#he could have killed Harry and the others

[my-castles-crumbling]

motel - November 3rd - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 248

"There's nothing else?" Sirius asked the harried-looking person at the front desk, his voice a bit desperate but not rude.

"Sorry sir," she frowned. "Two rooms on opposite sides of the building, each with a king bed. That's all we have."

James, Sirius, Remus, and Regulus all stared outside from the snow storm raging to their very ill-equipped car.

"Alright," Sirius sighed. "We'll take them. I'll share with Reg and James and Moons can share."

"That's stupid," Regulus piped up, rolling his eyes. "Share a bed with your boyfriend, Sirius. James and I can deal with each other for one night."

Frowning, Sirius looked between James and Regulus, as if trying to see if they could actually last twenty four hours without killing each other.

"I promise I won't severely injure him," Regulus added, sending Sirius an annoyed look. James just chuckled uncomfortably. "We can get along for a night, can't we, James?"

"Yeah," James shrugged, grimacing a bit.

After a moment, Sirius seemed to give in. "Fine. But remember the roads are out, so no there are ambulances if you stab each other."

It wasn't until ten minutes later when they entered their room that Regulus and James turned to each other. James, beaming ear to ear, pressed Regulus against the door and immediately began kissing down his neck. "Think we can get along for the night, Reg?" he whispered in his ear, his breath making him shiver.

"I think so," Regulus smirked, pulling their lips together.

[whenyoulookupatnight]

VOTE! DO IT!

(My Guide to Voting of Sorts:)

Early voting is still available in many states for tomorrow, Nov 4, if you are registered! If you’re not sure if you’re registered, check online through your state’s website, or simply go to https://www.vote.org to see if you can still vote, where to vote, if you can vote early, etc.!

YOU HAVE TWO DAYS TO INFLUENCE THE FUTURE OF NOT ONLY THE UNITED STATES, BUT THE WORLD, FOR DECADES, IF NOT *CENTURIES* TO COME.

Don’t think your vote doesn’t count based on your state’s voting trends either—even if you’re sure your presidential vote won’t “count” for the electoral college, VOTE IT ANYWAY!Pennsylvania flipped red in 2016! Georgia flipped blue in 2020! and IOWA could flip blue in 2024! (<link)

ALSO, MAKE SURE TO VOTE STATE AND LOCAL. Up AND down the ballot!!! That’s actually where the most power resides regarding your day to day life, especially state constitutional amendments and local propositions.

You can research your local issues and candidates with many online tools by the way! I prefer https://ballotpedia.org/Main_Page - there is also https://www.vote411.org/ballot , and many others I’m sure if you look it up!

(Quick reminder that these are only tools, as you CANNOT vote online— you MUST visit your local polling station!!)

(Examples of local issues: I just voted on restoring reproductive rights in my state, as well as for a well needed local half cent tax to fix our roads, including my own street, which hasn’t been repaved the entire time I’ve lived there. Better late than never, and—)

Better ON TIME than ever- check your registration, and if you still can, VOTE Nov 5th, in two days at the latest. It’ll be here before you know it!!

Oh yeah, and I’m not your dad, but here’s that old extremely useful quote about fascism that I wish more people deeply knew and understood (plus important context: Niemöller initially symphathized with some fascist propaganda before becoming a vocal critic of those 1930 Germans [idk the censorship trends on Tumblr I’m being cautious, you know what and who I mean]):

“ First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”

—Martin Niemöller

It does not matter who you are now. The definition of “the enemy within” will continue to expand until you—even you who thought you were safe— will be at risk of arrest, prison time, possibly torture, and even death.

Fascism does not stop escalating until no one has a voice except a dictator with supreme power.

No matter what he says, Trump does not care about you. No matter how loyal you are or were to him, he sees you as a number only to clutch power again.

If he sees you as an enemy, he WOULD and WILL kill you- even if he says he would never do so now! I’m deadly serious, and I’m speaking to all past and near future voters here, especially past Trump voters.

Hell, he’s jokingly (but sincerely) said as much 8 years ago: https://youtu.be/qC16c98hDPc?si=hT5VcgRs1pPjTzhy

This is not about just one issue, even ones most pressing to us in the moment. I disagree with Kamala Harris on many issues, particularly on the U.S.’s foreign policy on Israel, but I voted for her to vote against Trump. And so maybe my voice could be heard in a government that is still intact as it has been since the Civil War, and ideally listens to all of its constituents, or at least *could*, if I am vocal enough, organize with people, etc.

(Also, voting third party, as always, in our flawed two-party system, WILL hand the electoral college to Harris or Trump, depending on the state. (< Link)

I strongly advise you all not to do that, as it is a crapshoot who a third party vote would support.)

My choices for local elections could differ from yours too—politics is complicated.

But I think one choice—for President—is pretty clear this time, if you care about the future of yourself, your neighbors, and your planet.

Even if you never vote for a Democrat again, I advise voting for Harris. Just this one time. This election is NOT a normal one. You and your children’s future are at stake. It’s time to put country first over party, so we even have a country that everyone can safely call home.

Politics is about future moments as much as our current moment.

It is a continuum—

And again, this election will have ramifications for DECADES, even for CENTURIES.

Don’t sit this out.

VOTE.

Your life—and the lives of your neighbors—quite literally depend on it.

Thank you.

(Bonus: my I Voted sticker from the 2022 midterms I still have in my wallet! I had to take the photo at an angle and crop it so it looks a lil funky, but here it is! Democracy in action! I have three I Voted stickers in my wallet now. Man, even on my important voting post I’m a nerd, LOL. Well, my fellow nerds, my geeks and freaks (respectful freaks that is), go vote!!! 🗳️ 🤓☝️🇺🇸💙)

Because I remember disinformation being spread around the last few elections and I’m sure assholes will bring it back:

YOU CAN’T VOTE ONLINE.

YOU CAN’T VOTE FROM YOUR PHONE.

IN MANY STATES THERE ARE LEGAL CONSEQUENCES FOR PHOTOGRAPHING YOUR BALLOT.

DO NOT WEAR CAMPAIGN GEAR TO THE POLLS.

DO NOT TRY TO PERSUADE PEOPLE TO VOTE FOR A CANDIDATE AT THE POLLS.

DO NOT ENGAGE IN ANY KIND OF POLITICAL DISCOURSE AT THE POLLS.

NO ELECTION IS EVER A SURE THING, EVEN IF YOU’RE IN THE BLUEST OR REDDEST OF STATES.  IF SOMEONE TRIES TO TELL YOU THAT YOU CAN SIT THIS ONE OUT, THEY ARE EITHER IGNORANT OR MALICIOUS.

VOTE.

[arjudy224]

Chemical Valley

(The Intern x Red Hood)

After the unsettling reminder of her past, Y/N has been avoiding vigilantes for the last few months. However, Dr. Harris has requested backup in the form of Gotham's newest crime lord. What could go wrong?

The Intern Collection:

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

I'm getting real sick of risking my life for a minimum-wage job. Driving around with Dr. Harris is one thing, but since when did the job description list teaming up with crime lords? I mean it's the Red Hood for Christ's sake. Dr. Harris gives me a protective smile from the driver's seat.

"Don't worry about Red Hood. He knows what he's doing." He starts sensing my apprehension. "Besides, he owes me a favor."

I nod with a nervous smile. Red Hood is the only vigilante that I've never interacted with. He only recently appeared in Gotham. From what I've heard on the streets, he isn't exactly on great terms with Batman.

"All due respect... hasn't he killed people? " I question glancing around the lonely alleyway.

Growing silent, Harris contemplates his response.

"Not recently." He says with what is supposed to be a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Trying to ignore the anxiety creating knots across my gut, I reply with more enthusiasm than I feel.

"Oh well... that's progress."

Harris laughs.

"It's Gotham dear. It's hard to find someone who hasn't committed murder. I wouldn't worry too much about the Hood though. If you can befriend Waylon, a little boy in a helmet is the least of your worries. "

I raise an eyebrow.

"You wanna elaborate?"

He smiles sweetly. I narrow my eyes.

"Don't ask questions that you don't want to know the answers to."

That shuts me up. We sit in silence for a few minutes while I contemplate what he just said. Dr. Harris isn't exactly wrong... Glancing at the time clock on the dashboard, I frown. I guess vigilantes aren't known for being punctual, but at least Nightwing was on time. Considering our history, maybe we were both eager to see each other again. I try to focus on the cool air dusting across my face.

A swift knock causes me to jump. The infamous Red Hood almost cartoonishly waves at me from the outside the window. My nervous heart patters like a hummingbird. Eyeing his bike, I sigh. It was silent... Of course, it was silent. What kind of muffler does he have on that thing?

Harris rolls down the window.

"Good morning. Thank you for meeting us."

Leaning on the car door, Red Hood asks in a deep voice

"What do you have for me Dr.?"

"Routine inspection of Ace chemicals. Normally, I wouldn't worry about having a backup, but with an uptick in Joker sightings... I figured it would be better to be safe than sorry."

Hood nods, then glances in my direction.

"I'll keep an eye out."

"Y/N L/N," I say introducing myself, "But most people call me L/N."

"Weren't you the one who convinced the Riddler to let you go in exchange for inspecting his lair for asbestos?" Hood asks with a tone of pride.

I smile while shaking his hand. Word must get around quick.

"Yeah, that's me. He didn't even ask me any riddles. The poor man was terrified."

Dr. Harris whips his head around.

"Why haven't I heard about this?" He demands.

I flash him a shit-eating grin.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to Dr. Maybe Metropolis hasn't made me so soft after all."

Before he can start lecturing me, I step out of the car to face my new bodyguard. Keeping my eyes trained on the ground. I sidestep the hulking mammoth of a man.

"Thank you for dropping me off Dr., but I'm sure "Little" Red and I can take it from here."

From the Driver's seat, Harris watches me with a hint of pride.

"This is not the last time we will be discussing this."

"I look forward to the debrief," I remark as he pulls away.

The ACE chemicals manufacturing plant towers over the surrounding buildings. The smoke stacks excrete a dark sticky aerosol that trickles down from above. Its gothic structure makes it look like something out of a Tim Burton film. Taking a step near the external shutter, I drag my index finger across. My glove smears a damp power off revealing the old white paint. An uncomfortable sensation settles in my chest.

There is no way this amount of air pollution is legal.

After my second round of coughing, Red Hood offers me a disposable face mask. I gratefully take it. The neon green sign serves as a haunting reminder that somehow this has passed inspection. My eyebrows narrow. We passed several kids on the way here. What does that do to someone? No wonder Dr. Harris mentioned childhood asthma. I'm more concerned about the long-term exposure to industrial solvents.

Glancing at Red Hood, I state

"There is no way this is legal."

Red Hood stays quiet for a moment. Adjusting his helmet, he replies

"The law can be anything you want as long as you kill the inspectors who challenge you."

My mouth falls open. A thousand questions flood my mind.

"Somebody must have tried."

Hood tilts his head while glancing between us and the doors.

"Somebody did try."

Tossing me a key card over his shoulder, he continues, "You can visit them in Arkham if you want."

I flounder to catch the key card. It takes a few moments to register his words. Them as in more than one? Or is he concealing their identity? By the time my brain focuses, I stand in the alley alone staring up at a sign for a trading card company.

Isn't that where the Joker.... Oh hell no...

Stumbling through the stained doors, a bubbly man contrasts the bleak external welcome. As he rambles, I analyze the faded posters nailed to the wall. Dr. Harris briefly mentioned the factory's history of producing bioweapons during the Second World War. Hazardous feels like an understatement. I nodd along with the pleasant man, yet something in my gut tells me to keep my eyes and ears open.

Walking past a dust cloud, my lungs contract. Unable to steady myself, I sneak down a back hall to take my inhaler. The rambling man continues down the other hallway completely oblivious to my absence. I tear the disposable mask off my face. Searching my pockets for the familiar medication, my heart drops. Of course, I left it in the car.

I sink into a seated position once the dizziness sets in. Do. Not. Panic. We cannot do that again. No more emergency room trips. A pair of boots emerges from the shadows.

"Are you alright?"

I nodd while focusing on each labored breath.

"Sometimes, I really hate this city." I wheeze clutching my chest.

Red Hood lets out a dry laugh before taking a seat next to me.

"I have something that might help, but you have to trust me."

A small inhaler makes its way into my left hand. Squinting, a small Bat engraving stares up at me. I give him an incredulous glance. There is no fucking way that Batman has a pharmacy.

"It works. I promise."

Reluctantly, I take two puffs. We sit in silence for a few minutes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I relish the first full breath of air in days. My lungs expand completely. It is glorious.

"How is your friendship with Killer Croc?"

The immense pain that weighs on my chest lessens slightly.

"I'm sure Waylon wouldn't use the word friend. "

I open my eyes to look at him. Spots litter my vision. The sticky residue has left grime all over his mask. I hesitate.

"Waylon has lost everything... Everyone really. All he really needed was a friend."

Hood stays silent weighing out my words.

"What factory did they make you in?" He questions.

I can almost hear a smile in his voice.

"The same one that kicked you out for defects." I retort staring at the white paint peeling on the far left wall.

Considering the age of this building, I really hope that's not lead paint.

"Touché, Ms. Friendship. Touché"

I give him a friendly shove.

"You know, you aren't as bad as your reputation suggests."

He laughs climbing to his feet.

"I wouldn't go that far. Usually, I'm a dick."

"Better a dick than a sociopath," I say dusting off the black power on my pants.

"Damn Metropolis. Who have you been talking to?"

I shrug.

"It's Gotham. "

After a few moments of friendly silence, he asks

"You ready to find Mr. Optimistic?"

I nodd allowing him to pull me to my feet. Enjoying the comfortable silence, I open the door for him once we make it down the hall. To my surprise, Red Hood slams me against a wall before covering my mouth. Paralyzed in shock, I don't fight him. The Red Bat insignia stares at me. The soft aroma of his cologne catches me off guard. It's nice. Very musky. There's something so... familiar about it. I suddenly feel my face go red. There is no way I am evaluating how good a CRIMINAL smells. Get a grip girl.

Ignoring my mental crisis, Red Hood leads the two of us out the back door. Stumbling out the door behind him, I bend over holding my knees for stability. This is a lot of cardio for a regular inspection.

"What the hell was that about dude?" I hiss in between breaths.

Red Hood doesn't say anything.

"I know you are trying for the strong and silent type, but I think this partnership would benefit from open communication."

Standing up tall, a gunman aims a pistol directly at my temple.

Oh.. That's why.

Tag list: @nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie, @epicy0n,@gaychaosgremlin, @rory-cakes, @luna-zendra-star

[beybladeninja]

Ever since he woke up, he wanted to die.

When Fives told him about the conspiracy that supposedly reached the highest places in the Senate, Kix knew something was up. Fives was usually so cheerful and laid back, so to see him so harried and insistent greatly unnerved him. Then Fives was shot and killed by friendly fire for conspiracy against the Chancellor? He knew he had to investigate.

So he did some digging of his own; he owed it to Fives. He discovered the inhibitor chips and their true purpose within the clones, even going as far as to remove his own. The procedure had left a scar, so he started to grow out his hair to cover it up. Of course he got looks and questions from his brothers about the change in style, but as long as he could continue his work without anyone looking too far into him, he was fine.

That’s what he thought, anyway.

He had his evidence. He had his testimony. He was fully prepared to face either the Jedi Council or the Senate, and expose the Chancellor and the Kaminoans for conspiracy and treason.

That was when the Separatists found him.

What happened next was a blur, but the next thing he knew, he was tumbling out of a cryo-cycle stasis pod and having trouble breathing. He didn’t recognize the people standing around him, but he tried anyway to get them to listen. He told them what he’d found out and tried to stress the urgency of the situation, fearing for the lives of his brothers and the safety of the Republic.

Only for them to laugh in his face and tell him that the Clone Wars had been over for 50 years.

50 years. He had been frozen in stasis for that long. The Clone Wars were over. Kamino was destroyed. The clones had turned on the Jedi, effectively wiping them out. The Republic had fallen. The Galactic Empire had taken its place. That Empire had only lasted 20 years. A New Republic was slowly being built in its place.

Most shockingly, all of his brothers were gone.

Everyone and everything Kix had ever known was simply no more. He had no family. No allies. No home. No purpose. He was truly and utterly alone in the galaxy.

Ever since he woke up, he wanted to die.

Or he would be, if the pirate crew that found him hadn’t offered to take him in. Pirates, of all things. The very people he and his brothers had sworn to fight against. The irony was not lost on him.

He took their offer anyway. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.

So he traveled with them, discovering new treasures and learning new things about the galaxy he had been locked out of for so long. He was especially horrified to learn that his brothers’ good names had been slandered for generations. Instead of being known for the brave and loyal soldiers that he knew they were, they were known as monsters who had helped the worst governments in the history of the galaxy to gain power.

Ever since he woke up, he wanted to die.

He couldn’t stand knowing that his brothers were being remembered in the wrong - make that the worst - way. So whenever the crew stopped in a town and he had an audience that would listen, he would tell them stories about the Clone Wars. More specifically, the clones themselves. He would tell them about the various struggles they went through during the war, and even helped to clear up some misunderstandings about some of the more well-known battles. He would tell them how some of the clones spent their downtime, fleshing them out, making them human for his audience. The more stories he told, the more he overheard others speak of the clones in a favorable tone. The realization made him happy, knowing that he was clearing his brothers’ good names.

But no matter how many stories he told, the ache in his chest refused to go away. The knowledge that he could have saved his brothers and the Republic as a whole hung over his head like a cloud from Kamino. Whenever he saw a piece of armor or of a ship from the Clone Wars, it took everything in his willpower not to break down crying. Whenever he tried to enjoy a drink, he would remember how he and his brothers would hang out at 79’s, and the memories would turn the already bitter drinks even more so. Whenever someone tried to get his attention and he turned, expecting to see his own face staring back at him, only to see a stranger, he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. Whenever he was forced to take down an enemy, he would remember when he once used his hands to save others instead of harm them, and he would wonder what his brothers would think of him if they could see him.

Ever since he woke up, he wanted to die.

The idea to end his own life surfaced time and time again, if only to see his brothers again, but he knew they would never forgive him if he took the easy way out. So whenever he found himself or his comrades in a sticky situation, he fought with everything he had. He fought like a soldier of the Republic, preserving his brothers’ legacy through his actions as well as his words. He made sure that the entire galaxy knew that the clones weren’t extinct.

That being said, if his time were to come, either by blaster fire or some other form of death, he wouldn’t fight it. He would accept his end and march on to the afterlife to join his brothers. He honestly couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait for Hardcase to sweep him up in one of his bone-crushing hugs. He couldn’t wait for Jesse to give him a slightly gentler hug, though nonetheless firm. He couldn’t wait for Fives to slap him on the back and ask, “What took you so long?” He couldn’t wait for Rex to squeeze his shoulder and say “Welcome home, trooper.”

Ever since he woke up, he wanted to go home.

—————

My friend got me hooked on Star Wars: The Clone Wars a couple months ago, and I’ve been falling down a clone rabbit hole ever since. Those brave men were created for a war they had no say in, yet still fought in. They saved many planets and even more lives, but were forced to turn against themselves and their allies in the end. They deserve more than what the galaxy can give them.

And then I heard of Kix - the last clone trooper, still alive 50 years after the end of the war. Left to live in a galaxy that had no more of his brothers in it. Left to deal with everything they’d left behind.

Literally the last of his kind. Do you have any idea how lonely this man would feel?

I had to write something for him, if only to make others feel my pain.

I may be becoming too attached to these characters - someone please send help.

[batwingsrosa]

Was outing Remus Lupin as a werewolf a dick move?

Yes.

Was ist also completely justified?

YES.

[dufferpuffer]

Azkaban is fantastic with Sirius and only Sirius. With Sirius it is a wonderful metaphor for deep depression.

He went there because he lost everything. Anything there was to live for didn't feel worth it. Was barely worth thinking about - because thinking about them would just get them sucked right out. He had to simplify his thoughts as a dog (disassociate) while his happy thoughts were being sucked out as quickly as they came into his head through the door to his room, so he just lay there in the cold alone for over a decade. He couldn't take basic care of himself.

What busted him out...? It wasn't happiness. It was anger. Self-sacrificing almost delirious drive. He wasn't himself anymore.

What brought him back was connection and purpose. He still wasn't happy, he still wasn't well - being trapped in his house didn't feel that much better than Azkaban, other than when he had visitors. He was still trapped in a world of his worst memories.

I'm not saying it very well... but I actually think thats really nice. That horrible torture prison is as bad as abusive home, that leaving didn't fix him but gave him room to improve, that he didn't need to 'get happy' he needed 'get reason to live - happy or not'.

But Azkaban exists outside of Sirius. It exists A LOT. It isn't just a 'place' Sirius went because he was 'the worst person ever in the world for getting his friends killed, its all his fault, he has gone to the worst ever place for the worst ever people who will NEVER feel joy again... but he fights his way out for Harry.'

Fucking Hagrid went there. Hagrid had to suffer Azkaban. It sort of ruins it, yknow...? Well, I mean... I could excuse it if Hagrid was the only one. If he came back propperly rattled from his shorter stay, and so when Sirius is introduced it's like 'wow he spent YEARS like that...'

But like every Death Eater has been there. Of course if ANYONE deserves Azkaban its loyal Death Eaters, muggle killers, torturers... but even un-loyal ones end up there. Suspected but unproven. Ones that were falsely accused. Ones that are proven followers of Voldemort but have not been proved of any action. Also people go to Azkaban for far lesser shit. There are short-term Azkaban sentences.

So the entire 'Depression' thing falls apart. It's impact is squashed. All 'Does X deserve Azkaban?' discussions die, because it is the ONLY prison. Where else can anyone go...? I think the only alternative we see is how Albus keeps Gellert as a pet under House-Arrest, because he can't stand the thought of sending the man he loves to the place where his father died. Albus is Azkaban's no. 1 hater

And that sucks. I think it would all be fixed if there was just another Wizarding Prison. Azkaban is the ultimate sentence - where people disappear, fade from memory.... not where you go for a few months because you were keeping some Sphinx's in your back yard. Some Death Eaters go to Azkaban. Of course they do. And some go to other prison. It can even be just as comically extreme: Azkaban is the worst place imaginable, while other prison is more like a soft daycare for the naughty. That way you have your continued narrative of 'Wizards really aren't very good at managing themselves huh'++

cant believe jkr created a prison that forces you to relive all of your worst memories, put a fairly major character in that prison for twelve years without a trial, and then just... didnt make it a commentary on the justice system OR the prison system. just like "lol thats a quirky thing that happened just for plot reasons, no bearing on reality tho"

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I've said it before, I'll say it again, and I'm sure it won't be the last time. I AM SICK AND BLOODY TIRED OF THESE MFS, HALF OF WHO DONT EVEN CARE ABOUT CURSED CHILD, BITCHING AND MOANING ABOUT AN ANGSTY TEEN DARING TO BE AN ANGSTY TEEN, I WILL FIGHT THE LOT OF YOU

(this is gonna be a bit long and probably incoherent so sit down and fucking listen to me 🔫 stick with me because I'm not just complaining about albus haters)

eVERYBODY wants cOoMmpllEeXx relatable HUMAN characters - and then SHIT themselves when the flaws a CHILD has isn't just 🥺 uwu im socially awkward and traumatised 🥺. that's why scorpius doesn't get this fuckass treatment, because his terrible human flaw is that he's a bit shit at conversation and gets sad about his dead mum (generalised understatement, but this post isnt about him. dont come for me i love him 🫶🏻)

god forbid albus, who feels unloved and unwanted (with valid evidence for a teenager), albus who feels completely out of place and outcast from his entire famously-close-knit family, ablus who is well known by the world by default via Harry and hates the attention and high expectations, albus who then gets targeted and bullied by his peers because he's not as perfect and brilliant as his father, albus who is then isolated from his one friend because Harry is making irrational ptsd fueled decisions, albus who tells Harry completely sincerely that he knows he's unlikeable but he'll try and change himself and be more like his siblings because he genuinely believes that's what Harry and everyone else whos had the misfortune of meeting him wants, albus who spends the entire play trying to prove himself and fix things via idiotic childish decisions BECAUSE HES A WHOLE UNSTABLE CHILD

god forbid that CHILD doesn't react like a patient, supported, well adjusted, level headed adult. god forbid he reacts outwardly. god forbid he reacts at all, my bad. clearly he should just sniffle a bit as if he doesn't feel suffocated and helpless by everything in his life, because obviously hes just a spoiled brat who doesn't know what real suffering is. god forbid he complains or feels anything negatively, or doesn't quite grasp that other people are struggling too because he is too busy trying so hard to deal with himself and his declining mental health the best he can with basically no support or understanding. god forbid he isn't completely perfect.

you all sound like some fucking boomer telling teenagers they don't know what real struggling is, they aren't mentally ill, they dont have any problems because they have a roof over their head, they should all go to war kids are too soft these days 😫😖😱 fUCKING‼️SHUT UP‼️

he does things wrong but he knows he does and he does everything he can to fix it! and he is fourteen!!! do none of you remember what being fourteen is like 😭😭 I swear half of you have got to be basically fourteen yourselves cmon man

cause I'm seeing this fucking pattern a lot recently. not just for albus, not just in this fandom, everywhere. ‼️ no one can fucking handle flawed characters anymore ‼️ the only thing any character is allowed to have wrong with them is trauma apparently, otherwise they have to be perfect, and I'm getting sick of it. characters and stories are meant to reflect real life, they're meant to help shape our world view, why are you expecting everyone to be fucking perfect??? what happened to nuance? what happened to understanding character development? you are all acting like characters and people are so black and white. either they're perfect or they're insufferable and evil. I won't lie, the most common victims i've noticed of this are women. but the flawed women are typically demonised, whereas the men are typically turned into uwu baby boys who actually aren't capable of doing anything wrong and then fanon goes nuts making them into ittle wittle victims. and I'm so fucking sick of all of it, I hate this. (obviously this is not a strict rule. Albus Potter, and also Albus Dumbledore now I mention it, are demonised beyond belief)

BRING BACK FLAWS AND BRING BACK NOT COMPLETELY WRITING OFF A CHARACTER BECAUSE THEY DARE TO BE HUMAN

I AM FED UP, ALBUS POTTER GET BEHIND ME

[rabbithaver]

every so often i will see a post from a leftist on this website that is so egregiously ableist that i remember that like. oh yeah the userbase of leftists on this website is violently anti-disabled people and will jump at any chance to demonize any of us for any reason. i just forget that fact because i'm extremely dedicated to curating my space

i'm paraphrasing here but i saw a post that said, "every time i see an American [disabled person] mention being scared about the election because they're afraid of losing their benefits i have to laugh. anybody who wants blood-soaked money from the US government deserves to starve" which. like. goodness that's a lot to unpack. i think we should burn the whole suitcase instead !

[punmster]

i've come to accept that i'm bad at writing romance, but at least i'm not as bad as the source material

[britneyshakespeare]

Actually I must resign to the fact that The Country Wife (1675) by William Wycherley is unfortunately hilarious

[euclydya]

i am surw we've said this before but hannibal would absolutely kill me for food crimes and that's hilarious. love that 4 me

[casiavium]

I love the song O Children by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds and yes I know it from Deathly Hallows part one but outside of that it's such a good song. It's about bittersweet death and Orpheus and Eurydice and the song just. Songs so good

And I WILL fight any self righteous ex Harry Potter fan that tries to pull some SHIT that it's about the Holocaust (and therefore should not have been used in the movie which I don't care about the artisy agreed to it so. Whatever. He got paid) IT'S FUCKING NOT you DUMB PIECE OF SHIT WITH NO MEDIA LITERACY show me a source that says this that's not some Harry Potter fan's Tumblr post from 2011. Show me it. Show me an interview with the artist. Show me exactly why you think it's about the Holocaust. Oh, trains leading to death? Because Harry Potter is a thinly veiled and pathetic attempt at WWII parallels? (and if we're going by that do you have a deathly hallows tattoo because if you're so 1:1 about this. you do know the deathly hallows is her fucking. symbolic equivalent to you-know-what. Oh that's offensive? YOU DON'T THINK???)

Because HAVE YOU WVER HEARD OF POETIC IMAGERY IN YOUR DAMN LIFE how could you have ever called yourself a Harry Potter fan without the basic ability to understand sometimes things are not LITERAL. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

[littleapocalypsekitten]

What seriously went on in my household. Me, in after work and subsequent grocery-shopping (I shop where I work). I am in the bathroom. My beloved, in the living room, taking a rest after repainting the hallway on his day off, has TV on. Him: "It happened AGAIN? Can't they even HIT him?!" Me: *Darting out to catch the news* What happened? Him: Another assassination attempt. Trump is reported fine, it was no where near him. Me: Ugh, these things (assassination attempts) are so stupid. Him: *Turns back to Phillies game.*

the way I've not seen NEARLY as many posts or memes about the second assassination attempt is so fucking funny like yeah just wake us up when someone succeeds

[samuraisharkie]

I hope every reactionary liberal “vote blue no matter who” person kills themselves forever

[truth4ourfreedom]

THINGS NOT IN THE NEWS ANYMORE. VERSION 6.0

Things not in the news anymore….

(Version 6)

-Maui wildfires. -East Palestine, Ohio -Joe Biden classified documents as a Senator. -Fauci working with China to create a bioweapon. -Pete Buttigieg’s best friend in prison for child porn. -Cocaine in the White House. (TWICE NOW) -The BLM and Antifa riots during 2020 causing BILLIONS of dollars of damage. -The data collected from the Chinese spy balloons. -Ukraine intelligence documents released that showed they were suffering massive losses and the American taxpayer was being lied to. -Nancy Pelosi’s “documentary” film crew on J6. -Veterans being kicked out of shelters to make room for illegals. -Pizzagate “debunker” jailed for possession of child pornography. -Gay porn film in Senate hearing room. -Veterans Affairs prioritizing healthcare of illegals over Veterans. -THE SOUTHERN BORDER CRISIS. -Afghanistan drawdown and 13 service members killed in an attack on Kabul International Airport, that they hid the severity of it. -Obama droning an American citizen in the Middle East. -George Bush’s false WMDs. -3 service members killed in Jordan. -Hunter Biden making over $1M for “paintings”. -J6 political prisoners that are still in jail. -85,000 missing children at the southern border. -Epstein’s clients. -Obama coordinating with John Brennan and 4 other countries (5 eyes) to spy on the 2016 Trump campaign. -Mail-in ballots were the cause of the stolen 2020 election. -Jeffrey Epstein mentioning that Bill Clinton liked his girls “really young”. -The (NOW TWO) airline whistleblowers that mysteriously died. -Benghazi (I won’t mention anything more about this because I care about my life.) -Nancy Pelosi’s daughter stating that January 6th wasn’t an insurrection. -The January 6th committee destroying encrypted evidence before the GOP took over the House. -Nancy Pelosi admitting that J6 was “her responsibility”. -House Speaker Mike Johnson claiming there wouldn’t be foreign aid without border security in the bill, which was a lie. -The recent riots from illegal criminal aliens at the southern border and the border in general. -Hunter Biden not complying with a Congressional subpoena and deemed untouchable. Democrat privilege. -Vaccine side effects. -“Lab leak” out of China -The Secret Service having to basically guide Joe Biden everywhere he goes. -Who leaked (Sotomayor) the SCOTUS Alito decision. -Federal instigators inside the Capitol including pipe bomb evidence against them. -Obama’s chef “passing away”. -HRC’s chef “passing away”. -The Sheriff that happened to be in Las Vegas (during the mass shooting) AND the wildfires in Hawaii. -P Diddy sex-trafficking allegations. Where’s Diddy? -Gonzalo Lira (an American journalist) that was killed in Ukraine -Congress approving warrantless spying violating American’s 4th amendment rights while they are exempt. -Americans that were left in foreign countries (Haiti, Palestine, Afghanistan). -The billions of dollars of weaponry left in Afghanistan and the Taliban receiving $40M a week in “humanitarian assistance”. -Biolabs found in California. -Joe Biden’s impeachment. -The scum in the UNITED STATES HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES waving the Ukrainian flag. -The over 300k ballot images that could not be found in Fulton County, Georgia; the same county Donald Trump on trial for “election interference”. -Democrats defunding the police causing massive rises in crime. -Kamala Harris’s record as DA in California. -The Transifesto from the school shooting. -Many U.S. Representatives and Congress receiving FTX funds. -They’re already working hard to bury Donald Trump’s àssassination attempt but we won’t let them bury that story. July 13th is never going away.

The distractions are out of control.

Share to show that legacy media is dead and that WE are the media now.

Please like,share and reblog to keep people aware!

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two