#her pink wand somehow looks even more like a lollipop

[window-view-orion]

The way the rare “shimmer” version of the dress is just objectively worse… it’s gonna be a no from me

[ourcboros]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃:   present day but not. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒:   the patronus charm drabble task.   𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑:   death. 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆:   @dolors ( astoria greengrass ), several now dead npc’s & grandpa erberk   !

they’re eight, almost nine, and they chose a quiet birthday lunch over the offered party because they knew nobody would come. it’s meant to be a happy day, and it is, kind of - they got all of the books they wanted & the promise of a trip to the birmingham zoo when the rain clears up, and both are enough to spark joy, but when they think about the girl at school who got a lollipop from their teacher & a rousing chorus of the happy birthday song right before break time, last week, they feel almost winded.

their hair is the same shade of brown that tints the edges of a rotting flower bouquet, and they sit in the middle of a kitchen that could do with a fresh lick of the ancient yellow paint, rereading the same page of madame bovary over and over and over and over while a mother washes up the plates they’d used & the other bustles over something in the corner. they can sense the downward spiral, even if nazli does not. even if nazli will not admit to it, because admitting to it is being ungrateful for what they’ve already got, and that isn’t who they are. 

mum will turn on her heel, suddenly, and gesture for attention. mother will abandon the dishes to soapy water and paste huge smile onto her face to join the out of tune rendition of the happy birthday song that they begin, and nazli will give well rehearsed smile, to begin with, that turns into something much more real when they see the jarringly PINK birthday cake with its imperfect dip in the middle - charity had never been talented baker. there’s nine candles aflame on top, one for every year of life. they’ll act all embarrassed by this display of attention but a streak of pink the same color as the icing will shoot through their hair and when they muster up their energy for a blow that will take down half of those licks of flame in one go, they feel less sad, somehow. 

they’ve going to be fourteen soon, one of the eldest students in their year, and they’ve been alone in the hospital wing all weekend. the first time their body had gone to war against them while at school, madam pomfrey had been utterly beside herself. she wouldn’t leave them alone their entire stay, fussing over them in a way they’d forgotten people used to when their bodies random changes were a SURPRISE to be awfully frightened of. it’s been a few years, now, and she’s gotten pretty used to it. she tells them that she’s seen them in worse shape the day they’re brought up & they smile wryly and agree, but it’s best to be on the safe side, so here they lie - trying to find their own entertainment as poppy ( it’s first name basis only, now ) works her way through paperwork.

they have a potions essay due first thing monday morning that they haven’t been able to get finished. they can’t expect special treatment just because of where they are, so they’ve been trying, but the words won’t come to them and the parchment and ink have both been abandoned. good thing, too : if they’d still been holding their quill pointlessly when the doors burst open, there’d have been an awful mark right across the few words they had from the surprise. 

they recognize the first year who has joined their house from the sorting ceremony, because they remember cheering VERY loudly for them, but they don’t know much else. they can’t imagine why they’re here, too, since they don’t look very ill on the outside - though that’s hardly something to go off of given the battle waged on their insides, daily. madam pomfrey fusses in a familiar sort of way for the rest of the evening, making sure they’re comfortable on a bed two down from nazli, only leaving them alone for short spans of time until it’s time for her to clock out and leave the night nurse on the watch, a woman who prefers to sit inside the office & read her magazines. nazli steals glances towards the other every so often, their curiosity burning, but they just look forlorn. it’s a little sad, really. 

they choose a few of the books that sit atop their bedside cabinet - classics like the picture of dorian gray & the bell jar, a beaten up copy of twilight, a book they’d never recommend to anyone, a book they aren’t yet finished - and they pick their way across the shadowed hospital wing, barefoot. the other starts when they drop the small collection on the bottom of their bed, and they give a friendly smile, launching into an unprepared speech. “i’m nazli. madam pomfrey is brilliant, you know, but i spend a lot of time here and it only really gets bearable when you have some books to read - you can have these ones, if you’d like. i’ve got more if they aren’t your cup of tea, though - my cabinet is a sort of miniature library.”

astoria sits up and offers them a far more wary smile than they’ve defaulted to. that’s okay, though, because it’s good enough for nazli. they hop up onto the end of their bed. ���my twilight is annotated but i did that during my i love edward cullen phase, and i’ve been meaning to go back and redo it because now i know i like girls and i have a bigger crush on rosalie than i ever had on him, and that sort of changes my worldview, a little, and makes me feel a lot more critical of his character the entire way through, you know?”

they’re seventeen and their dede can’t hide the SURPRISE that flits across his face when he emerges from the farmhouse in time to watch them trudging up the garden path, every inch of them covered in some kind of muck. it’s early morning, and they’re already tired all over again, but they’ve been laying about moping for days and days because they haven’t got an owl from either mum in a while, and they know they left england for their own safety and that charity had a duty that they did not, but they really wish the two had come, too.

the distant cousins they’re staying with don’t know nazli knows more turkish than they’ve been letting on & didn’t think that they’d heard them telling erberk that they need to start pulling their weight. they had, though, hence this : there’s things to do on a farm first thing in the morning, and nazli’s been hard at work so they find no FAULT that might be big enough to send either of them on their way. erberk hasn’t said, but they know he’s worried all the same.

he makes a comment about the smell and nazli BRISTLES, intends to walk right past until he reaches aged hand out to grab their upper arm & bring them to a stop. they expect to see the laugh lines creasing at corner of his eyes as he repeats himself, perhaps, but instead his voice drops low. “iyi iş çıkardın. sen çok temiz kalplisin, alanur.” 

they’re eighteen years old & the friends they’ve taken london by storm with are taking cover under a bus stop, but nazli is standing in the midst of the downpour, head turned to the sky. 

they’re twenty one and they’re learning to find happiness in smaller places than they’re accustomed to - the smell of new books, the taste of a morning coffee, the sound of bird song in the early morning. 

they’re twenty four and they have so many years of happy memories to draw on and they know that it shouldn’t be so hard to make them count, but even when their wand is the only thing agianst them & the dementor, they cannot help but remember that someday they’ll be the only one left, and they’re already halfway there. they know all of the words and the theory, but the patronus never comes. they’re starting to think it never will.