School and Theme: Hogwarts – Write about trusting someone completely

Mandatory Prompt: [Image] Portrait of Madame X by John Singer Sargent

Additional Prompt: [Animal] Dragon

Year: 1

Word count: 2637

Additional Information: Not an AU, per say, but I took some artistic liberties with some HP history. Also, trigger warning for bullying and death


Well, um, welcome to this, whatever it is. Imma call it the Hogwarts School Special, since it is a brainchild of our darkest, most depraved parts. What is there even to say about this? There aren't really words that can describe the madness. I just hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. #HotMILFMuriel

Huge, huge beta thanks to Selene Blackburn, Cheesyficwriter, accio-broom, adenei, cuteiwthaCapital-Q and smjl


The young sixth year ran a shaky hand down her dress robes as she took one last fortifying breath before descending to the Great Hall. She had put more effort into tonight than in anything in her life ever – but it would be worth it, she knew it would.

Auberon Malfoy was the perfect man. His short, windswept, white-blonde hair framed the deepest blue-grey eyes, like the sea at storm; eyes that made her forget her name every time she looked into them. His nose was crooked after a Quidditch accident in first year and his square jaw put Greek sculptures to shame.

And his lips. Full but in a masculine way and looking softer than the best candy floss Honeydukes had to offer. She could only imagine how sweet they'd taste, too.

Muriel straightened her mother's tiara on her head as she reached the ballroom. The Hall looked nothing like it usually did; enchanted snowflakes danced around the close-held couples in a beat of their own, fairy lights twinkled around the giant Yule tree and the whole room smelled of soothing pine and spicy cinnamon. The teachers had outdone themselves, this was a true winter wonderland.

And there was her prince. Leaning against the buffet table with all the nonchalance of true royalty, the sight of Auberon almost made her mouth water. She could already picture how his strong arms would hold her tight as he twirled her on the dance floor or how his mouth would feel on hers if they stumbled under some mistletoe.

Muriel couldn't help the flush that overtook her face or the small, shy smile that escaped her as her thoughts raced further down the rabbit hole of her crush. As if he sensed his presence on her mind, Auberon turned his eyes on her and gave her one of his trademark smirks, almost challenging her to go closer, like a predator toying with his prey.

Her legs carried her to him with a mind of their own and, before she knew it – before she was prepared for the intensity of his eyes – she was standing toe to toe with him. Muriel averted her gaze to the floor and tugged at her fingers, her nerves getting the best of her. "Hey," she muttered at last, "thank you for, uh, for agreeing to be my date. You, uh, you look incredible."

She regretted raising her head as soon as she laid eyes on his face. His smirk had twisted into a taunting grimace, his eyes full of malice as he laughed. "Your date? Me? Has the inbreeding gotten to your head, Prewett?"

Muriel was at a loss for words as their classmates gathered around the scene, whispering and laughing amongst themselves at her audacity. "Look at her, she's going to cry!", "How could she ever think Malfoy would go for her when she looks like an overstuffed turkey?"

"But-but you said…" Her voice died in the back of her throat when she realised how badly she had been played. She had been so excited when he said he'd go with her. For once in her life she felt attractive and desired, her innocent mind not even entertaining the possibility of him leading her astray. Muriel trusted him with all her heart, in the way love-struck teenage girls would go to the ends of the world for their crushes. In her innocent adolescent mind, his acceptance had just been a pure admission of his hidden feelings for her; he wouldn't lead her astray.

"Poor Muriel the Quaffle," Auberon mocked, all his cronies jerring and egging him on. "How could I ever sully myself with a stupid bint like you?"

She didn't stand around to hear the rest of his quips, running out of the Great Hall with the sound of their laughter chasing her out. Oh, how Muriel hated him. Hated all of them. All of those young wizards poking fun at her day in and day out.

She swiped at her eyes furiously, the tears coming on faster than she could stop them. Muriel wasn't sure how long she sat on the cold bathroom floor, shivering for a whole different reason than the temperature of the room. When she finally pulled herself up, she forced herself to look in the mirror.

Beaky nose that was running snot. Beady eyes, all red and splotchy from the crying. Pimple-infested cheeks, blotchy and wet. As she took in every single one of her flaws, she vowed to herself she would never let anyone get to her like this again. This was her lowest point, her rock bottom, and she would climb out of it to unleash hellfire upon the ones that put her there. She might not be a looker but she was a clever witch with the fiery determination of a Chinese Fireball.

And she was going to make them all pay.


Auberon could not tear his eyes away from the witch laughing with the Head of the DMLE by the bar. He never expected such a goddess to be present at the boring Ministry Gala.

Fair skin that was almost luminescent, covered by the rosy flush of vivacity. Ginger hair coiffed in an elegant updo, a couple stray strands framing a most angelic face. And that dress. The softest looking silk in the richest black he had ever seen, hugging her lean body at every curve, only held up by a delicate chain over each shoulder.

He stared openly as his mind played frame by frame of how those chains would look dragging down her arms, the silk caressing her skin as it fell to the floor, that fiery mane tumbling down her back in the most luscious of curls. His legs moved on their own accord and, before he knew it, he was standing next to her, offering her a second glass of champagne.

The woman looked even better up close, her emerald eyes pulling him into a trap he had no desire escaping. He had to swallow before speaking because his throat had dried up. "I do not mean to be untoward, Miss, but I couldn't help but notice you from the other side of the room. You are simply a sight for sore eyes."

The witch let out the prettiest laugh Auberon had ever heard, all soft and melodic. "You are a flatterer, sir; and flattery will indeed get you everywhere. Especially if it is accompanied by a kind gesture such as this."

She clinked her glass with his before taking a sip. Auberon's eyes zeroed in on a drop of champagne that lingered on her lips. His blood rushed downwards as her tongue reached out to lick it up.

"Auberon Malfoy, pleased to make your acquaintance." He had to cough to get the words out; he could barely function, let alone remember his manners.

"Monique Paul, lovely to meet you." He somehow kept standing on such shakey, unsteady legs when she offered him her hand. Auberon brought it to his lips with the utmost reverence, her skin warmer and softer than he'd imagined. Her sweet floral scent intoxicated his senses and her coy smile gave off a stronger effect than even the best firewhiskey the Malfoy cellars had to offer. He was well and truly done for.


Muriel gloated at how dumbstruck Auberon seemed to be by her alter ego. The comforting magic of the tiara washed over her, making her feel stronger than ever. The power was addictive; she quite literally had the Malfoy bachelor by the balls, trusting every little lie she spilled like a gospel.

The spell she'd enchanted the tiara with had been of her own invention – the height of her academic career. It not only transfigured her visage but, laced with some intricate love magic, enraptured her unsuspecting victim like the call of a Siren. Muriel had never used the diadem before and there had been a small voice in the back of her head doubting her casting abilities, but it hushed at the sight before her.

Auberon was tripping over himself to tend to her every need, his eyes wide and starstruck every time she spoke. He laughed at all of her jokes, even the ones that were shite on purpose, and he kept reaching out to touch her arms, like an addict seeking a fix. He was eating out of the palm of her hand after but a couple words – it would be easier than she thought to take her revenge.

It probably helped that she'd given him a fake name. She was pretty sure the mention of 'Muriel Prewett' would snap him out of the fantasy, no matter how deep her metaphorical hooks were by then. But now, with how gone he was, she'd gamble all of her meagre fortune that he'd jump off a cliff if only she asked. Not that he'd have to, her plans were a lot more insidious than that. He had ripped apart her heart that day and she planned to do the same.

She was disgusted by how eager Malfoy was to please her. All those years of endless bullying and now just the sight of a bare shoulder and the high slit in the dark garment had him dribbling spit like a hungry 'd been talking for a couple hours now and she was out of things to pull out of her arse to build up Monique. Though he didn't seem to notice, too busy trying to keep his baser instincts at bay. The beast inside her purred at the thought; if he wanted animalistic, she had just the thing to give him.

"Would you maybe want to get out of here?" It was now or never. More of the now. She sneered at how Auberon almost tripped over his feet in his zeal. His hand on her bare back would have made her heart flutter once upon a time, but now it only made her stomach roll with disgust as he led her out to the Ministry Atrium and through the Floo to Malfoy Manor.

He was quick to showcase his wealth, preening like a peacock as he led her through the Manor's halls before whisking her away to walk the gardens at night. Her dragon laughed; peacocks made the best snacks.

It was a beautiful night, the moon glowing bright, the leaves whistling in the soft autumnal wind, as if nature herself wanted Muriel to succeed. As if Mother Earth had seen the state of men and had decided they were worth her punishment.

"Do you really own a forest?" was all she had to ask for Auberon to lead her deep into the woods; far enough that no one would hear a thing. Adrenaline rushed through her veins and her skin flushed with excitement, her palms sweating where she clutched his arm. Her heart beat so loud she almost wondered if he could hear it and she smiled to herself as they reached a small clearing. She had waited so long but the time was finally here.

"I have to tell you something," she confessed, interrupting whatever Malfoy was going on about without a second thought. She couldn't hold back any longer.

"I would never speak again if you so desired, my fair lady." Well, that can be arranged. Taking a quick step back, she took the tiara off, hanging it on a nearby branch to keep it out of harm's way. Its soothing magic washed away faster than she'd have liked. She spent so long relying on the tiara's protection, quite literally sealing her away from the world's ugliness, like a comforting blanket during a rough night. Her stomach tied up in knots and she shivered as the illusion fell awa; not that it mattered at that point.

"Muriel? Quaffle Muriel?" Confusion coloured his voice as the illusion faded away. Muriel did not give him the chance to speak again as she transformed, the silk of the dress stretching and melding with her skin to form the blackest scales as her Animagus form broke her bones to a new shape.

She had always felt helpless as a child, always at the receiving end of some horrible joke or prank, her classmates' laughter at her expense echoing in her ears to this day. Once she found the Animagus spell, she'd promised herself no one would make her feel weak again. And Muriel definitely didn't feel weak as wings sprouted from her back, a dark crimson like dried blood. How fitting.

Fear was clear in Auberon's eyes as the Hebridean Black stood where the enchanting witch had, purple eyes glowing brightly in the clear night. Muriel let out a growl of satisfaction that rumbled deep in her chest and echoed amongst the trees, warning every living thing nearby not to approach. Not unless they wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

Malfoy let out an undignified scream of terror and turned to run away, but it was too late for him. It had been too late ever since he stepped into the forest. Muriel swiped out her tail, the arrow tip piercing through his leg like it was butter and dragging him back to the small clearing. His cries fell on deaf ears as she pinned him to the ground with a large paw, a pleasurable tingle running up her spine at the sound of bones crunching.

She leaned her head down real close, wanting to see the unadulterated terror in his eyes when he realised his end was coming. Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth and he coughed the last sound he would ever make. Muriel opened her mouth and fire from deep in her lungs erupted, stopping only when there was nothing more to burn and the smell of charred flesh teased her nostrils. The witch nosed the ashes, the taste of her first kill opening up her appetite. Auberon Malfoy was the first to pay but he certainly wouldn't be the last…


"...or so the legend goes."

Bill chuckled as Fleur shivered and inched closer to him for safety. The madness of the Death Eater attack had finally quelled and they were spending their first night together as husband and wife but they'd both been too on edge to sleep, so Fleur had started asking questions.

"Is that why she was so reluctant to give me the tiara?" the young witch asked, her thick accent sounding like music to Bill's ears. He tugged her even closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before answering.

"She never confirmed or denied the rumours but yes, I suppose it would explain why she'd have a hard time letting it go." Bill shrugged, eyes travelling to the beautiful piece of jewellery resting on his wife's bedside table. He wasn't sure if the stories about Aunt Muriel were true, she had always been the cranky old lady to him, but Fleur had been curious about the extended Weasley/Prewett family and he'd been happy to oblige.

"Did the magic work on me too? Did I… Did I look different during the wedding? Did I look better?" The part-Veela had never before seemed so insecure and it made Bill's heart clench in his chest.

"Trust me, my love, there's no looking better than you already do," he said as he tugged her back to his chest, placing a chaste kiss on her lips.

"I trust you implicitly, Bill Weasley," she muttered with a small smile, tracing a delicate finger over his scars. "I trust you with my life."

"So do I, my love." Bill kissed her again, the bliss of the moment a much-needed break from the madness of the war.

"As long as you don't turn into a dragon and burn me to a crisp."