Prompt: Thistle Hawke & Co: Harry Potter AU.

Date: 1/14/2014

notes: for a three-sentence (har har har) AU meme on tumblr.
let's not talk about how much errata I came up with for this.

"Oh, do have a good time," Bethany said, hopping from foot to foot as Thistle wrapped her sister's latest knitting creation around her own neck. "I hope it's warm enough."

"It's warm," her sister said.

"You mean aside from all the holes," Carver said darkly, his voice floating over the back of the armchair in which he'd curled up to sulk.

"It's warm," Thistle repeated, her voice hard. "Keep it up and I won't be bring you back a single treat from Honeydukes."

"But you will remember the Fizzing Whizbees, won't you?" Bethany said. "I got full marks on my last Charms essay and you promised—"

"If you don't stop fussing she won't be able to go," Orana said, appearing at Thistle's side and tugging at her hand. "Come on, we're going to be late!"

With a quick exchange of "goodbye," Carver's mumbled and sullen, Thistle and Orana left the Hufflepuff common room, made their way past the delicious scents coming from the kitchen, and climbed the stairs to join the other students mingling in the Entrance Hall, waiting to be escorted to Hogsmeade. Thistle found an unoccupied spot along the wall and pulled out her shrunken, battered copy of Practical Defensive Magic while Orana, after an exasperated sigh, wandered off to meet up with some of the other girls in their year. Finally Professor Stannard, the tall and imposing Transfiguration teacher, and Professor Orsino, the Charms teacher, called for everyone's attention, and the long walk began.

("This part is boring," Isabela said, reading over Varric's shoulder. "Skip to the good part."
"Which part?"
"The part where we're all together."
"All right, all right," he said, sadly passing over pages of loving description and fanciful imagination.)

Her hands were so cold she could barely hold onto all the bags of candy, and so she pushed open the door to the Three Broomsticks, hoping to find an unoccupied chair near the fireplace. She clutched her bags close to her chest as she jostled through the crowd—unusually large, even for the winter—and suddenly broke through the lines and found herself at the edge of a large half-circle, wherein a blonde Slytherin boy was standing on a chair, blocking the fireplace and reading from a long scroll of parchment while everyone else watched him and giggled.

"...and so I have called us all together today because we must, and I repeat, must take a stand against the cruelty and subjugation of our fellow creatures—"

"Aw, knock it off, Anders," called someone from the crowd.

"—and realize that if we do not act, then we deserve to be treated no better." He paused for breath and looked up from his speech. He was a long-nosed, pale young man, his hair neatly pulled away from his face, his cheeks a bit gaunt, his eyes the color of butterbeer, and most of all he was between Thistle and the fireplace. "Now, I propose a plan of action, beginning with asking Headmistress Elthina to—"

More jostling from behind, and suddenly a dark-skinned boy with a shock of white hair pushed through and said, "Anders, enough."

"Fenris," a girl said urgently, gracefully slipping around Thistle as she tried to catch his robes, "I really don't think—"

"—and begin immediate compensation," Anders continued, "of the injured parties—"

"Enough," the white-haired boy repeated, stepping into the half-circle, stopping Anders short. "You're being disruptive."

"If I am," Anders said, his voice cold, "it is only because I care."

"Well it is bad for business," said the girl—Fenris's friend, and both Gryffindors, and vaguely familiar. Her tone was light, her arms crossed, the sheer amount of glittering jewelry on her hands and arms probably a breach of the dress code. "Think about poor Madam Lusine."

"Think of the house elves!" Anders cried, brandishing his parchment. "Think of all their skill and labor, their tireless service, and all for what?"

"Yes, but they like doing it," the girl said. "Who are we to deny them?"

"Deny them? But we have already denied them fair pay, independent living, clothes—"

"Nobody cares," Fenris said.

Anders stopped, his mouth slightly ajar, the parchment waving gently in the air as he sucked down a breath. "What?"

"I said," Fenris said, deliberately crossing to the fireplace, his back to Anders as he warmed his hands, "nobody cares."

"Oh this'll be good," murmured the Gryffindor girl, winking at a startled Thistle, who inexplicably found herself blushing.

Anders gaped a moment more, then started waving wildly at the crowd. "Of course they do! You there," he said, pointing at Thistle, who wished very much that she had just taken her candies and walked back to Hogwarts alone, "what say you about the plight of the common house elf?"

Thistle blinked. "I don't...have a house elf."

A queer sort of half-smile, one that less made Thistle want to blush than to back away slowly, came across his face. "See?" he said. "Here is a noble woman who refuses to participate in the system of oppression!"

"Idiot," Fenris said, in a muttered sort of way.

Anders hopped down from his chair and came towards her, hand outstretched; she dearly wanted to act on her instincts, but the crowd behind pushed her forward. "And what's your name, my dear lady?"

Acutely aware of everyone's stares—including a squat blonde seated in a corner booth, scribbling away—Thistle awkwardly crammed all of her bags into one hand in order to shake his hand and say, "Hawke. But I don't—"

Instead of releasing her hand, as a normal person might, Anders dragged her into the center of the clearing, leaping upon his chair and raising her hand up as high as it would go. "This young lady and I stand against the tyranny of wizardom! Who's with us?"

"It doesn't count if she's coerced," Fenris said, half-turning from the fireplace.

"Poor thing looks terrified," Fenris's friend said, to the giggles of the crowd.

Cheeks burning, Thistle struggled to maintain her grip on her bags while also freeing her hand from Anders's clutches. "Would you please—"

"Yes! Please free the house elves!"

"Anders," Fenris said, turning and drawing his wand, "let the girl go."

Thistle glared at him. "I can take care of myself," she said.

"So it comes to this," Anders said softly, though he seemed torn as to which was more important, his manifesto or Thistle's hand. "And so you reveal the truth: that wizards will go to any length to preserve their power!"

"Let the girl go and I won't have to do anything," Fenris said. "And let these poor people get on with their lunch."

Anders finally made a decision, dropping the manifesto and drawing his wand, pulling Thistle behind him. "These people shouldn't eat until they appreciate how little they would have, were it not for—"

Looking entirely bored with the rant, Fenris flicked his wand; Anders reacted immediately with a great slashing gesture, swinging Thistle around as he did so, and the deflected spell slammed straight into her bags, splitting them and spilling five pounds of Fizzing Whizzbees across the tavern floor. Her world went red; her wand was in her hand without her remembering to reach for it, and she was yelling, "That was for my sister!" and a spell before she knew what she was doing.

Anders, not expecting the attack, suddenly found himself flailing as his legs lost all sense of stability. Fenris flicked his wand again and sent Anders crashing into a table, which gave Anders the chance to brace himself and fling another spell, sending Fenris into high-pitched giggles. Annoyed, Thistle pointed her wand at him and said, "Silencio!" at the same time Fenris waved his wand; the spells collided and ricocheted off each other, silencing a dark-haired Slytherin girl and destroying one of the iron-wrought chandeliers. Anders fought his way back to his feet and shoved Thistle aside, shouting a spell she didn't recognize that sent Fenris flying into the air, appearing to dangle from his rather large ears.

In the midst of all the chaos a tall redhead whom Thistle instantly recognized as the Head Girl came barging into the group, the other Gryffindor girl and one of the Hufflepuff prefects hot on her heels. "Fenris!"

"He started it!" Fenris said between giggles, waving his wand to deflect another spell from Anders. It hit a lantern and shattered glass showered upon Thistle's Fizzing Whizzbees, rendering them inedible. Thistle raised her wand again, but the Head Girl pulled out her wand and yelled, "Accio wands," and all three combatants found themselves wandless and on the receiving end of a ferocious glare.

"That is enough," Head Girl Vallen said, hands on her hips. "Honestly, Fenris, I can't go on one date without you causing trouble?"

"He started it," Fenris repeated, sullenly chuckling, still hanging by his ears.

Anders tried to stand up straight, but his legs finally collapsed and he landed right on his bum, his legs dancing out in front of him. "Oh, Anders," Vallen sighed. "Not you again."

"The house elves—"

"We've heard," she said firmly, turning her gaze upon Thistle, who straightened and stared defiantly back. "One of yours, Donnic?"

"Hawke," said the prefect, frowning at her. "What the devil are you doing in this mess?"

"Anders dragged her into it," the other Gryffindor said helpfully.

"They ruined my sister's candies," Thistle said, glaring when Fenris scoffed. "And they weren't cheap."

"Fenris doesn't like sweets," the Gryffidnor girl said. "He's entirely too sour."

"Thank you, Isabela," Vallen said, obviously fighting not to roll her eyes. "Anders, you'd better repair the damage, and I'll be telling Professor Stannard about this." He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "And don't think she's forgotten that stunt you pulled in the Headmistress's office last month. They're still cleaning up the debris."

"I know," he said, doing his best to sound rebellious, though his dancing legs really just made him laughable, "and I want everyone to know that I will never rest—"

"And you," Vallen said, turning to Fenris and shaking her head, "will escort Miss Hawke back to Honeydukes and make proper restitution for her sister's sweets."

"Aveline—"

"And you two will both have detention, and it's fifty points apiece from Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff."

"Aveline," Isabela said, looking horrified, though the stout blonde in the corner booth cheered.

"And both boys will be scrubbing my floor for a month!" Madame Lusine called from where she'd been watching from behind the bar.

"You loved it, you old bat," Isabela called, and Madame Lusine shook her head. "Butterbeers for everyone on me!"

There was a mad stampede for the bar, and in the meantime Thistle found herself being guided from the inn, her wand pressed into her hand. "Sorry about that mess," Hendyr said, "but you really shouldn't have gotten involved between the two of them."

"I didn't mean to!" Thistle protested.

"I believe it," he said, "but in the future, watch out," and then Vallen came out, pulling Fenris by the leg as he rubbed a large red spot on his forehead, Anders and his wobbly legs kicking over her shoulder, snickering in time with Fenris's giggles.

"I'm taking this one to Professor Stannard," Vallen said, "would you mind seeing to the other two?"

"I'll take care of it," Hendyr said, and they shared a brief, weary, warm smile before she handed over Fenris's ankle and trotted off, Anders waving goodbye to Thistle as he bounced along.

Thistle shuddered and turned, looking up at the giggling Gryffindor boy before turning back to Hendyr. "Can I go back to the dormitory?"

"What about your candy?" he asked, glancing back at Fenris and trying to fight off a grin.

"All I want is five pounds of Fizzing Whizzbees," she said. "And I want them delivered to the Hufflepuff table tonight at dinner. Can you manage that?"

"Of course," Fenris said, glowering even as he gasped for breath "if someone will remove this confounded tickling charm from me."

"I'll think about it," Hendyr said, and when Fenris narrowed his eyes—winced in pain—he said, "You did ruin my date."

"But we saved you from Madam Puddifoot's."

"True," Hendyr said, thoughtful. "Run along, Hawke. I'll make sure Bethany gets her candy."

And so Thistle returned to Hogwarts and holed herself up in the library, though Madam Petrice sniffed suspiciously at the sight of a fifth-year in the library on a Hogsmeade weekend, and when it came time for dinner she made her way to the Great Hall, sliding into a seat next to Carver, interrupting his conversation and earning a glare.

"Where's Bethany's candy?" he said. "If you forgot—"

"Sister! You're back!" Bethany cried, abandoning her friends to throw her arms around Thistle's shoulders. "Did you have a good time? Did the scarf keep you warm? Where's—"

The answer to Carver's question came in the form of a giant package, borne by four owls, and deposited into Bethany's squealing arms. She dumped it onto the table, knocking over Carver's glass as she ripped into the packaging and emerged with her first Fizzing Whizzbee, which she stuffed into Carver's mouth as he opened it to protest. Ignoring his strangled noises, she dove in for another, and soon both of Thistle's siblings were floating a few feet above the ground, one giggling, the other one trying to figure out how to propel himself through the air in order to strangle his twin.

Thistle smiled a little to herself, looking over to the Gryffindor table, where the Head Girl sat with her two friends, watching the Hufflepuff table and grinning—well, Vallen and Isabela were smiling; Fenris merely lifted his sullen eyebrows for a brief moment of levity. She looked back to her table to discover a bouquet of roses on her plate; a Slytherin girl, her dark hair in many pigtails, waved and pointed to her table, where Anders was smiling hopefully in her direction.

Thistle sighed. This was why she never left the common room.