Work Text:
Lady Lily Potter née Evans and Lady Zaelly Nott née Selwynn were best friends during their last years at Hogwarts, and both had asked the other to become godmother of their children to be. Due to the war, they rarely saw each other, in complete secrecy, just enough for the godsibling bond to take between their two raven haired babies.
Hazel herself had only learned of this bond while spying in on Heir Malfoy’s conversation in her invisibility cloak. He then cursed her with a Petrificus before leaving the train, but she would have stayed frozen on her own. She suspected that his “slip” was voluntary, and therefore had stopped escalating their little feud.
She had kept quiet, sneaking at night to the Library for books on bonds, and found many other subjects of new interests, like an old manual on Wizarding customs and etiquette that had become a favourite read.
For the first time in her life, Hazel had been scared to raise her voice, to ask Heir Theophile about their bond. She waited, practiced her magic like the books told her to, until one day she felt a quiver in her core, the bond answering her call. She did not force it, did not seize on that link, but waited patiently, coaxing it each morning and night, feeding it with her magical strength and hope.
Heir Theophile’s magic began flowing through the bond as well, until they could no longer keep the fact that they were revisiting their godsibling bond from the most magic sensitive of the students and teachers. Before they could be confronted, Hazel had marched to the Slytherin table at supper, seated herself at his left side, and stole some fries from his plate.
Many students had been shocked, the Gryffindors loudly so, but the only thing that mattered to the petite witch had been the squeeze of his fingers on her hand, as he moved his plate so they could share the same meal. Heir Malfoy had even smiled.
Months passed as they learned about each other. Ron had not understood and their friendship stopped in December. Hermione did, asked for information, read the books and was finally recognised as a New Blood in March.
Dumbledore died, and the witches had to run. All that dreadful summer, Hazel sent reassurances through their bond, snippets of her day, emotions and unarticulated questions. All summer, Theophile answered, with flashes of his own, hope and strength supporting her. She asked about Horcruxes and he spent weeks in the Nott library, going so far as to sneak into his father’ private study to find everything she might need.
By the time Hermione, Neville (who had taken position at her left side, as fiercely protective as the brother she did not have) and her had located the locket, Theo had sent enough information for them to know how to destroy it. With it gone, the three friends spent their Christmas holidays safely hidden behind the wards of Longbottom Manor, nagging various grand aunts and uncles for the location of the Hufflepuff cup.
As September 1st came and went, their godsibling bond grew quieter on his side. Strength still flowed, continuously, but he was keeping things from her. She would lay awake at night, wondering what horrors were befalling Hogwarts. Months went, leaving her with new scars and nightmares. She grew quieter as well, retreating to the sanctity of her mind and bond when she could no longer bear to listen to Hermione and Neville’s courtship. They were trying to respect the Rites, the Gifts. Neville kept them from starving, planting vegetables and granary everywhere they hid, potatoes they could roast on the fire, sweet tomatoes grown in half a day, and their flowers cut for bouquets to Hermione. It still was not enough to eat, and Hazel survived mostly on Theophile’s magic.
Going back to Hogwarts for the Final battle was a revelation. She barely waited for Snape to flee before diving into Theophile’s arms, almost making them fall. He was taller, leaner as well, favouring one of his legs, but his blue eyes were bright with happiness. The Slytherin around them did not move, none willing to risk his wrath by asking for her surrender. Their bond sang, closer to their skin than ever, a continuous loop of “I missed you” that they could not speak.
However, they each had a role to play. Before she knew it, Hazel was lying on the ground, her bond in tatters around her fractured magical core, and Heir Mafloy pressed his lips to her cheek before declaring her dead.
She did not remember much of the battle after that. Agony, as Theophile slumped to the ground when he saw her limp body. Triumph as Neville severed Nagini’s head. Sorrow for the corpse of Ron in the corridors. Fierce determination to end this, end it for good, Voldemort before her and Theo at her back.
Two days later, after the funerals, the tears, the decorations and speeches, she begged her friends to let her breathe. Theophile sneaked her into the Slytherin dormitory, alone for the first time in months. Their bond had not yet recovered from the Killing curse, so they resorted to sign language, which Hazel had learned as soon as she found out about Theo’s mutism.
Their hands flowed, small magical sparks following the discussion they needed to have, the answers they needed of each other. What had happened in Hogwarts? Outside? During the Battle? Were they healed? What should they do now? Would she marry Heir Malfoy?
- What? Why would you say such a thing?
A flurry of signs, with so little emotions from the bond to help her understand.
- He… He loves me?
It made sense in a way, and she understood more of his actions. Yet.
- You want me to marry someone strong?
That last proposal forced her to sit up on the bed, hair slipping out of her loose bun, eyes wide with the deprecation she could suddenly feel from him. There he lay, their legs tangled together, his left forever cursing him to limp, his scarred throat barred to her sight. Open, vulnerable but also strong, made stronger from his will to live, train, fight, care.
She licked her lips, wishing for their bond to recover, so she could send him this image, so he could see himself as she did.
- Am I not strong enough on my own?
She had taken down the Dark Lord, after all.
Theophile acquiesced, shaking his dark curls, eyes sad, caressing her bare arms.
- Then it doesn’t matter if I marry someone who isn’t. I would rather have someone I feel safe with.
Her hands signed the “safe” by habit, before she linked their fingers together, pressing her thumbs into his open palms.
- I don’t need a Lord Malfoy that stun me into train carriages to keep me out of Hogwarts. I don’t need someone more powerful than I am, if I could ever find any. I can protect myself, Theo.
Static overcame their bond for a moment, flutters of feelings crawling across her body, too fast to seize and understand, as Theophile pressed their palms against each other, tugging her so she could fall against his stomach, forced to let go lest she could not watch him sign.
I want you to have someone whole.
She could not breathe, seeing that bitter smile.
Someone who can talk to you, someone who can speak the Rites with you.
The Rites. She delved into them during those long nights of winter, hunger kept at bay by promises of bonding ceremonies, galas, and children’ names. She would examine them one by one, to find which Rite would fit, would work. She knew which one of them he was referring to: the Potter Rites.
Her parents had bonded under those, like all Potters before them. They required two willing, speaking participants, who would exchange vows under a hazel tree. To stay silent, for Potter magic, was to give no consent.
Her eyes swelled with tears. He’d taken the time to learn her family’s Rites somehow, must have been crushed to find that he would never be able to offer for her that way. How long had he carried that burden? Why did he not tell her before, so she could ease his fears?
Hazel sat up, planting herself on his hips and willed her blush to disappear under her dark skin. She needed both hands to highlight her sincerity. The whole subject was scandalous, if the books were true, but to hell with scandal. They had almost died, she had died for a few moments, so she would take that impropriety and shove it.
- I don’t care about the Rites. I care about you. I don’t want a Malfoy Lord or a Mongolian pureblood, not even if they catch me under a hazel tree. I want you.
She caught her breath, shaking, while the bond sparked around them. She searched for her infamous Potter courage and found it.
You are the bravest man I know, the one with which I feel safer. I would marry you the muggle way if you wanted, and marry no one else. I need you.
Finally, the bond surged, restored from the love they were both expressing. Hazel gasped as desire coursed through her heart from Theophile, all his feelings pouring into her, his desperation, passion and wants, but most of all the pure, childlike, wonder with which he felt for her.
Her eyes got dark with the same hunger. Her Nott was upright, taking harsh breaths into her neck, their bodies melding into each other, trembling in all the right places, and she could not help it, not any more. She shifted her hips, catching the tiniest of groan from his lips.
She had to say one more thing, though, before she could let herself completely go. Her heart beat so fast she could feel it escaping, but she had to. Knotting her fingers in his smooth hair, she recovered her wand for the only Rite she had found worthy of them.
- I conquered Evil and restored Light for Mother Magic. I saved a dragon, one of Mother Magic first children. I held an Elf as he died, not as a servant but as a friend. I am the Lady of the Hollows, Mistress of Death, of the Peverell Line, and what I cherish will never truly die. I could ask Mother Magic for any boon and she would grant it tenfold, but I take thee, Heir Theophile Nott, as my spoils of war.
Magic pulsed around them, the Rite of Conquest bonding them more closely than the godsibling bond ever did, that the Potter Rites ever could. She had vanquished his enemies and now he was Hers. Lord Theophile Potter kissed her, consented, and they took each other as Husband and Wife.