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@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 11, 2026, 5:30 AM

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‘Cousin’ in Scene of the Crime

started pacing. "Tell me what happened to your Gryffindor goons."
"What? You know what happened."
"I know my wife's cousin is making time with some Dementors, I know *that.* And I know Potter —"
"Is dead."
"I know that, too. Are we mourning him, cher?"
"Lily..."
"Yes?"
"Casts a... long shadow..."
I stopped pacing. I stopped to study him. To — look him over. Look *into* him. "You never told me you were still in love with her."
"Lucius —“
"You're making me wonder if you truly *do* need to be punished."
He made some kind of strangled noise, some *needy* noise.
"Tell me. Tell me everything. You must."

Scene of the Crime by rachels_memories

LUCIUS IS A LIBERTINE OF THE HIGHEST ORDER, SO IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE FOR HIM TO ABDUCT AND RESTRAIN HIS DISENCHANTED FRIEND AT THE MANOR. AFTER ALL, DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES AND LUCIUS IS DESPERATE TO RECONCILE WITH HIS OLD SCHOOLMATE, SEVERUS.

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 11, 2026, 5:27 AM

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‘Cousins’ in Blood Work

No one would accuse her of frivolity.
Of refinement? Certainly. Reserve? Absolutely. Even reticence. But when Narcissa Black deigned to speak, people listened.
To compare Narcissa with her familial contemporaries would be a study in stark contrasts. Bella was manic, Narcissa was poised. Andromeda, at the least, a blood traitor, Narcissa, a right and proper Black. Her nearest cousins were unhinged and untried, but Narcissa was studied, observant. Narcissa had *control.*
Even then.
She learned, early on, the power of control — that control *is* power. That there were many ways she could wield that power to get what she wanted.
She could, for example, acquire and keep the most deleterious secrets. Secrets people would pay for, and pay dearly. She could be — and would be — quite brave, as brave as any Gryffindor mongrel, and as sharp as any Ravenclaw. At times, she seemed more Slytherin than Slytherin, and that was saying something. She was nothing like a Hufflepuff.
But what did Narcissa, ultimately, want?
People will ask that about a perceived enigma.

Blood Work by rachels_memories

While many mistake quiet for acquiescence or weakness, Narcissa was not weak.
She would never be weak.

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 8, 2026, 6:26 AM

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A ‘lizard’ is a ‘snake’ in The Dreamer and the Dreamed

Lucius makes an appearance at the Yule Ball under duress.
No, that's a lie — two lies, in fact. That whole thing is a lie.
First of all, Lucius doesn't so much make an appearance as he skulks around the festive edges, sneering at the students in their dress robes.
And secondly, the duress is only a performative protest. While Severus is *required* to attend, supposedly for academic reasons, Lucius has *other* reasons.
Namely, Granger.
He can see her, and he can prove to himself that the Slytherin dungeon was nothing, just a fanciful anomaly, a random Gryffindor in the snake pit, a forbidden fruit — *delicious* fruit, ripe and ready to be plucked —
No. There will be no plucking and no fruit. This is what Lucius tells himself. But he is a known liar.

The Dreamer and the Dreamed by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 8, 2026, 6:23 AM

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An ‘ophidian’ is slithering in for ‘lizard’ in The Unreliable Correspondent

She returned to her clinical examination. "Does it hurt?
Right now?" she asked, reaching out a sympathetic hand. (Merlin, was she going to touch it?)
"No, Hermione," I lied. Apparently this was the moment when she ceased to be Miss Granger.
I drew my sleeve back down to cover the offending ophidian, and my face must have fallen or otherwise contorted because her sympathetic hand was now heading northward to comfort my twisted visage.
I caught her arm en route. "No. No. I don't want... that.
"I want... this." My hands closed around her soft biceps, traveled up and across her bony shoulders, the sinew of her neck, pausing at the peaks of her cheeks, to tilt her back so I could proceed, with renewed purpose, to kiss her.
Lick her mouth, her teeth, to press my thumbs to the indents of her temples, slide my fingers into her curls. Her *wet* curls...
What was this? I pulled back to look. More feelings had welled up and were leaking from her eyes. I wondered, in a moment of silent hysterics, whether I should start collecting those tears — perhaps they possessed healing properties, like a Phoenix.

The Unreliable Correspondent by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 7, 2026, 5:32 AM

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‘Comparison’ (‘compare’) in Wizards Without Wands

"BUT, ABRAXAS LOVED YOU?"

"I HAVE SAID SO."

"IN *THAT* WAY?"

"IN EVERY WAY. OH, HE WAS CRUEL AND UNCONCERNED WITH ANY SMALL DISCOMFORT OF MINE. AND I HAD LITTLE OR NOTHING TO COMPARE IT TO. BUT HE — ABRAXAS MADE IT SEEM *RIGHT, * HE MADE IT SEEM... *PROPER.*

"AND THERE WAS SIMPLY NO WAY I COULD SEPARATE MY — FEELINGS — FROM HIS CRUELTY. IT *WAS* CONFUSING. HE CAME TO ME THAT NIGHT. HE DIDN'T SAY, 'YOU ARE MINE NOW, YOU BELONG TO THE FAMILY. YOU WILL BECOME ADEPT IN ALL FORMS OF THE DARK ARTS, AND WORK TO CHAMPION THE FAMILY IN THE WORLD AT LARGE.’”

"MAYBE HE *DID* SAY IT...?"

"YES, YES, MY DARLING BOY."

"BUT HE HURT YOU, COERCED YOU."

LUCIUS COCKED HIS HEAD TO THE SIDE. "DID HE? OR DID HE JUST MAKE ME INTO THE MAN I WAS MEANT TO BE?"

Wizards Without Wands by rachels_memories

a sequel to The Ribbon Gift

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 5, 2026, 6:10 AM

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‘Wall’ in My Dearly Demented

It's a hidden brick-front and she realizes he's cancelling its wards. He doesn't lead her upstairs to any rooms. Instead, he stops right there in the vestibule and, in a bit of pitch black magic, Rose's back is against the wall.

He's too close for her to reach her wand, even if she wanted to, as if that would do anything. But maybe a nice shove to the chest —

That doesn't do anything, either.

"Sir, wait —“

"For what?"

His hand is in her hair — at her mouth, his fingers making her lips feel thick and lewd and strange and —

He is broad and heavy and her arms are in the wrong position to do anything about it. He's holding her bodily to the wall, there's nothing she *can* do, except smell her own pomade in his hair, feel the fine weave of his fancy robes, feel *him* underneath them —

"You say you want to be touched. And you want *me* to do the touching. You *begged* me —“

It's true. She did beg. She's begging now.

My Dearly Demented by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 5, 2026, 6:07 AM

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‘Wall’ in The Tower Room

I sit, and make another ocular pass around the room. At the far wall, several tall bookcases are filled, I suppose, with medical texts. To one side, an armchair sits behind a chaise and I wonder if Dr. Marvela is a Freudian psychoanalyst as well as a psychiatrist. I shouldn't, but l can, imagine Lucius draped dramatically over that couch, but I can't imagine him hung up with transference for the doctor or regressing to some childhood trauma.

"Now, Miss Granger, how is every little thing? Are you enjoying your new responsibilities here at The Institute?"

"I am, yes. But —“

"But you must be wondering why I felt it necessary to employ the very public public-address system to get your attention. I've always wanted to do that — it was fun. I wanted to meet you. So, here you are!"

He drums his fingers over the papers stacked on his desk. "Now, about your thorny charge, Patient 1954. He hasn't *done* anything to you, has he?"

"What do you mean? What kind of thing?"

"Hmm... perhaps he has *attacked* you in some way. You can tell me, Miss Granger. We want to protect our employees here at The Institute."

The Tower Room by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 4, 2026, 5:59 AM

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Oops! Spoke too soon. There *is* a ‘contract’ in Truth, Justice, and the Wizarding Way

"You *interrogated* muggleborns,
*specifically?*"
"I am, I *was* considered adept in that skill."
"Muggleborns who looked like me?"
"Yes, those especially." (The tormentor and lover of the tormented.)
"You see, the idea is," he starts, unable to stop. "Once they have past the point of fighting back, once they know there is no point, then you may proceed to *extract* whatever information might be useful."
"Learned helplessness."
"Mmm... We all learn it somewhere, don't we?"
And that just hangs in the air for several moments.
"So, there will be no more muggle torture?"
He leans forward, his eyes bright with possibility. “Not if I have you."
He draws two slow fingertips along the side of her thigh. Watches the long muscles contract.
"Would you *like* to be interrogated for information?"

TRUTH, JUSTICE and the WIZARDING WAY by rachels_memories

IN WHICH RECOVERY, REFORMATION, AND
RECONSTRUCTION ARE NO MATCH FOR WAR-TIME TRAUMA, CHARACTER FLAWS, AND GHOSTS OF FATHERS PAST

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 4, 2026, 5:38 AM

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No ‘contracts,’ but here is an ‘arrangement,’ in Scene of the Crime

"So. What have you been doing, I mean besides achieving academic fame. And spurning me. Have you taken any lovers? Who are they?"
"Jealous?"
I shrugged. "I will tear them apart."
"That hardly seems fair," he said, in his familiar churlish fashion. "By the way, Lucius, how was your
*wedding*? And how is your *wife*?"
"You don't need to be jealous of my wife."
"No? Of whom shall I be jealous, then?" Of course, he hadn't attended my wedding so he wouldn't know how my wife was, or wasn't, and he wouldn't know about any arrangement Narcissa and I might have made. Besides, why should I reveal such marital flotsam to him? Jealous Severus was a delicious flavor hitherto unknown to me.
A flavor I wanted to taste again.

SCENE of the CRIME by rachels_memories

LUCIUS IS A LIBERTINE OF THE HIGHEST ORDER, SO IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE FOR HIM TO ABDUCT AND RESTRAIN HIS DISENCHANTED FRIEND AT THE MANOR. AFTER ALL, DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES AND LUCIUS IS DESPERATE TO RECONCILE WITH HIS OLD SCHOOLMATE, SEVERUS.

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 3, 2026, 5:18 AM

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WIPSnips #traumamakesdrama #nsfw (for euphemism)

‘Petal’ in Renouncing the Old Ways

She squeaked and kicked me in the ribs. I grinned and made my way back up to her side.
"I — everything feels so... *different*."
*You* are different. You are *perfect* — my blooming rose." She ignored my tender sentimentalism. "What — different?"
"Not everyone can be a blooming rose — *Rose.*"
She huffed and kicked me again, this time connecting with my shin.
"I'm *not* saying anything is wrong, only different — everyone is different, Rose."
"What *are* you saying!"
I licked my lips and panicked a little.
"Answer me!"
"Well, I — some girls, women, some *witches*... but *you* — you have glorious petals, Rose."
"Keep going —“
"There is a lot of *variation* in the world," I said, and raised my brows, hopefully.
She was frowning. I was sweating.
"So it's normal that I have...’petals'?"
"Normal? I don't subscribe to such concepts. What you have is pertect."

RENOUNCING the OLD WAYS by rachels_memories

ROSE GRANGER-WEASLEY MAY GIGGLE
ABOUT PUREBLOOD CUSTOMS, BUT SHE WONDERS ABOUT HER OWN PATERNITY, AND AS CUSTOM WOULD HAVE IT, SHE CLIMBS UP THE FAMILY TREE.

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Oct 1, 2026, 6:12 AM

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‘Wound’ in place of ‘injury’ in Scene of the Crime

"For a long time, it seemed prudent for me to behave as if I didn't *want* to see you, that I didn't *need* your company. To behave as if I was simply too wounded by your act of —
''Parricide?"
"Yes, that. Too wounded to desire you, or to need your touch. I became — *invested* in the idea, and then *reinvested.* And I was afraid that your friendship, your attention would be-"
"Reciprocated?"
"*False.* And reciprocated."
"Mm."
"Even though I knew — I *know* — that you did what you did —“
"The parricide."
"Yes. You did that out of...you you did it because you — *care.*"
I laughed, but it came out like a nervous sigh. "So, you've found me out at last," I said, only partially in jest. I was afraid he was going to make some kind of declaration, and I was going to be sick.

Scene of the Crime by rachels_memories

LUCIUS IS A LIBERTINE OF THE HIGHEST ORDER, SO IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE FOR HIM TO ABDUCT AND RESTRAIN HIS DISENCHANTED FRIEND AT THE MANOR. AFTER ALL, DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES AND LUCIUS IS DESPERATE TO RECONCILE WITH HIS OLD SCHOOLMATE, SEVERUS.

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 30, 2026, 5:33 AM

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‘Guard’ in The Dreamer and the Dreamed

In his courting days, when Lucius had entertained musings on this topic, Abraxas had dismissed them outright.
{“You were expecting hearts and flowers, son? A deep bond of souls? You are lucky to have secured a match with the House of Black at all."
{“Father, I just thought — maybe you and —" {"Don't be ridiculous, Lucius. You've just been reading too many romantic texts — *ancient* romantic texts."}
So rare and ancient, the magical soul bond, it would be unattainable for Lucius and his *wife.* But now, this mud-blood, *she* reaches across the chasm and sinks her lovely little claws in.
There is no window in Lucius' cell, but perhaps that's the most tender of mercies. The dim light that does reach him comes from the corridor where his guards spend a generous amount of time deriding him verbally, and slicing and dicing him physically — ‘Look, Lewy, these Death Eaters bleed like anyone else.' In fact, some of us bleed a superior red, Lucius thinks. But he thinks it quietly.

The Dreamer and the Dreamed by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 29, 2026, 5:17 AM

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‘Well’ in Scene of the Crime

What ought a newly minted school governor to do when confronted with staff so obviously — unwell? I did what any school governor, or any friend — even an *estranged* friend — would do.
I spiked his drink.
In his defense, he didn't look that bad. He didn't look bad at all. He'd filled out since our 'estrangement.' It had been years, almost a decade, since he'd spurned me. I know, I know, he had his reasons. In those years, though, he'd cultivated his look — all black everything — plus his brooding demeanor, all of which suited him quite well indeed. No longer the tortured and tentative adolescent I had recruited in our school days.
He was, without a doubt, *grown.* It was just — he looked so *miserable* on top of it all. More miserable than his gothic couture required. More miserable than I remembered, and the last things I remembered were... pretty bad. I was loathe to admit it, and would deny it elsewhere, but I was sorry to see him like this.
I could have brought him back to his Cokeworth hovel to interrogate — I mean, to *tend, * but I didn't want to spend any more time in *that* place. My one disastrous visit to Spinner's End — almost a decade before — had been more than enough for me.

Scene of the Crime by rachels_memories

LUCIUS IS A LIBERTINE OF THE HIGHEST ORDER, SO IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE FOR HIM TO ABDUCT AND RESTRAIN HIS DISENCHANTED FRIEND AT THE MANOR. AFTER ALL, DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES AND LUCIUS IS DESPERATE TO RECONCILE WITH HIS OLD SCHOOLMATE, SEVERUS.

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 27, 2026, 5:26 AM

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‘Delay’ in The Unreliable Correspondent

Apologies, old friend, for the delay in correspondence.

There has been a slight kerfuffle here. Amusing as it has been, it has prevented my writing, due to the bandages thoughtfully affixed to my hand where it had disagreed with a jaw. Not to worry; the jaw's owner and I were kindly separated, and isolated. I no longer have a cellmate, or a 'view, to distract me, and may now focus solely on my atonement. So, where did I leave my tale of muddy debauchery?

I am wondering whether you actually receive these little letters or whether the authorities simply read them, enjoy their belly laughs, then owl them directly to one publication or the other. What a scoop, right?

Ah, I remember now. My Mark had begun to arc, and I had slithered away with my ulna between my legs, so to speak, leaving Miss Granger with her dilemma.

I, too, faced a dilemma: How to pursue that brightest of Lights while serving our Dark Lord. I had no choice about the latter, but the former now seemed to consume my purpose.

The Unreliable Correspondent by rachels_memories

OUR NARRATOR IS CONSCRIPTED TO CONFESS A CERTAIN OBSESSION AS PENANCE FOR HIS CRIMES.
IS THAT EVEN A THING? SOUNDS DEMENTED.

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 26, 2026, 5:22 AM

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‘Observe’ in Mid-Century Modern

"And then she "squeezed" — and everything went hot white behind my eyes..."

Lucius pauses his tale to observe the colour blooming across his interviewer's face. "Am I making you uncomfortable, Rita?"

"I'm just surprised you're telling me all this."

"That was the arrangement, wasn't it? Me telling you? It's only going to get spicier from here. If you're not interested, I can stop."

"Please don't stop. I'm... quite interested."

"I can see that," Lucius says, and gives her his coldest, most contemptuous smile. 'It's not as if you'd dare print it."

"Oh, I'll print it. This will be my most successful book yet."

"You think so?"

"I do. Please go on."

"Mm. Alright. I'll go on, then." Smile or scowl — doesn't matter. His memories are coming unbidden, and undeniable.

Mid-Century Modern by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 26, 2026, 5:17 AM

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‘Observe’ in Blood Work

Narcissa sent her son back to school a proper Malfoy heir. There was no public
acknowledgement of his initiation. The old ways may still have been observed in pureblood families, but they were observed privately.

There were other complicating factors. Draco could still be combative, and now he was
vulnerable to manipulation. He had to be boosted and cajoled, and tricked into keeping the secret he had revealed to her.

Perhaps it was Narcissa's fear that caused her to overcompensate in the boosting and the cajoling. She did love her beautiful boy, her only son. In the following years, she would do so many things out of love for him, and she would regret none of them.

And how ironic for Narcissa to have discovered a dangerous maternal secret, only to have her son discover an equally dangerous paternal one. The irony was not lost on her.

Perhaps the overcompensation was simply Narcissa's attempt to control the narrative.
Perhaps Draco, a voyeur like his mother, felt that now *he* had some control over the narrative.

Perhaps Narcissa's fear was warranted.

Blood Work by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 24, 2026, 5:16 AM

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‘Meddle’ in My Dearly Demented

"I have. Looked at you." He turns, now, and he looks. He *stares* —
"Haven't you heard, Miss Weasley." His voice is flat enough, dark enough. "Haven't you heard how I *mistreat* my progeny? I'm not the sort of father you should be dreaming about."
"I don't believe that, sir."
"Believe what you like."
Rose can't give up now. She's come this far. "I never felt right about my father. Now I see it's because he *isn't* my father. Then *you* came into the salon and — and Mme. Bouffant said —“
"I *knew* it. That meddling Hufflepuff —“
"She said it and it made sense, it — it's true. And you were there and you were so — so —“
"Stop."
"I won't. I won't stop."
And then it's just them — face to face. A hand on her cheek. A thumb at her mouth. The softest touch, barely a touch at all.
"We cannot have *this.*"

My Dearly Demented by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 23, 2026, 5:33 AM

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‘Tumble’ in The Tower Room, with minor #nsfw

...my hands are all over him. They are tearing at his shirt to get to him, and he lifts his arms to accommodate me, to oblige me.
"And *this*..." he reaches for his trouser clasp, "is where we were so rudely interrupted *before.* Now, I want you to stand up and take off those hideous pantaloons.”
I'm laughing before I can even stand, before I can even dispense with the pantaloons. I *do* rid myself of them before collapsing in another fit of laughter, tumbling all over him.
"What?" he says, taking a great, mocking offense amid my windmilling limbs. "I fail to see..."
"You said 'pantaloons'."
He kisses me. A hard, wet kiss.
And mutters "pantaloons" into my mouth, and hums a laugh, and I can feel it more than hear it.

The Tower Room by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 22, 2026, 5:29 AM

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One big ‘meltdown,’ in The Ribbon Gift

I had been almost sick with anticipation as summer break approached. I would have failed an important exam had Scorpius not intervened (Potions was his favorite subject).
I was already packing my bag when Father's edict had come down. I would not be spending any holiday at ‘that house.' I made a weak argument about his time at Grimmauld Place, and he said that it was not the same thing at all.
So what did I do? I spent most of the summer sulking and waiting for owls from Scorpius.
Over those interminable weeks, I had time to think about things. For example, how I had chosen for a surrogate my father's enemy, and in *his* house. His house, and the house of my friend.
Scorpius was a restrained correspondent, but his last letter contained these ominous lines:
Grandfather having meltdown. Confronted me about your absence. He's on the warpath. Watch yourself.
p.s., What did you *do * to him?

The Ribbon Gift by rachels_memories

@rachels-memories.bsky.social Sep 21, 2026, 5:38 AM

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‘Stream’ in Truth, Justice, and the Wizarding Way

He's propped up in bed. Daylight is streaming in through the east windows. She's coming at him with a steaming cup. "Drink this."
One eyebrow checks it out. "Potions, Alice?"
"Just drink it."
He takes a gingerly sip, mimics regurgitation.
She crosses her arms over her chest. He takes another sip.
"You are... bossy," he says, and swallows.
"In the domestic sense. So how *is* young Ronald?"
She narrows her eyes. "Why don't you just look, like you've always done? Use your Legilimency, and have a good, long look."
Well, this is... something.
"I admit, I used to spend a *lot* of time inside your head. I went there again and again. It became rather compelling, and illegal, I suppose. But ... I looked to see what you wanted, so I could... deliver on the promise...? It's what *I* wanted.
"I can still feel the remnants of your thoughts, you know."

Truth, Justice, and the Wizarding Way by rachels _memories

IN WHICH RECOVERY, REFORMATION, AND
RECONSTRUCTION ARE NO MATCH FOR WAR-TIME TRAUMA, CHARACTER FLAWS, AND GHOSTS OF FATHERS PAST