the school buildings actually floating out on the water — though much of the surroundings are currently buried in snow up to my knee. And apparently that isn't even much snow by local standards, I'm told we'll get much more at the turning of the seasons. I'm quite enjoying my studies here, though I wouldn't bother putting it on your list if I were you — their equivalent to the European Proficiency standard doesn't teach in English at all, as muggleborns will have been taught the local language by then. The only reason they were willing to overlook it and admit me into the Mastery programme here is because I'm pretending to be an omniglot, so they assumed the language barrier wasn't to be a problem for long.

Yes, there was once an Alchemy class at Hogwarts, as a NEWT-level elective — it was discontinued in the late 1910s, I believe. The claim is that the class was discontinued due to a lack of interest, though I'm personally sceptical.

It's difficult to explain just what alchemy is briefly. After some thought, I suppose it can be divided into two separate fields: physical alchemy and spectral alchemy. (Blood alchemy, sometimes instead called bioalchemy, can be considered a fusion of the two.) Physical alchemy is concerned primarily with the direct manipulation of physical matter — that is, the chemical components an object is made out of, and the properties of those components. In some cases, alchemy is similar to chemistry, but many alchemic processes deal explicitly with granting objects physical properties they would not have naturally — for example, altering a metal's melting point to make it more heat-resistant, making building materials more durable against weight or wear, enforcing unreactivity upon caustic substances so they can safely be used in potions, and so forth. Some scholars consider transfiguration itself to be a special case of physical alchemy, and one of the more important fields of physical alchemy is the reification of transfigured or conjured materials, the permanent creation of physical matter out of magic alone.

And yes, that is possible — when McGonagall told you transfiguration is always temporary, she was lying. Reifying transfigured or conjured objects is difficult, and requires elementary ritual magic, but it's indisputably possible, and even taught in limited special cases as part of the Competency standard.

Spectral alchemy, on the other hand, is concerned primarily with the direct manipulation of magical properties. Most often, this involves permanently altering the magical attributes of an object — granting the magic resistance and purifying properties of silver to steel tools, or imbuing water with the useful properties of dragon's blood (which was what Dumbledore's most famous work was on), and so on — though there are many more esoteric applications. For example, mind and soul magic subsumption are forms of spectral alchemy, if reflexive ones. (Generally speaking, one does not perform alchemy on oneself.) Most forms of spectral alchemy involving living things are plain illegal in Britain, and research into the subject is closely observed in most of the world for abuses — there are great benefits that can come of it, as demonstrated by the methods of cursebreaker-healers, but also terrible abuses.

Extracting elemental sunlight from living plants would be spectral alchemy...I think. I'll admit I only have a passing familiarity with the subject, but I have absolutely no idea how that could possibly be done. In a controlled setting, perhaps, but spontaneously during a dementor attack? That is incredibly impressive.

Sticking enchanted bits of metal into you isn't that much safer than directly enchanting your body — I would be very careful playing around with that sort of thing. You should probably run any enchanted jewellery by your guardian before wearing it.

I'm not sure what's so weird about giving you masturbation advice, as you put it, but it's possible this one is because I'm also a creepy devil child. I've never understood how squeamish people are about this sort of thing — everyone does it, I don't see why we should dance around the topic. Very silly.

And besides, in pureblood culture this sort of thing is what same-sex elder siblings and cousins are for — you don't have any of those, so you might as well take advantage of my greater experience and wisdom. I'm generous like that.

This is magical Britain, Liz. Sure enough, if you walked into a muggle sex shop, they likely wouldn't sell you anything, but the mages feel differently about these things. Mages are far more honest about it — of course it's inappropriate for an adult to involve themselves, but it's just assumed that teenagers are going to be experimenting with themselves and each other, and nobody really cares. I will admit that finding and getting to a suitable shop may be difficult — I know there was one in Charing back in the 40s, but I have no idea if it's still there — but finding it will be the only problem. If you were any younger it might raise eyebrows, but at thirteen you're old enough to buy pornography or sexual aides or whatever else.

Or did you forget that thirteen is the age of majority in magical Britain?

Yes, I did in fact send you porn of myself — it's not even the first time I've sent you something arguably inappropriate, if you recall. Just in case you wanted to stare at my arse some more.

But seriously though, you mentioned not having suitable memories to put in your pensieve, and I'm curious whether the charm will work, and whether your body will react as it should. It would depend on the particulars of how the enchantments work, and I suspect also how thorough your image is. If you do get it to work, I would like to know, just out of academic curiosity.

I suppose I could have stolen a memory from someone else to send you, but I'm a shameless little shite, and fully aware of the fact that I am very pretty, so the thought of you seeing one of my own doesn't particularly bother me. In fact, honestly, I find people getting off to me — so long as it is on my terms, and no threat to me — quite pleasing. Gratifying, though I can't quite put words to why, it simply is.

Don't worry, I'm not trying to suggest anything this time, either — as precious as I may find you sometimes, you're still too young for me.

That you didn't understand what was going on with Daphne is a perfectly reasonable cause to fear. I don't now about you, but I only rarely understood what I'd done to draw the enmity of the other children at the orphanage — it took a long time before being presented with unexpected, confusing social interactions stopped making me feel threatened, especially with people I already had some relationship with.

In fact, it didn't occur to me to mention before, but I reacted not so differently than you when it finally clicked that Andy was interested in me, complete with compelling him to tell the truth and not quite managing to process his answers. I handled it even worse than you did, though — I ended up hexing him and storming out, and then refused to apologise for months, like a stubborn child, until a mutual friend slapped some sense into me. I never could articulate why it frightened me so badly, simply that I found it confusing and threatening.

Of course, I realise now that I'd unconsciously associated his intentions with those of the older boys at the orphanage I've mentioned before, but I was less self-aware then — decades trapped in a book gave me quite a lot of time for reflection. Perhaps there is an explicit reason that incident with Daphne unnerved you so, but you may not identify it until you're older. And that's okay, simply that it has something indefinable to do with your abuse should be enough of an explanation for now.

What do you mean, then, when you say "Liz is broken"?

I guess it is possible, even likely, I assumed you're more broken up over the incident with Daphne than you truly are. I tend to assume people will be more deeply affected by such things than I would in the same position — I'm used to being different than people around me. Which, now that I think about it, might be exactly what you mean when you say you're broken, but I don't think of that way. Other people grew up with families, and a safe home to go to, and an expectation of security both now and into the future that was completely alien to me — and that security is tied up in their relationships, so obviously disruptions in those relationships would be more distressing to them. On the other hand, I have always needed to take care of myself, the people around me more often than not a threat to my security.

Writing that out to myself, both my unfortunate incident with Andy and yours with Daphne suddenly make far more sense to me. They had come to be friends to us, trusted, people we did not see as potential threats — so then when they start to behave in unexpected ways, for reasons we do not entirely understand, we are worried that our feeling we were safe with them was an illusion, that they may have been a threat to us the entire time. But this threat is worse than a clear and present one, because it came in the guise of a friend, subtle and inscrutable. Put in those terms, that we would react badly makes perfect sense.

That I eventually became comfortable with the idea of having an intimate relationship with Andy also makes more sense now: that didn't start happening until after my skills developed to the point that I could overpower him both with mind magic and in a duel, so he was no longer any kind of threat to me — I hadn't consciously thought of it in that way at the time, but in retrospect it's obvious.

Would you look at that? It seems there are still things for me to learn about myself — apparently nearly fifty years in that damn book wasn't enough for me to get it all figured out. How irritating.

I may or may not be right about that, but I don't know if it will do you any good. Something to think about, at least.

Tamsyn

---

Liz took a long, steading breath, the air coming unsteadily as she all but shivered with excitement. She was ready.

Dream-walking was an esoteric, trippy kind of thing, and for her first attempt Liz wanted to leave as little to chance as possible. One of the first problems she had to deal with was what she should be seeing. The Valley had been settled pretty much forever, and there'd been a lot of battles and shite here, just aimlessly casting out could have her landing pretty much anywhere — the chances of her seeing something that she actually knew what the fuck it even was were pretty low. It was possible to focus dream-walking, somewhat, but she needed something to focus on.

The most obvious bet was the wards themselves. Just pointing herself at them should show her the moment they were raised, which should be relatively straightforward, and also neat. Slytherin and Ravenclaw were commonly said to be the greatest geniuses of their time, but not much was known about how the wards actually worked — it was generally assumed that there'd been some kind of ritual element to initialising them, as was common in wards from back then, which made it more difficult. It also didn't help that the wardstones weren't sitting out somewhere public for just anyone to look at. But dream-walking Liz could witness the ritual part, and also put the memory in her penseive later to look over the runes on the wardstones at her convenience, because Liz was a huge fucking cheater like that.

To use the wards as a focus, she needed to be as close to the wardstones as possible — actually touching them would be ideal. But, of course, that wasn't an option, so she needed to get creative. Just like magic wasn't distributed evenly across the entire world, the magic supporting the wards wasn't distributed evenly either. It flowed in certain directions, concentrating in certain places. The greatest fraction of Hogwarts's magic was projected straight upward from the wardstones, following the Grand Staircase and spreading out as it went, like branches around the trunk of a tree. Hopefully, toward the bottom of the Grand Staircase would be close enough in metaphysical terms that, for dream-walking purposes, it was just as good as being at the wardstones themselves. It was a gamble, but it seemed good enough to her.

It also helped that it looked like this room had never really been used for anything. It was rather cramped, the roof sharply slanted from the stairs overhead, only half the depth of the stairs, narrow enough she couldn't imagine it'd ever seen any other use than as an occasional storage space, a broom closet or whatever. Luckily, it'd been relatively clean and entirely empty — a couple quick cleaning charms had taken care of the dust, and it was good to go.

And then there was the dream-walking itself to consider. Seers might get these kinds of dreams sometimes, just on their own at random — especially Seers with psychometry — but other than that it wasn't something people could just do, on their own. Because witchcraft was wild sometimes, it required special drugs — hallucinogenic drugs, specifically. It was possible to just get crazy high and See things in a trance, but dream-walking in particular required taking drugs and then falling asleep. And, obviously, it could be kind of hard to relax and go to bed while high out of your mind.

Also, hallucinogens and PTSD tended not to mix very well, so there was that.

After a bit of research and talking to Severus about it, they'd come up with a pretty neat fix for all that. That last problem wasn't actually as much of a problem as it seemed at first glance — if she were doing the drugs for the trance kind of Seeing, yeah, that wouldn't be fun, but the dream-walking potions mostly just caused synesthesia and only mild hallucinations, so they were much less likely to cause...freak the fuck out, flashback sort of issues. Also, she would be burning herbs to help herself fall asleep in the middle of the bloody day (and even into the proper kind of sleep), which themselves had calming effects, so between the two she should be fine.

There was also a ritual thing to the herbs, but that hadn't been too complicated, there'd been a description of what she had to do in Echoes of the Past. She'd woven the clippings into a tight, intensely herby-smelling bundle — the exact pattern they were woven into didn't actually matter, just that it was done at all, while reciting a litany meant to direct the intent of the thing. It'd been kind of awkward, yeah, sitting there on her bed fiddling with bits of plants while muttering a bloody couplet under her breath, but it wasn't like it'd been difficult. She wasn't entirely certain it'd worked, since she couldn't feel magic on the bundle of herbs at all, but she suspected that she wouldn't even if it'd worked anyway, so. She guessed she was about to find out.

Probably the most complicated bit, after getting the potion made — there'd been a list to choose from, she'd gone over them with Severus over the holidays — was the fire she was supposed to burn the herbs in: it had to be a natural fire. Liz couldn't exactly make campfires inside the castle, and also she didn't know how. After a bit of thought, she'd asked Nilanse for a big wide serving bowl, which she'd then enchanted to be heat-resistant, and then asked for a bunch of kindling — she would have collected it herself, but she didn't actually know what she was looking for, and also she wasn't supposed to go out into the Forest without an adult escort...or maybe that was different now that she could cast a Patronus, she hadn't asked. But anyway, Clyde Rock was in the middle of a forest somewhere, right, that shouldn't have been too difficult for the elves to come up with. She should be able to just toss in the sticks and shite Nilanse had brought, set them alight with a quick charm (the spark there wasn't technically natural fire, but once it naturally spread to the rest of the kindling it would count), and then once they got going good throw on the herbs. Boom, easy.

So, the first free afternoon she had after she had everything put together, Liz packed up her things and made for the tiny isolated room. The more she thought about it, it was a little odd that Tamsyn knew this thing was here — finding it in the first place, sure, she'd apparently gone exploring the Parseltongue-sealed passages stitching all over the castle, but this tiny useless room was a strange thing for her to still remember years later. Maybe Tamsyn had done some witchcraft shite in secret here too? Whatever, not important. Liz closed, locked, and sealed the door behind her, took off her robes and, after a second of hesitation, removed her dress too, hung it from the doorknob. As short as she was, she was still tall enough that the hem was on the floor, but she'd already thrown cleaning charms all over in here, it was fine.

Liz laid her robes out on the floor next to the bowl, to lay down on — less because the floor was dirty (it wasn't, anymore), and more because she was worried lying directly on the floor would make it difficult to fall asleep. She fished out the potion phial and the bundle of herbs, swished the kindling around in the bowl for a moment, pulling things up a few times so they kind of stuck out a little, so more air could get in there. Not a fire expert, didn't know what she was doing, but after shooting a very weak fire charm in there the stuff started up just fine, so, good enough.

While the little fire smouldered away, flickering and popping, Liz paused to take a slow, deep breath, trying to control the giddy twitching of her fingers and her heart pounding in her ears. But she couldn't hesitate too long, she didn't have that much kindling to burn. Dream-walking did sound very intense, so the thought of what she was about to do was a little intimidating but, well, as Liz had explained to people a few times now, she didn't fuck around, didn't see the point of dithering about with half-measures — go big or go home.

With a last steadying breath, Liz twisted off the cap and downed the potion. It tasted vaguely oily and herby, smooth and cool and tingly — tingly enough to tickle, for a brief second Liz thought she was going to sneeze. Like swallowing a cold drink too quickly, the chill trickling down her throat and into her chest, and then spread outward as the magic began to be absorbed, she let out a little cough as the cool tingle spread through her lungs. Sometimes being able to feel magic was a bit irritating, it didn't really do anything useful for her, just made some things uncomfortable.

Anyway, it would take a moment for the potion to start working, but she didn't need to wait for that. She tossed the bundle of herbs on top of the fire, and there was a sort of fwoosh-crackle, pale smoke immediately beginning to gush out of the things. There were little yellow-green flames, barely visible, crawling over the surface, and the smoke continued to billow up out of the bowl, thick and far more than Liz would normally expect — good, looked like the weird ritual thing had worked.

Watching the herbs burn, Liz got temporarily distracted by the smoke beginning to fill the air. It was kind of neat how these things worked, hot air rising from the fire pushing out the stuff, but not at a constant speed in the same direction, there was too much interference from the environment and exactly how the fire was distributed in the thing for that. So it bulged out in these little nodules in seemingly random directions. The same idea as clouds, you know, it just happened a lot quicker with something like this, the curved but craggly surface almost looking like cauliflower, but too...poofy, like cauliflower made out of bundles of cotton. And the smoke was thick enough it looked like she should be able to touch it, like it was solid, but she swished her hand through it and she felt nothing but smooth warm magic, the smoke itself perfectly permeable, its shape hardly even shifting from the disturbance, and the magic was clinging to her hand, little blots of shimmering colour, almost like liquid gemstones, green and blue and violet, oh, and they weren't just on her hand, she could actually see them in the smoke now, winking like too-colourful stars in the sky, but swirling and shifting around, like dust in the air seen through a band of sunlight in a dark room, but colourful, she could feel them on her breath, warm and wet in her throat like she was taking a hot shower, Liz followed a purple one with her eyes, swaying in one direction and another as it moved, buoyed by one current on the air and then the next, she could almost feel the sway herself, reminding her for an instant of crossing the Lake on those little boats back in first year, and her head was spinning, her stomach bubbling, faintly nauseous, her scalp tingling and—

Liz forced herself to look away, squeezing her eyes shut. Right. Drugs. Ha.

She was already starting to feel a little off, the magic that she shouldn't be able to just see like this dragging her inexorably towards sleep, so she laid down on her back before she flat passed out. Even when she was sitting still she felt like she was moving, continuing her motion down and to the side, her stomach lurching as the floor seemed to tilt at a weird angle — which wasn't helping with the nausea, probably a side-effect of the potion along with the ache just starting to throb to life in her head (henbane was poisonous) — pins and needles sizzling up from her fingers and toes, which wasn't too painful but was bloody weird, she did her best to try to ignore all that. With a long, shaky breath, closing her eyes, she tried to open herself up — just as she did when brewing potions, spreading her magical presence out and around her, making her more diffuse, nudges from outside making bigger and clearer waves. The potion and the smoke must be helping her along, because once she started trying she sunk into it sharply enough she almost felt she was falling, weakness sweeping over her until she could hardly feel her limbs at all, she probably couldn't lift a hand even if she wanted to, but she definitely didn't want to, falling inexorably downward but not in a straight line, swooping back and forth in an unpredictable rhythm, much like the sparks of magic in the smoke, surrounded with a wash of flickering colour in the black behind her eyes, a roar building in her ears with each breath, the tingles spiking more painful, almost like that unpleasant moment at the instant of subsumption in her sacrificial rituals, the nausea building bad enough she almost though she'd be sick, and—

Liz was standing on a grassy shore, at the edge of a village, wind tugging gently at her hair.

Blinking, she jumped, whirled to look around her — the environment seemed to smear a little as she moved before snapping into coherence again, the colours almost seeming too bright and edges sharp, burning in her eyes. They were just outside of a village, the buildings little round huts — wood and straw, like something out of one of those old-timey mediaeval films Dudley watched sometimes — the people kind of funny-looking, all of them with long curly hair and beards (obviously only the men had those), everyone in these odd colourful dresses — and she did mean all of them, the men included, there didn't seem to be anyone in sight wearing trousers. They were on the shore of a lake, flickering gently in the wind, the tops of the waves glinting in the moonlight, a cliff standing in the distance across the water. Beyond the village were fields, farms, beyond that trees, the land tilting up into rocky hills...

Despite how odd her vision was being, everything swirly and distorted yet at the same time the details coming through almost painfully clear, like they were being seared straight into her brain, despite how unrecognisable the village was, she still knew the shape of this valley: she was in Hogsmeade. The village must have moved over the centuries, it wasn't nearly this close to the shore in her time.

The crowd of people were in the middle of some kind of ceremony, the words ringing nonsensically in her ears, Liz wasn't really listening. There was an odd throbbing around most of the people, didn't know what that was about, as she looked at them images danced behind her eyes, flashes of other times and places, names and random snippets of innumerable conversations hissing in her head, too much information rushing by for her to pick up much — she was hardly even consciously aware of it, like the wind rushing by, something she could feel, that she knew was there, but couldn't see.

She was temporarily distracted by one man, standing near the edge of the group, the throbbing around him echoing with her own when she looked at him, her heart loud and burning in her chest. A young man, probably in his early twenties (by mage standards, so looking like a young early twenties), dressed the same as the others, his hair and beard vibrant orange, shifting in the wind almost like flame, hand nervously gripping the hilt of the sword at his waist, morosely watching the ceremony. He didn't approve of what they were doing, but it wasn't his place to say anything, so he only watched...

The wind rushing past her, names and places and events in an incomprehensible smear, she still picked up enough to know this was Godric — Gryffindor, though he wasn't using the name yet, that would come later. He looked younger than she'd expected.

Also, she could feel she was descended from him, a dim, indistinct echo carried through the centuries, but she'd already known that. Pretty much all the Light noble families were, in one way or another.

The words of the ceremony crackling in the air, there was a rush of colour, her stomach swooping as tingles crawled over her, and she was standing on a tiny little sailboat — the faint smell of fish in her tongue, must be a fishing boat. She was packed in here with several other people — including Godric, who was sitting toward the side pulling at an oar along with a few other men — everyone unnaturally silent, hardly even seeming to breathe. A solemn, profound silence, as deep and dark as the night around them, the boats (there were a few more around) cutting through the water smooth and quiet, even the wind almost seeming to hold its breath—

They were approaching the cliffs, slowly and carefully, the rock stretching overhead blotting out half the sky, curling back as they slipped into a cave, vines stretching down to brush their heads, deeper, seeming to descend into the earth, the rest of the world growing dim, further and further behind them, so dark the exit even out into the night seemed as a pale silvery light, the way ahead shown by a figure on a boat at the front, a cool red flame burning in their hand. In time they came to a sandy shore, inside the cleft under the lake.

One that was very familiar to Liz: it would be virtually unchanged over a thousand years later, when the first years would land in the same exact place when they arrived at Hogwarts for the first time.

But the stairs leading up toward the castle weren't there, only the flat rock face of the cave — because of course it wasn't, the castle didn't even exist yet. Instead, after disembarking they followed the shore for a short ways, and then the cave continued on, cutting deeper into the cliff. They stepped into blackness, so deep the details of the rock around them only came in little flashes, the silence absolute save for the rasping of breath, shuffling of cloth against skin, bare feet soundless against the stone.

Liz didn't remember for certain, first year felt like a long time ago, but she was pretty sure this cave didn't even exist in her time. Or perhaps it was still there, but simply hidden from sight.

The latter seemed like a good bet, as another rush of colour found her standing inside a wider, more open space — the Hogwarts wardstones. Though, there weren't just blocks carved with runes here and there, or even a couple menhirs. Instead the entire surface of the cavern was littered with runes, some coming in rigid, organised rows or columns, others arranged within designs, overlapping circles and trefoils and stars, the curves and angles and countless runes dancing in her eyes in an incomprehensible mess. Even the floor was covered with them, innumerable, Liz traced the triangular shapes of one with a toe — she belatedly realised she was naked, but it wasn't like she was really here anyway — she couldn't read it, but she did recognise it as Babylonian, a script from modern-day Iraq that had been transmitted to Rome through certain religious cults and persisted as an enchanting language in a few segments of European magical society for centuries afterward, eventually dying out in the Twelfth Century or so before being reintroduced into academia after Secrecy. Babylonian was a perfectly good script for warding, but she'd expected the Hogwarts wards to be in Egyptian...though, looking around, there was Egyptian in there too, they must have used different scripts for different elements.

The air around her was shivering, alien words ringing in her ears — singing, a litany. Snapping her attention away from the writing on seemingly every available surface (the glyphs smearing in her vision until it adjusted), most of the people who'd come across were standing in a ring around a short platform in the middle, a ritual circle inscribed on the top littered with more glyphs (these in a mixture of Egyptian and Greek, weird, nobody used Greek for anything). There was a person standing on the platform, an overlarge, clear crystal held in one hand, formed into a complex web of faces (which themselves had glyphs carved into them, almost invisible in that material) — Liz felt very certain that was diamond, which was absurd, it was nearly as large as the person's head, they must have made that with alchemy somehow. Supposedly even ancient mages had known how to do that, using charcoal as a base, it was a whole thing, there was a reason the really old magical stuff tended to have so many bloody gemstones everywhere.

Liz just said "person" because she wasn't one hundred per cent certain what their gender was — the dresses everyone was wearing didn't help, but this one in particular looked very androgynous, long dark curly hair, no beard, but figure very flat and narrow, face could go either way, it was weird. Looking at them, the wind again rushing past Liz, the throbbing around them again echoing in Liz, her heart burning in her chest, this was Silvahárr of Syltheris. Salazar Slytherin, that was, obviously. Liz was also descended from him(?), but she'd already known that too, most of the nobility were. A thousand years of people screwing around could be funny like that.

The song building louder around her, the sound echoing through her head and her chest, Liz noticed there were five figures kneeling in a circle around the platform. Death hung over them, she could feel it — old or injured or ill, these five were not long for this world, their inevitably approaching demise a tangible thing she could taste. (Trippy.) There was a sixth figure, standing, this one definitely a woman, looking quite similar to Slytherin with the pale skin and curly black hair, but even through the odd baggy dress it was obvious her figure was feminine. Another burning echo, and Liz knew immediately that this was Hroðwyn — that was, Rowena Ravenclaw, though that name too would come later. Apparently, Liz was also descended from Ravenclaw, which she actually hadn't known — there'd never been a House of Ravenclaw, so her line was much more complicated than that of the others — but it wasn't really a surprise. Thousand years, screwing around, blah blah.

In one hand, she was holding a knife, long and gleaming, sharp and deadly.

The song built to a fever pitch, overwhelming, Liz humming along instinctively, swaying on her toes, until the moment came, Hroðwyn kneeled behind one of the five, a hand on his shoulder — there was a brief exchange of words, but Liz couldn't hear it over the litany coursing through her — and the man drooped, almost going limp, half asleep...and with a jab and a wrenching slash, Hroðwyn tore open his throat, blood spilling down to the stone.

The litany hitched, just for an instant, some among the chorus taken aback by the gore, but it immediately took up again, the pause hardly even noticeable, the slightest stammer. They'd known what was to come, after all, Silvahárr and Hroðwyn had explained their idea to the villagers, the five (mortally ill or injured) had volunteered — but even so, seeming one of your neighbours, someone you'd known all your life, be just slaughtered like that was still shocking. The man stayed upright — held up by Hroðwyn's hand on his shoulder, without even a twitch of pain or sign of resistance, in some kind of trance — for a brief moment, his blood pouring out onto the stone, the ground under her feet throbbing with the last beats of his heart, until it finally ceased, Hroðwyn let his body fall limp. The air felt thicker, not just because of the song muffling her ears, but the runes on the ground had already started to glow a dim blueish light, sparks had come to life inside the crystal in Silvahárr's hand at the centre of the formation, dancing and flickering blue and white and red, the runes flashing for an instant before fading away again — the man's soul absorbed before it could dissipate away.

The song went on, and Hroðwyn, smoothly and calmly, moved on to the next sacrifice. With each one, the presence on the air grew louder and louder, the floor and the walls around her starting to ring with an echo — throbbing in a slow, deep rhythm, like the beat of an enormous heart — the light inside the diamond growing brighter with each soul added to it, until it burned an intense silver, the figures around throwing sharp shadows. As bright as the sun, it seemed, but it didn't hurt to look at...or at least no more than anything else Liz had seen here, the colours burning into her skull, there was no way she'd be forgetting any of this, drifting and dreamlike yet vibrant and more real than real...

As funny as time seemed here, Liz was pretty sure she'd missed a sacrifice or two, but in time all five were dead, their blood spreading in a pool around the central platform, the energy of their lives solemnly absorbed by the wards beneath her feet, the stone hot and electric against her skin. The litany was going on, Silvahárr calling out a litany of his own, the words all mixed together, Liz couldn't understand a—

There was a sickening lurch, the image around her seeming to stutter, Silvahárr's hand snapped away from the diamond, as though burned. The reservoir was floating above the platform on its own, the air just around it crackling with little snapping bolts of lightning, seeming to grow thicker and louder. Almost in a panic, frantic, something had gone wrong, Silvahárr opened his wrist with a quick wandless charm (impressive), splashed a bit of his blood on the diamond, and then darted over toward a section of the wall, Hroðwyn shouting for the chorus, distracted, to keep up the litany. Silvahárr started sketching runes on the wall in his blood, the lines sloppy and uneven, rushed, there was a flash of light as whatever spell that was took, the lightning around the diamond quieted for a second before snapping into new life with another lurch, Silvahárr bit out a(n inaudible) curse and rushed to another section of the wall, started drawing more glyphs in his blood.

While he was doing that, Hroðwyn had been glancing between the diamond and the glyphs all around, clearly thinking. Then, with a realisation so intense Liz could feel it ringing in the air, Hroðwyn darted up toward the platform in the middle, and placed the knife, still wet with the intermixed blood of the five sacrifices, precisely in the middle of the design there.

(The knife was, after all, part of the ritual, and thus part of the wards. Liz knew, suddenly and inexplicably, that it still rested on that very spot to this day — the blood hadn't even dried.)

The lightning ended immediately, the stone shivered under her feet, the air ringing like a bell, echoing in her chest. And the diamond only burned brighter, now it hurt to look at, Liz grimaced and looked away, the light piercing deep into her, but closing her eyes and turning her head didn't do any good, her body too thin and flimsy against the magnitude of the magic coursing around her, rushing outward, hot and thick, sending her head spinning, she couldn't think straight through it, electric sparks burning across her skin, and the magic seemed to crystalise, freezing around and through her into a rigid order, massive and pressing in from all sides, as though it were about to crush her, panic surged through her, she couldn't breathe, and—

Liz leapt up to a seat, gasping for breath. And then she moaned, arms instinctively wrapping around her middle — the nausea had gotten worse, and it actually hurt, which couldn't be good. (But then, henbane was poisonous.) The headache was bad too, she grimaced against it, her harsh breath painful on her dry throat, shivering despite the beads of sweat speckled across her forehead and along her neck and down her back, clinging under her arms.

She knew without looking that she was back, in that tiny room under the stairs. She could feel an echo of the smoke on the air, the lingering magic of the potion thick and slimy in her veins. She still felt a bit lightheaded, her limbs aching a little, but other than that she felt mostly normal (save the panic from the unpleasant end of the vision still lingering), just left with the side-effects — she assumed the actual active parts of the potion had been burned up by the vision.

Still grasping for breath, shivering, a giddy giggle bubbled out of her throat, a smile twitching at her lips. Fuck, that had been intense. As much of the after-effects of the potion sucked — it felt a lot like that hangover, actually, though more muscle achy — she was definitely trying that again, shite...

Also, apparently the Hogwarts wards had been raised with human sacrifice. She'd kind of assumed as much, a lot of older wards had been, but still, neat. Now she had to test if she could put the memory of her vision in the pensieve and look over it at her leisure (as Echoes of the Past suggested was possible), which would make this experiment a complete success — it could wait, though, right now Liz could really use a nap.

Her breath finally calmed, leaving her tired and aching but grinning — and then the magic around her crystallised, the air turning almost solid. And she felt attention on her, like she could always feel from surrounding minds...but this wasn't a mind, or at least not a human one, something absolutely enormous, she couldn't even see the whole thing, seeming to sink into the walls around her, stretching on and on further than she could—

It approached closer, its attention focusing on her, Liz's breath freezing in her throat. Alien thoughts pushed through her, too big, she couldn't even attempt to process them, slipping in one end and out the other, her head spinning, so disoriented she barely felt herself flopping backward, stars and colours and senseless images flashing through her mind. Herbs and copper sizzling at the back of her nose, her skin tingling, the gargantuan whatever the fuck scanned through her head — she was completely powerless to stop it, filaments of inexorable will brushing past even the thought of resisting, setting her reeling, she couldn't even tell what it was doing — invisible fingers of magic crawling over and through her body, and...

Realisation, tension Liz hadn't noticed a second ago releasing. Its attention had been drawn to her, somehow, and it was confirming she hadn't been hurt by...something.

A rush of warmth, like a blast of water sloshing over her smooth and pleasant, the air coloured with sweet flowers and roasting meat, the presence gave her mind a last gentle touch — almost affectionate, putting Liz in mind of one of the other kids back in Little Whinging being patted on the head by their mum — and then it began to pull away. Liz could breathe again, almost dizzy from holding it too long, and the weight of the presence around her quickly softened, dribbling away, until Liz was once again alone in the room.

Lying on her robes, staring blankly up at the ceiling, Liz's head was still spinning — for what felt like long moments, she could manage nothing more than to gasp for breath, her aching limbs shivering, cold sweat prickling.

...

The fuck was that?!

---

Chimidēwigamig Agondēwāsigankāning — Holy shit, that's a name. This is background worldbuilding I came up with for the sequel to To Reach Without (which obviously never ended up happening), so it was conveniently on hand to use as a school for Tamsyn to be going to, but this was ages ago and I don't recall my thinking behind the name. I remember I did some significant research into Ojibwa for the fic — Ojibwa was going to stand in for all the languages of the closely-related peoples in the area (loosely referred to as Anishinābeg), mostly just because it was the one I could find the best resources for — but this was ages ago, and I've forgotten most of the relevant details since. My notes say the name literally means something about a school of magic at a place where there's a lot of lightning in the water, and that magical Anishinābeg 'obviously' use "midē" differently than the real life still existing people — there are 320k Ojibwe still around today, and there are even about 50k native speakers of the language (which is a lot for an American language north of Mexico) — but that's pretty much all I got. I'm colonizer trash, and should by no means be taken to be an authority on the language, I will be 0% surprised if it turns out I made errors somewhere.

I may have little idea what the fuck I'm talking about, but at least I acknowledge that American Indian cultures exist. On a related note, go to hell, JKR.

(By the way, I'm aware the double vowel system doesn't put a macron over the "e" — if I recall correctly, I chose to do that so the long vowels would all look similar.)

Right, anyway! Been longer than usual since I got something out. I've been having sleep issues (having to adjust my schedule to get to a doctor appointment on short notice didn't help), and various complications have been coming up with writing. Both The Long Way Around and Children of the Gods were paused for planning reasons. There's a big time-skip in the former, I needed to plan that out so I would know how old everyone is supposed to be, and I've been distracted with other things and haven't quite finished working that out yet (the next chapter is partially finished already, but I want to fix the timeline issues before continuing); I've made a very rough outline through the start of Hogwarts for the latter, but it truly is very rough, so we'll see how that goes (the next chapter for that one is also partway done, working on it). So, various things going on, writing slowdown, these things happen.

But I actually have more for you on this one right away. Because I'm a wordy bitch, there's a second part to this chapter consisting of more letters with Tamsyn and a few with Daphne. I'll give that a proofread and post it tomorrow.

I've been doing a re-read on all my active fics, going back and taking notes on events and worldbuilding, making minor edits and corrections, blah blah. I've only done these edits on AO3, but they really are very minor, just typos and things, if you're reading on FFN there's no real reason you need to switch.

And that's more than enough from me. Thanks for reading my loquacious self-indulgent nonsense, second part dropping tomorrow.