Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

INTRODUCING

THE LOVERS

Charlotte Sawyer

“ Foot on the pedal, never ever false metal

Engine running hotter than a boiling kettle

My job ain't a job, it's a damn good time

City to city, I'm running my rhymes ”

No Sleep Till Brooklyn

Beastie Boys

Draco Malfoy

“ Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

Mama, ooh

I don't wanna die

I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all ”

Bohemian Rhapsody

Queen

THE SLYTHERINS

Theodore Nott

“ Young guns having some fun

Crazy ladies keep 'em on the run

Wise guys realize there's danger in emotional ties

See me, single and free

No fears, no tears, what I want to be ”

Young Guns

Wham!

Blaise Zambini

“ Yes, my man says he loves me, never says he loves me not

Not to rush me good and touch me in the right spot

See other guys that I've had, they tried to play all that mac shit

But every time they tried I said, ‘That's not it’

But not this man, he's got the right potion

Baby, rub it down and make it smooth like lotion ”

Whatta Man

Salt-N-Pepa

Pansy Parkinson

“ Some boys try, and some boys lie

But I don't let them play

Only boys that save their pennies

Make my rainy day

'Cause we are living in a material world

And I am a material girl ”

Material Girl

Madonna

Daphne Greengrass

“ Perfume came naturally from Paris (naturally)

For cars she couldn't care less

Fastidious and precise.

She's a Killer Queen

Gunpowder, gelatine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind ”

Killer Queen

Queen

THE CHAMPIONS

Victor Krum

“ You'll never say hello to you

Until you get it on the red line overload

You'll never know what you can do

Until you get it up as high as you can go ”

Danger Zone 

Kenny Loggins

Fleur Delacour

“ I saw the sign and it opened up my mind

And I am happy now

Living without you

I've left ”

The Sign 

Ace of Base

Cedric Diggory

“ All the vampires walkin' through the valley

Move west down Ventura Boulevard

And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows

And the good girls are home with broken hearts ”

Free Fallin’

Tom Petty

Harry Potter

“ When I was younger, so much younger than today

I never needed anybody's help in any way

But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured

Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors ”

Help!

The Beatles

THE GRYFFINDORS

Hermione Granger

“ Pretty woman, won't you pardon me?

Pretty woman, I couldn't help but see

Pretty woman, that you look lovely as can be

Are you lonely just like me? ”

Oh, Pretty Woman

Roy Orbison

Ron Weasley

“ Well now, I get low and I get high

And if I can't get either, I really try

Got the wings of heaven on my shoes

I'm a dancin' man and I just can't lose ”

Stayin’ Alive

Bee Gees

Ginny Weasley

“ Look, boy, don't check on your watch, not another glance

I'm not leaving now, honey, not a chance

Hot shot, give me no problems

Much later, baby, you'll be saying, ‘Never mind’

You know life is cruel, life is never kind ”

Kids in America

Kim Wilde

THE PARENTS

Charles Sawyer

“ Bring a song and a smile for the banjo

Better get while the getting's good

Hitch a ride to the end of the highway

Where the neons turn to wood ”

Up Around the Bend

Creedence Clearwater Revival

Evangeline Sawyer

“ Uptown girl

She's been living in her white-bred world

As long as anyone with hot blood can

And now, she's looking for a downtown man

That's what I am ”

Uptown Girl

Billy Joel

Chapter Text

The Portkey dropped us out of the sky like a bad punchline. My boots hit the ground hard, knees nearly giving out as the world spun in green and gray streaks. Cold wind slapped my face, wet mud squelched beneath my feet, and somewhere off to my left I heard my dad curse under his breath. I bent over, hands on my thighs, trying not to puke. The air smelled like rain, grass, and the metallic aftertaste of spellwork, raw magic still clinging to the fields around us.

We’d landed in a wide expanse of damp hills, Dartmoor, England, and it looked like the world’s most boring postcard: fog rolling in over dark grass, fences sagging under years of wind. Until you noticed the flickers of light in the distance. Then you realized the hills were alive with magic- campfires and floating lanterns, the whole Quidditch World Cup waiting beyond the mist.

“Ugh,” I muttered, dragging my hand down my face. “That was…wicked. Love traveling by being yanked through a cosmic toilet.”

“Don’t start,” Dad said, brushing off his leather jacket. It was cracked at the elbows and permanently smelled like dust and campfire. “You handled it better than your old man, that’s for sure.”

He straightened, hair ruffled by the wind, grin already back in place. “I swear I’ll never get used to that feeling. Give me a broom or a plane any day.”

“You’d crash a broom,” I said.

“Probably,” he admitted, then smirked. “But I’d look cool doing it.”

That was my dad- Charles Sawyer, curse breaker, archaeologist, professional trouble maker. To Muggles, he was a globe-trotting archaeologist. To wizards, he was the guy who poked sleeping curses with a stick to see what would happen. Somehow he’d lived through forty-three years of that. He was American, Brooklyn-born, and he never quite lost the accent, or the attitude. He’d raised me on dig sites and runic ruins, and I’d learned early that adventure came before caution. We were a team- him, me, and whatever half-destroyed temple we were trying to survive. He called me kiddo. I called him Dad when I was feeling nice, Chuck when I wasn’t.

“C’mon,” he said now, nodding toward the hill where the lights shimmered. “Let’s go find our campsite before they run out of room. Half the world’s here tonight.” We started down the slope. Mud splashed up our boots. Somewhere ahead, laughter and music drifted through the fog.

The closer we got, the louder it grew, voices in every language, smells of food and smoke, tents stretching in every direction like a makeshift city. Every fabric shimmered with enchantments. Some shaped like miniature castles, others glowing in their country’s colors. Flags whipped overhead. Wizards bustled through the narrow paths, balancing crates of Firewhisky and cauldrons of stew.

My dad stopped to help a small Irish boy untangle his flagpole, then started chatting with his father about broomsticks. Typical. He made friends wherever he went, like charmwork came naturally to him. I lagged behind, taking it all in. And that’s when I saw him.

A blond boy, maybe my age, standing near a silver-green tent. His posture screamed wealth- straight spine, spotless robes, chin tilted like the world existed for him to look down on it. He was laughing at something, his mouth curved in a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

I should’ve looked away, but he turned just as I did, catching my gaze. For a split second, the noise of the crowd dimmed. His eyes, gray and sharp, locked on mine. Then, with the lazy confidence of someone who’d never been told no, he winked. I blinked, shocked. And then he was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

“What the hell,” I muttered.

“Everything alright?” Dad asked, reappearing with two steaming cups of cocoa.

“Yeah. Just a trust fund kid.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We’re in a field full of wizards, kiddo. Not the only one you’ll see tonight.”

I smiled despite myself. “True.”

By the time the match started, the night had turned electric. We climbed the stands, squeezing between fans draped in flags. The air was sharp with a chill and excitement. Irish supporters beat drums enchanted to echo like thunder; Bulgarian fans waved red torches that sprayed gold sparks. Every few seconds, someone’s wand shot confetti into the air.

When the teams shot into the sky, the crowd erupted. Green and gold blurs streaked past us, players looping and diving at impossible speeds. The announcer’s voice boomed from everywhere at once. I found myself shouting before I realized it, laughing when Dad slung an arm around my shoulders and whooped like a man half his age.

For a few hours, I forgot everything else. The noise, the lights, the way the whole stadium seemed to shake, it felt like being struck by lightning.

When Ireland finally won, the stands exploded. Fireworks burst overhead in spirals of color, spelling out “Lynch for the Cup!” in blazing letters. I couldn’t stop grinning.

Dad looked at me, his face flushed and happy. “Worth the trip?”

“Yeah,” I said, breathless. “More than worth it.”

“Gotta make your last month with me memorable,” he said with a small smile.

We stayed until the crowd started spilling out into the field. People were dancing, drinking, and lighting more fireworks. Someone started singing.

It happened fast. One second, laughter. The next, screaming. I heard it before I saw it. The sound changed- high, panicked, sharp enough to slice through the music. The air smelled like smoke. Dad froze beside me, head snapping toward the tents.

Then came the first explosion. A tent went up in flames, a shock of orange lighting the sky. People ran. More spells cracked, green and red bolts slicing through the dark. And through the smoke, masked figures moved- black robes, white skull masks.

My stomach dropped, not recognizing the costumes but knowing something had to be wrong.

“Death Eaters,” Dad whispered, in shock and fear. His wand was already in his hand.

Instinct took over. I drew mine too, the familiar warmth of polished wood against my palm. My heart hammered but my hands didn’t shake. We pushed into the chaos together.

The air burned with smoke and spells. Families clutched each other, trying to flee. Someone shouted for the Ministry. Another voice screamed. A man in a skull mask aimed his wand at a crowd of wizards.

“Not a chance,” I hissed.

“Charlie-” Dad started, but I was already moving.

“Stupefy!” The red jet hit the Death Eater square in the chest. He dropped like a stone. Another turned, firing back. I ducked, mud splattering my jeans. My return curse sent him spinning.

I didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. Just reacted. Years of training, not formal, but the kind you learn when curses are traps and instincts are your best weapon, took over. Dad joined in, his spells sharper, louder. Together we moved through the burning tents, covering each other, knocking attackers down. He yelled for people to run, guiding children toward the woods.

“On your right!” he shouted.

I turned, firing another Expelliarmus at a masked witch about to strike. Her wand shot across the field. I followed with a Stupefy, sending her tumbling into the mud.

“Nice shot!” Dad yelled.

“Thanks!” I shouted back, breathless.

We made it to an open stretch near the center of camp. The flames were spreading fast. Spells flew like meteors overhead. Then a sound rose above the chaos- a slow, dark laugh. I looked up. A group of Death Eaters stood together, wands raised toward the sky. Green light erupted from their joined spell, curling into a massive shape. A skull. A serpent twisting through its mouth.

The Dark Mark. That I recognized. 

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even the Death Eaters seemed to pause, admiring their work. My stomach churned. I’d read about that mark in books. Never thought I’d see it.

Dad grabbed my arm, fear evident in his voice. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Dad-”

“Now, Charlie!” His tone left no room for argument.

We ran. I covered our flank, firing off a Protego to block a curse aimed our way. It hit the barrier and scattered like sparks. My lungs burned. The night was noise and fire and the acrid stench of fear.

We made it past the edge of the tents and into the trees. The sounds of chaos followed us- screams, shouts, the crack of Disapparition. We stopped only when the forest swallowed the noise.

Dad leaned against a tree, breathing hard. His jacket was torn at the sleeve, a shallow burn across one arm.

“Are you okay?” I asked, panting.

“I’ve had worse,” he said, trying for a grin. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You alright, kiddo?” I nodded, though my hands were trembling now that it was over. The adrenaline faded, leaving a hollow ache behind my ribs.

For a while, we just stood there, listening to the distant echoes of spells. The sky was still glowing faintly green.

“Dad?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Was that who I think it was?”

He took a quick breath, “Death Eaters?” 

“Mhm,” I hummed in response. 

“Yeah, yeah they were.”

“Why now? Why here?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. But something tells me this isn’t the last time we’ll see that symbol.” The air around us felt heavier somehow, like the world had shifted half a step to the left. I looked back toward the camp. The smoke rose higher, blotting out the stars. In the distance, the wind carried laughter- faint, cruel, familiar in a way I couldn’t place. It sent a chill through me, and I shivered. Dad wrapped his arms around me and all I could see was the Dark Mark high above our heads.

And as the green light faded from the sky, I had the strange, certain feeling that whatever was coming next- it was already looking for me.