Title: Consenting Magic
Prompt: Rule 63 (not that I need an excuse for this; I haven’t written anything but in 9 months. Okay, there was one prompt I wrote slash for but serious that’s it, there is something wrong with me)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Sirius, Ianthe (female Harry Potter), a twinkling old coot, teachers who are never around when you need them, a little asshole who thinks he can get away with shit, and an asshole who raised the little asshole.
Genre: Drama, angst, righteous revenge
Word Count: 1372
Warnings: There is mention of the use of love potions, which means attempting to subvert consent, which is attempted rape. Please read carefully or not at all if this is a trigger issue for you. There is no rape.
Rating: M for mention of consent issues
Notes: So this . . . I’m not sure where this came from, but it might have been brewing while listening to/having a conversation about what consent actually is. Either that, or it was while I was contemplating some of the terrible shit that magic apparently lets people get away with. (FYI: all the terrible shit. All of it.)
Synopsis: Sirius had pranked every person in Hogwarts, received 316 detentions, been injured in a Death Eater attack on Hogsmeade, and nearly killed a classmate — and not once had the school summoned a parent. So when he gets a note requesting his presence in regards to his goddaughter, he doesn’t dawdle.
Sirius flicked the ash off his robe as he stepped from the Floo and studied the assembled wixen in the headmaster’s office. “Well, no one appears to be growing feathers, appendages, changing colours, or on fire. The castle also appears intact.” Any of which would explain the Floo message his elves had passed along. “Hello, sweetheart. Causing trouble?”
His goddaughter Ianthe, pale and remote, smiled faintly. “Always, Sirius.”
A fair haired wix standing over a younger, paler copy of himself opened his mouth. Sirius cut him without hesitation, ignoring him — and his spluttering — in favour of a slight glare at the infallible old coot sitting behind the desk. “Seven years I spent in this school and all the shit I pulled, and you never once contacted a member of my family. You hate speaking to parents, Albus, it detracts from your sense of absolute control and authority over the school.”
McGonagall huffed. “You still owe me a detention, Black; care to see if I can make you sit it?”
“Tell me I’m wrong, Minerva,” he offered coolly. “And someone explain why I was called in over a prank.” Because there was nothing he hated more than being commanded. Nothing except for people messing about his goddaughter. He already had a strong urge to start hexing, and he had no idea what was going on.
“Ms Potter,” the Hufflepuff Head of House — no doubt present since the young imitation wore a yellow tie — said sharply, “performed a humiliating prank on my student, and has refused to remove it! Not even two weeks of detention changed her mind.”
“That’s not what I said,” Ianthe said mildly. Her expression and tone reminded him vividly of Lily in the moments before someone pushed her past the breaking point of her temper.
“You refused —”
“I said that I can’t remove it, not that I wouldn’t.”
“You cast a spell without knowing the counter?” Minerva demanded, aghast. “Ms Potter, that’s very irresponsible!”
“I’m still wondering what the problem is,” Sirius asked, not showing his concern over Ianthe’s behaviour. Not that she might have been pranking — that didn’t bother him at all — but her demeanor. “There are a dozen of the country’s greatest wixen in this castle and none of you can cast the counterspell? What, exactly, is the spell?”
The boy — a young man, actually, and Sirius vaguely recognized him as a Hufflepuff Chaser from the Quidditch games he always came to watch — squirmed uncomfortably. His father flushed deeply. “That little witch cursed my son impotent! What do you have to say about that?”
Instantly, Sirius slid over the edge of temper and into icy rage. The only outward show of it was the way his fingers drifted over his wand; he even managed to contain his magic, preventing it from lashing out.
He could think of only two reasons for a sixteen year old girl to hex a male impotent, and Ianthe had never written about having a boyfriend, much less one who cheated on her.
“What happened?” he asked the headmaster softly, stepping between Ianthe and the rest of the room.
Green eyes lifted to meet his; she was translucent, and the rims of her eyes were slightly pink.
“There was an altercation in the hallway last night,” Dumbledore twinkled. “Nothing unusual around here, of course, but this morning, Mr Munslow came to the infirmary having noticed a . . . personal issue. As to the spell — none of us recognize it, and our counters have no effect.”
“No, Headmaster. What happened?”
“Sirius . . .”
He ignored his former Head of House, glaring at the old man, who appeared genuinely baffled. “They fought.”
“Albus. You lot teach seven hundred adolescents; you cannot be this stupid.”
“She hexed my son!”
“Charmed.” Everyone looked at his goddaughter, who managed a small smirk. “Hexes have counters; curses can be illegal under the right circumstances. Charms, however, are all considered Light magic, and there are no laws against casting one on someone. No matter the charm, regardless of their consent.” Her smile faded into something sharp; Minerva gasped softly.
Sirius felt his magic surge, trying to escape and lash out; he clamped down firmly. Not yet.
“Funny what counts as lack of consent — or what doesn’t — in the Wixen World.” Ianthe exhaled slowly. “It’s also funny that we usually learn counters first. The Shrinking Solution before the Swelling Solution; the Cushioning charm before the Banishing charm. But the Flushing Draught? That comes well after we learn about love potions.”
Sirius reached out and took her hand; her knuckles went white as she gripped tightly enough to cut off circulation. “Sweetheart —”
“Hermione noticed. That I was — odd. She fed me a Flushing Draught before I could do anything —” she shuddered. “Just, before.”
“I would have come,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you write to me? Or use the mirror?”
“You were in Rome for the ICW conference. The vote to reclassify lycanthropy is important; it will force the Wizengamot and the Ministry to overturn most of their legislation on werewolves or face sanctions. We’ve been lobbying for it for two years.”
“It wasn’t more important than you,” he said. “Remus would be the first to agree.” A single tear fell and Sirius tugged her into his arms, where she clung on; both adult witches looked on, horrified.
“The spell has a set condition that has to be met before it will end.”
Despite everything, Sirius barked a laugh. “You didn’t.”
“Conditions? That sounds like —” Minerva flushed. “Sirius Black!”
“Yes, we’re all shocked that I have a book or two on sex magic,” he drawled.
“I thought I hid —”
“You did,” Ianthe admitted. “Just not well.”
The little asshole’s father — who was obviously an asshole, since he’d raised one — looked angry with the sudden sympathy. “My son —”
“Is lucky he’s a minor,” Sirius snapped, “Or I’d have him on a dueling field!”
“Look, Black, it’s your responsibility to ward the girl, and if you neglected to account for contact potions when warding an heiress it’s no fault of mine or my —”
“I never said it was administered by skin contact,” Ianthe murmured. The asshole flinched, and Sirius lost control of his magic. Father and son shivered as the air went icy; the infamous Black temper let loose.
“I’ll see you soon, Munslow,” Sirius snarled. “Choose a second; mine will see to the arrangements.”
“Now, Sirius,” Dumbledore began, “there are other options for dealing with this.”
“Options? Yes. Better ones? No. Minerva, I’ll send an elf for Ianthe’s things.” All three professors looked shocked. “For fuck’s sake! My goddaughter was potioned by a boy and not only did none of you notice the obvious behavioural changes, but when she retaliated in a very deliberate way it didn’t even occur to you to ask about it! I’m taking her home!”
Ianthe clung harder.
“Muslow will be punished, of course,” Dumbledore offered, looking concerned. He should; the media would have a fit over the Girl-Who-Lived leaving Hogwarts. “A month’s detention, at least.” The little asshole squawked and was ignored.
“How many classes do you share with him, sweetheart?”
“Four.” He glared pointedly at Albus, who looked regretful.
“We cannot compromise his education, Sirius, and changing his schedule will separate him from his House and peers.”
“And that?” he said coldly, “Is why I’m taking her home.”
“Sirius —!” He stepped into the Floo; the last sight of the office was McGonagall turning on the Headmaster like a Fury.
Safe in the heavily warded House of Black, Sirius squeezed his goddaughter tightly and rocked slightly as she shuddered; her magic flared once and nearby, glass shattered.
“So,” he asked gently several moments later, “what was the condition for the end of that spell?”
“He has to get buggered by a witch with a strap on,” she offered.
“I better live forever, because your mother is going to be kill me for corrupting her baby when I die.”
“While singing the Slytherin fight song,” Ianthe finished, leaning back to smirk at him.
“Him? Or the witch?” he wondered.
Ianthe laughed, and burst into tears.