#incidentally i think his death is also why i hate birthdays because he died a few days before mine and so every year around my bday my mom

[lindamccartneysstrap]

I actually think I do tend to gravitate towards characters named James and I kinda wonder if it's because of latent mommy issues because my mom was named Jamie after her grandpa James who died when I was 4

[iris-writes-things]

To Hell And Back

Read it on AO3, FF.net, or under the cut!

Warning: Major (temporary) character death.

After standing up to Satan himself in the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, Crowley was made mortal while Hell bought itself some time to come up with an extra special punishment. However, as Aziraphale reminded him, mortals are eligible for redemption. And so, the race to redeem Anthony J Crowley begins.

It had been a week after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't when Crowley and Aziraphale heard back from their respective superiors. To say the aftermath of the botched Armageddon had been a wild ride would have been the understatement of the century so far. But with ten more years of said century to go, anything could happen.

Aziraphale’s superiors had been quite pleased with his bravery, and had given him a commendation for standing up to Satan himself with only his sword in his hands and a demon who forgot his loyalties* to fight by his side.

(*This, Aziraphale knew to be untrue, as the angel was well aware that Crowley was only loyal to himself and his friends.**)

(**Which was a convenient shorthand for, and a less desperate sounding alternative to "Aziraphale".)

Crowley's superiors on the other hand… not so much. Not that he was surprised. No, he fully expected them to not appreciate his little revolt. He was, however, surprised he wasn't just discorporated on the spot by a stray bolt of lightning, or simply wiped out of all existence.

Instead, he was demoted. Not even a little bit demoted. No, demoted all the way. Damned to live out the rest of his days as a mortal, human man, stripped of all his demonic powers and attributes, while Hell bought itself some time to cook up an extra special punishment for him when his time did come.

Aziraphale, however, was more optimistic about Crowley's predicament than the man himself.

"Come now, dear. It's not so bad..." Aziraphale said in a tone Crowley knew was meant to comfort him. It didn't.

The angel placed a warm hand on his own and looked a little deeper into Crowley’s eyes than he remembered him ever looking in them when they still had their serpentine look to them. They were a rich, chocolate brown now, and every morning Crowley spent an embarrassing amount of time staring in them through the mirror, telling himself that they took some getting used to.

Maybe it was just the lack of his sunglasses, which he had accidentally left in his flat for the first time ever. The world seemed just that little brighter and more intense without them, but the now mortal demon could not afford to bask in the glory of it. In fact, he couldn't afford much of anything at all.

"What do you mean, 'it's not so bad'?! I can't instantaneously sober up anymore, I can't drive, speaking of which, I have to push the Bentley to the nearest petrol station to get it to run at all, I can't cook and I can't eat at any of my usual places without seriously breaking the bank, and then there's my flat! My ridiculously expensive flat! And my plants! I have to get a job now, Aziraphale! And did I not tell you every single possibility of what might happen to me if-- when I die?!"

"Only in excruciating detail."

"Then why aren't you concerned?!"

"A job just opened up at the boutique next door. Vintage fashion. All unique items salvaged from garage sales and the like, sold for an immense profit. It seemed right up your alley to me, so I told them you'd like to drop by for an interview tomorrow at 2 o'clock." The angel beamed, obviously very satisfied with himself.

"But--" Crowley attempted to self sabotage.

"No diplomas or previous retail experience required. They only want to know if you're stylish and snarky enough for them and I think you've got that covered. You're welcome. As for Hell… You're a human now, Crowley. That means you're eligible for redemption. Just be good, maybe do some charity work and you might not have to fear what your former colleagues have in store for you."

"Thanks, angel." Crowley smiled, full of hope for the first time since this whole ordeal started.

"Always happy to help."

The following day at 2 o’clock, Crowley went to his job interview. He was hired on the spot on the merit of his amicably judgmental nature and his sense of style. Incidentally, he had also found out where Aziraphale had acquired a substantial part of his collection of tacky bow ties. He made a mental note of it to hide the rack every time the angel entered the shop. Enough is enough.

Unsurprisingly, Crowley began to like his new job. The people who came to the boutique to shop were his people after all. Young, trendy, ambitious. The kind of people he spent the last six millennia nudging and probing, slowly winning souls for his master. It almost made him feel nostalgic. Almost.

Because he could now unashamedly spend time with Aziraphale. It was only a short trip to the apartment over the bookshop next door, where the two more often than not had lunch together, and spent many an evening learning to cook for themselves. Crowley out of necessity, Aziraphale mostly to humour Crowley.

Aziraphale loved having the other around more often. Sure, he was used to not have Crowley around at all times, but he knew, now that Crowley was made mortal, they didn't have much time left. 80 years, if they were so lucky, was only the blink of an eye compared to the 6,000 years they had been friends. That's why he planned to make the most of it.

Once Crowley had reached a level of financial stability both the angel and the fledgling human were satisfied with, Aziraphale decided it was time for Crowley to start doing some volunteer work. After all, if he managed to get the man into Heaven, he could at least visit him after it happened.

Spending time with the elderly at a nearby nursing home, playing board games, going for walks and the like, had been a raving success, but the director*** didn't appreciate how taken the old ladies were with Crowley's charms and swiftly sent the two away. And where Crowley’s snarky sense of humour was applauded at the boutique, it wasn't as welcome at the food bank.

(*** Who strongly suspected that the two had only come to swindle the dementing women out of their pensions...)

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a much needed sigh.

"There has to be something you're good at that you like doing and will also redeem you." The angel mumbled as he paced back and forth on the hardwood floor of his bookshop, quickly swiping a bottle of wine from Crowley's hands before he could get wasted.

Crowley only groaned.

"Can't I just go to church and confess and clear my name like that?" He suggested.

"Technically yes, but no. You and the priest will be long dead before you make it through the fourteenth century."

"For fuck's sake, that wasn't on me!"

"Dear, please..." Aziraphale urged, shooting the man a sharp glare.

"I like my plants..." Crowley mumbled meekly. All this talk of dying and going to heaven had him more on-edge than ever before, and the last thing he wanted was to snap at his best and only friend. "I'm pretty good with those… And animals. I like animals. Like that poor dove you smothered in your sleeve, at Warlock’s birthday party?"

"I remember." The angel said, a fond, hopeful smile creeping to his features as he remembered the demon breathing new life into the squished bird. "How about an animal shelter?"

The animals at the shelter took surprisingly well to Crowley. The dogs liked his company, and the cats seemed to not hate him. The reptiles and amphibians seemed satisfied, yet ultimately indifferent, while the rabbits and other small mammals cowered in the corners of their respective enclosures the second he walked in the door.****

(**** This was no surprise to Crowley and Aziraphale. Sure, Hell had taken away his snake-like attributes, but old habits die hard.)

The other volunteers liked him decidedly better than the rodents did; after all, he did the chores he was given and did them well. When he manned the front desk, he talked to the visitors and answered phone calls in the same saccharine tone he did to his old superiors, he shovelled poop like nobody's business and, without having been asked, Crowley reorganized and digitized all of the records in such a way that anyone could find anything at any time.

One volunteer had asked out of curiosity where the man had acquired his administrative skills, but laughed it off when Crowley simply answered "Hell".

But, as with most people who lived fast, Crowley also died young. He had been in a heated argument over the phone with a frequent customer of the boutique as he was crossing Oxford Street, overlooking a speed demon in a Corvette that was doing 60 miles per hour. It was nowhere near his own record, but nevertheless, more than his human internal organs could handle in a frontal collision.

And Aziraphale… Aziraphale was devastated.

He wasn't devastated quite yet when he stumbled upon an enormous crowd effectively blocking the sidewalks of Oxford street. He was trying to get back to his bookshop for Crowley’s lunch break, holding a grocery bag in each hand.

"Excuse me, may I pass, please? Some of us have somewhere to be." Aziraphale said as he wormed his way through the crowd. However, when he finally popped out the other end, nearly spraining his ankle as he slipped on the edge of the sidewalk, he realized that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

"Crowley!" He cried before he dropped his groceries and dashed over to his motionless friend, sprawled on the street like a limp ragdoll whose master was done playing with him. Eggs cracked in their cartons and a lone apple rolled across the street. "No, no, no, no..." The angel chanted to himself as he ran, a painful burn spreading through his leg. He didn't care. What mattered now, was Crowley.

Aziraphale kneeled beside him, carefully taking hold of the man's upper body and cradled him to his chest as he ignored the police officers’ protests and the blur of his watering eyes. He had to focus. He squeezed his eyes shut and clung to Crowley’s body, trying to conjure up a miracle. Though, however vast the power of an angel may be, there were certain boundaries to what they could do with their magic, and raising the dead was far beyond that boundary. So when Crowley’s heart didn't start beating again within thirty seconds, that could only mean one thing.

A cry escaped Aziraphale that the angel hadn't thought his corporeal form capable of. It was earth shattering, almost animal and brimming with grief. This entire month he had focused so much on making sure his friend would be okay after his moment came, that he completely ignored his own feelings on the matter.

"No, you can't do this to me, you can't--" The angel cried, finally allowing the tears to spill from his eyes. "Please, don't leave me, my dear..."

Aziraphale gasped when a heavy handed fell onto his shoulder. Through his tears, he looked up at the police officer the hand belonged to. A friendly looking, mustachioed, older gentleman.

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir." The police officer said in a vaguely northern accent.

Aziraphale nodded and looked down, mumbling a small "Thank you". His sad look quickly became a furious glare, however, when he noticed the hands of a coroner prying at his own. He tried to regain the hold on Crowley, but the policeman caught Aziraphale’s wrists before he had the chance. "Bring him-- Give him back! Don't take him away from me! I didn't… I didn't tell him I love him..."

"I'm sorry, but we have to clear the road." The police officer said as he stood up and helped Aziraphale to his feet as well. "That coroner there will take your friend to the morgue, and I will take you there as well for all the closure you might need, but first I need you to come down to the station with me to answer some questions."

Aziraphale nodded. He knew that a few weeks of volunteer work would never make up for six millennia of 'getting up there and making some trouble’, so the angel did all he could; he prayed.

Crowley squinted as he looked up at the towering, cloaked skeleton, standing in front of him in the middle of Oxford street. He slowly lowered his cell phone, not hearing the beeping that told him the signal was lost.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. "What happened? Why can I see you?"

A bony arm extended a bony hand, which extended a bony finger.

Crowley slowly turned around to follow the motion, terrified of what he may find. A hushed, trembling "No" escaped him.

YES.

"No… No! It can't be! I just started to get the hang of this! It's not fair! I haven't gotten the chance to learn to drive, I haven't gotten the chance to redeem myself, I haven't gotten the chance to--"

Crowley froze in place when he saw Aziraphale break through the crowd that gathered around the scene of the accident. He could only watch as his angel kneeled down by his contorted, bleeding form and cradled Crowley's uninhabited body close to his chest. The cry the angel let out would have sent a shiver down his spine, had he still had one.

I KNOW IT IS UNFAIR, BUT SOMETIMES IT'S JUST LIKE THAT.

Death placed a sympathetic hand on Crowley's shoulder. It was just what he needed as the world and everything he had ever loved faded away.

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale..."

When he arrived in Hell, Crowley had been too heartbroken to fully realize the trouble he found himself in.

“Back so soon?”

Oh no. Not them. Not now.

“Not so tough now, are you? Just a soft, squishy, human soul for us to torture.”

“Though it would have been nice if you’d given us some actual time to come up with a punishment more suited to your treason.”

A dark chuckle escaped Crowley as he slowly regained his composure.

"Hastur, Ligur," he greeted bitterly, "I see the antichrist has been too generous to you. Hi, Dagon."

"Hi."

For a short moment, there was nothing. No one spoke, no one breathed, and in that moment, Crowley was sure no one thought, either.

"So, since you have no punishment suitable for my treachery, surely you're here to see me off back to the surface, correct? Let me live out the rest of my days? Volunteer at the animal shelter some more?" Crowley said, still trying to charm his way out of eternity with these tools.

"Make out with your 'angel'?" Hastur mocked. “Don’t think we didn’t know about that. It was obvious to everyone except for you.”

Ouch. That one cut deep.

"No, we're keeping you down here." Ligur continued. "Seeing as you're already well-versed in Hell's bureaucracy, we figured it might be fun for you to catch up on our paperwork."

"The entire twentieth century.” Hastur gestured enthusiastically. Crowley had never seen this demon so excited about… well, anything, really. “By the time you're through processing all those souls, I'm sure you'll be begging for whatever we've come up with."

The worst part of it was, Crowley was sure of that too.

Despite having a hand in designing post-1950s office spaces, Crowley had never been a fan of them himself. (Secretly,) It was a greater achievement than the M25 London orbital motorway, but he hated them with a fiery passion. They reminded him too much of “home”.

There, he sat at a single desk in a dark cubicle with red lighting that made the walls feel like they were closing in on him, typing away at a near-prehistoric typewriter as he processed all ‘new arrivals’ since 1898. It was almost as if his old colleagues, with some measure of foresight, started slacking off on their paperwork in the event that something like this might happen. It was clever, having this kind of back-up punishment lying around. And it’s not like Hastur or Ligur ever gave a care about all of the souls being held hostage in Limbo until some poor sod* would be tasked with getting all of this done.

(*Read: Crowley)

A groan escaped Crowley at what felt like the millionth case. What time was it? How long had he been here? His jacket had been long abandoned on his chair, and even though he hadn’t seen a mirror since he set foot back in Hell, he knew he looked like a mess. He felt it. His usually perfectly exfoliated skin felt grimy, his hair felt more greasy and unkempt every time he ran his hands through it and he felt an uneven stubble growing from his chin. Something he’d long since forgotten wasn’t exclusive to his corporeal form. He stretched his arms over his head, his back and shoulders popped. Crowley was about to ram his face into the keys of the typewriter when he was interrupted by a deep, buldering voice.

“Anthony James Crowley.”

Crowley’s gaze snapped up. In front of his desk stood the last person he expected. The Metatron. Arms crossed, perpetual look of disapproval plastered on their features.

The ex-demon stuttered. “I-I, uh, how-- How can I help you?” He asked, feeling himself sit up straighter.

“We hate to admit this, but we require your assistance.”

“What?” He asked. “You’re the voice of God for crying out loud! What could you possibly need my help for?”

“We will explain on the way.” The Metatron said and snapped their fingers, leaving only a spinning office chair behind.

It had been a year since Crowley’s untimely death, and Aziraphale still wasn’t taking it well.

Not long after it happened, the angel worked up the nerve to call back a few potential customers to tell them that one book they were looking for had just gone up for sale. With the money he raised, he managed to throw his friend a modest funeral to which he was the only guest. No one from the boutique or the animal shelter seemed to be able to make it. It wouldn’t do much good for Crowley, he knew, but it allowed him some closure. And after six millennia, God knew he needed that.

After that, life was mostly just… boring. He had no one to talk with, to drink with, no one to cook or to sing or to dance with, and without a demon around in close proximity, there wasn’t a whole lot of evil to thwart. And so, most of Aziraphale’s life after Crowley was spent drinking alone, lying in bed to wallow in self pity and praying every minute of every hour of every day that someone, somewhere would be merciful to his precious Crowley.

Until that day, a year after the accident, someone was knocking on his front door. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to get up, and therefore didn’t, despite the persistent knocking. Knocking turned into banging and after a while, it was quiet. But then the angel heard the deadbolt turn.

This alarmed him enough to get up from his bed, rub the tears from his eyes and crept down the stairs, flaming sword in hand. Aziraphale distinctly remembered placing a charm on the deadbolt. Whoever this was, they weren’t human.

Books shuffled from and to the shelves of the shop as if someone were inspecting them and the angel felt the hands tighten around the handle of his sword. As he slinked along the bookcases, he spotted a figure in front of the bookcase by the till. They wore a light grey suit and hummed merrily as they plucked books from the shelves, examining their covers for a brief moment before putting them back. Out of chronological order.

This, Aziraphale decided, was unforgivable. How dare they do this to him in his time of grief?! He snuck up to the figure and pointed his blade at them before shouting:

"Who do you think you are?!"

The turned around, held up their hands and whimpered at the sight of the sword so close to their face.

"Aziraphale, for fuck's sake, put that thing away!"

The blade dropped to the floor. Flames licking at the old, hardwood panels, but never scorching. Never burning.

The angel took one more step towards the intruder, nearly closing the gap between them. Hands reached for the familiar face in front of him. His eyes started to water as he stared into the other's eyes, now a bright blue to rival his own. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, but when the other spoke up, he knew he'd better believe.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Crowley asked. A dull 'oof' was forced from him as a pair of plump arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Don't you ever leave me like that again!" Aziraphale cried into his chest. "Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?!" He said as he pulled back and made a point of it to glare up at the recent reinstated angel.

Crowley glanced away and mumbled. "I have a vague idea..."

"How are you here?" Aziraphale asked as he started to calm down. Tears still flowed from his eyes, but the other bent over to thumb them away.

"It's funny you should ask that." Crowley smiled, all straight white teeth without a single fang in sight. "Apparently your prayers for my sake overloaded all of Above's communications."

"Oh..." Aziraphale mumbled. "That would explain why I haven't heard from them… What happened next?"

"Well," Crowley started, "with all of Heaven's communications on its ass, the Metatron went down into Hell to enlist the help of the one and only you-expert. Me."

"So, what you're saying is… Aziraphale’s prayers for me are blocking everything? Going in and out?"

"That is what we're saying. This cannot go on any longer." The Metatron said monotonously.

"So, what you want to know from me is....?"

"How do we make him stop? How do you stop these little… temper tantrums?" They asked.

‘Temper tantrum’ felt like the wrong wording to Crowley, but he knew he had to think quickly. This was his one ticket out of Hell permanently. A satisfied smile spread across his face as the right words formulated in his head.

"I've found that the most effective way to get him to stop is to simply give him what he wants. I can’t put it any simpler than that." The man said and shrugged casually.

"So you can die again in 80 years and we start this all over again?" The Metatron asked, unamused, raising a single eyebrow. "We shall pass on that."

Crowley winced internally. He was on thin ice, but all wasn't lost yet.

"What if I promise to be really good?" He asked, swaying back and forth on his feet and batting his eyelashes.

"You cannot possibly be suggesting..."

"Oh, but I am. And besides, isn't that a small price to pay for Aziraphale’s silence?" The words felt dirty in his mouth, but it was now or never. Back to Aziraphale or back to Hell.

"Alright, fine." The Metatron huffed, throwing up their arms in exasperation. "Consider it done, just pass on this one message."

"So… they made you an angel and sent you back just to buy my silence?" Aziraphale asked. His eyes narrowed in slight disgust.

This time, it was Crowley who pulled Aziraphale into a hug. "I know, I know. I felt so gross using you as leverage, but I just really wanted to come back to you..."

The smaller angel hushed the other and gently stroked his hair as he returned the embrace. "You're forgiven, Crowley. I missed you..." Aziraphale said. "And I love you. I don't know why it never occurred to me to tell you while you were alive, but..."

Crowley’s hushed "I love you too" had barely been spoken when Aziraphale lunged forward to kiss him. Crowley happily complied and kissed back until Aziraphale pulled away.

"What did the Metatron want you to tell me that they couldn't come down to tell me themselves, anyway?"

"'Shut the Hell up', angel." The angel smirked as he kissed his love again.

[hail--to-the-queen]

Marauders Era Headcannons

Ok so no one asked but these are mine. It’s really long, so sorry about that. A lot are based on inspo I’ve seen on Tumblr, tweaked to my liking, which is probably wrong but I just have all these feelings that I’ve gotta get out so here goes. If you see an idea that’s originally yours/you know who’s it is, please message me and I’ll credit your genius.

Peter

 Shortest marauder. like hella short. 

He wasn’t visibly muscled bc he liked food so damn much, but he wasn’t a creampuff either

preferred coffee over tea, and was the person who introduced coffee to Marlene

Funniest marauder. Could spin a tale/tell jokes like no one’s business. 

Towhead, tanned up nicely, brown eyes

was actually very particular about how his hair was combed/parted, but didn’t fuss about it openly *cough cough Sirius*

just didn’t get the hype behind Quidditch. sure, he liked it, but he couldn’t imagine letting a sport take over your life like James always did and even Sirius did during season

was actually hella perceptive and good at figuring things out about other people

like for real I think he was the first one to notice a lot; Remus’ condition, Sirius’ abusive home situation, when Lily’s feelings for James started to change, how James himself started to change

Was also the swiftest/sneakiest of all the marauders (rat!) and collected all of their intel

didn’t much care about school, and wanted to open a cafe in Diagon Alley after school

Had something of a talent for Divinations. Like, wasn’t a seer or anything, but he understood the theory and appreciated the art

fell in love with Marlene McKinnon in their 6th year, and her death in the first wizarding war (Mentioned in Lily’s letter to Sirius) is what pushed him over the edge and away from the Order. he was already struggling before then, but she grounded him and gave him something to fight for, and without her he just couldn’t handle anything. grew angry, bitter, resentful, flipped on the order and tore apart his friends. yuck.

  Remus

V tall. Tallest Marauder. Tallest student. certified tallboy.

Tea and chocolate and jumpers

smoker, but only right before and right after the full moon. it helps him cope

only swears when he’s well and truly angry

Brown hair with hints of copper that grows into a kind of mop. He manages it, somehow, even though it’s way out of style, and it just works

pale, brown eyes with gold in them

Messy to a fault, but somehow always has what he needs in the moment

LOVES quidditch, and attends every match especially because Sirius is a beater and damn just look at his arms

is the strategic brains behind the marauders operation. as much of a strategist as Ron is, Remus was too, and he was very good at planning things, especially things like breaking into filches office or putting potions in the Slytherin’s morning pumpkin juice that makes them all turn red and roar spontaneously  

Always studied, because if he didn’t put in the work he wouldn’t pull good grades

Forms a very close relationship with Lily in their 5th year when they’re both prefect

realized he was bi (and totally in love with Sirius) in his 4th year

Refuses to come out to his parents because they already have a broken son, and he didn’t want to expand on those feelings

tutors kids for chocolate bars or spare change whenever he has the time

was terrified of being made head boy, because he just knew he couldn’t handle it, and was relieved when it was James (bc he just knew Lily was a shoe-in for Head Girl)

Is the first person Lily actually admits her confused feelings about James to

Sirius

Second-shortest Marauder (much to his chagrin)

has excellent posture as a result (because if he slouches he’s the same height as Peter)

Long black hair, grey eyes, regal/sharp features. 

has a leather jacket that he picked up at a muggle consignment store when he was 14. it’s worn & covered in patches, and when his mother finds it in his closet his father uses the cruciatus on him

speaks excellent french. a side effect of Toujours Pur

Always paints his nails black or grey. When they chip, he paints over them, so it’s just layers and layers of paint

Starts to grow his hair out in the summer before his third year. Keeps it roughly shoulder length, and trims it himself after he had Emily Tefty teach him how

Incidentally, the summer before third year is when he stopped believing he could ever make amends with his parents. The only reason he went home after that was for Reg

Wants to live in London and work in a muggle garage

Is very smart, but doesn’t try. can ace every test though

is particularly gifted at CoMC

Smokes way more than he should

gets his first tattoo (a lion, what else) in Knockturn alley when he was 15. it paces and roars depending on his mood, and is on his ribcage, protecting his heart because he’s so afraid that one day he wont be able to protect his heart from his parents ideology 

realized he was Gay (and in love with Remus) in the start of their 5th year

was so terrified of that fact that he went on a year-long dating extravaganza, in which he dated and snogged every girl he could get to agree to go out with him (which was, of course, almost all of them) in an attempt to find someone he liked better than Remus. It failed.

Ran away from home for good after a particularly brutal beating between 5th and 6th year

cried for days when he heard about Reg getting marked

hates Snape because snape doesn’t have the shackles of a pureblood fundamentalist family, but actively seeks that lifestyle, while he would give anything to be free of it

James

Gets up every morning and goes for a run around the grounds, no matter how cold it is

eats healthy, but he’s a growing boy so a second helping of pudding isn’t going to kill him

Lives, breathes, eats, and sleeps quidditch. Wants to be a professional player someday and probably could have

half-hindu, so dark complexion, dark eyes and dark hair

keeps said hair wildly messy in a lighthearted rebellion against his family

has a massive soft spot for the house elves, and sneaks into the kitchen more often to visit with them than he does to get remus and himself a cuppa

is the literal life of the party

Has loved Lily since 2nd year

doesn’t understand why she doesn’t like him for a long time, but eventually he gets it   

is naturally smart/gifted, and doesn’t understand why Remus has to study all the time

Disliked Severus for a multitude of reasons; his closeness with Lily, his inclination towards the Pureblood agenda, the fact that he was a Slytherin and was proud of it. This made him an easy bullying target for James, but he only started to truly hate Severus after the mudblood incident 

is very careful with his belongings

Dated a cute Ravenclaw for the first 6 months of his 6th year, but eventually broke it off because Lily was single again because they just didn’t have that spark 

Was terrified when he was made head boy, just like he was terrified when he was made Quidditch captain the year before

Is literal Mr. Oblivious. Doesn’t realize the wolfstar situation, doesn’t realize that what he says has an impact on people, doesn't realize how many girls are interested in him, doesn’t realize that not everyone is as smart as he is, doesn’t realize when Lily’s feelings change.

literally peter has to spell out the wolfstar thing to him 

Is terrified of the mermaids in the Black Lake

Lily

the most feminist feminist who ever feministed 

Kept a muggle record player from her father that Remus helped her charm to work in Hogwarts during 4th year

Was definitely very close to being in love with Severus before the mudblood incident. He was her first kiss

she and Severus both made up their own spells, and correct their potions books with better instructions. Muffiato was her creation

Smart, but studies very hard nonetheless, Bc in the back of her mind she was terrified that someone someday will take away her wand

Actual queen of sarcasm

knitted in her spare time (the muggle way)

Long (like, can tuck it in her waistband) red hair, creamy skin (burns like a lobster in direct sunlight)

Cuts her hair after the mudblood incident because Severus always loved to play with it

this is 100% someone else’s idea, but i cant for the life of me find the post. If it’s your’s, or you know who’s it is, PLEASE message me and let me know and I’ll give them all the credit 

Ends up with a bob and scraggily bangs. Keeps it for a month, then magically grows it back out until it’s below her shoulder blades. Keeps the bangs, because she likes them

Figures out Remus’ secret after 3 months of prefect duty in 5th year. Tells him, just to make sure he doesn’t feel like he has to lie or hide from her.

 can banter back and forth with Peter so well that they leave the others in stitches every time

Loved her parents, but never had much of a relationship with her mother

Officially gave up on trying with Petunia in the summer before 4th year, when she threw a scarf Lily had knitted her for her birthday in the bin immediately upon opening it, because she was convinced Lily had knitted it with magic

fell in love with James somewhere in the middle of 6th year, and was terrified of it, because they had managed a truce/friendship and she was so afraid to mess that up

legitimately doesn't believe she’s good enough to be Head Girl

Fierce protector of all the muggleborn students 

Retreated into a shell of a person early in 6th year when her dad died of cancer. the marauders and Marlene took 2 months to try and get back to being herself

Dated Amos Diggory for the first 3 months of 6th year, but ultimately broke it off because of James because they just didn’t have that feeling

when Severus started sending her letters threatening to harm himself if she wouldn’t talk to him, she stopped opening them, and reported him to Slughorn as a suicide risk

Wanted to become a healer and totally could have

Marlene

Best friends with Lily since the first night of first year

Sucker for a funny guy

Talented artist, terrible in all of her courses (she only passes because of Lily)

dyslexic as hell

hated tea with a passion, but fell in love with coffee after Peter introduced it to her during their 2nd year

now she buys it from columbia (that and art supplies are the only things she shamelessly splurges/spends her family’s vast wealth on)

Is a pureblood, but her whole family rejects the doctrines, and she’s very proud of that. Especially after seeing what its like for Sirius to fight his family.

wants to become a wizard tattoo artist and totally could have

has a floral 1/2 sleeve she designed herself

short stature, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes

does commission work for students and faculty 

By 7th year, starts giving illegal frowned upon tattoos to students in her dorm (but only those of age). Lily turns a blind eye to this because she knows Marlene is clean and safe and damn good at what she does, and she feels the need to support her best friend’s dreams

Started to fall for Peter in 6th year, because he made her laugh

 See’s the good in (almost) everyone

original queen of the bat bogey hex

 Went on one date with Sirius to Hogsmede in their 5th year, during which they talked about tattoos and neither of them felt anything other than friendship

Keeps lots and lots of plants in her room (if she was ever good at any class, it was herbology. She just couldn’t take the tests/do the readings/write the essays)

had multiple piercings all the way up her ears

once hexed Lucius Malfoy’s hair off of his head for sneering at her for spending time with non-purebloods

served almost as many detentions (almost) as the marauders

commentated quidditch matches

Severus

Loved Lily since they were 9 and he saw her first do magic on the playground

He had pretty regal features, if he would just get his hair out of his face

he wasn’t really greasy, thats just something the marauders called him

Dark eyes, light complexion, long, straight, black hair

Was a very talented student, but really only cared about defense and potions

secretly hated the slug club and all it stood for, but was a member because he saw the value of networking

loved pepper imps, and would buy them whenever he had any extra money

was very good at budgeting

Had an abusive father who used to beat him, until one day when Severus was 7 and his father was chasing him with a belt. He made the china cabinet unscrew from the wall and crash down on his father

Refuses to let his mother buy him new clothes until he desperately needs them, because he knows how expensive they are and can’t stand the thought of her going without because of him

Hates James from the moment he shows any interest in Lily

See’s Lily as a possession to be hoarded 

Refuses to acknowledge that his love for her conflicts with his pure blood agenda

legitimately believes he can have both, even if that means hiding her away. He even draws up plans of how he would accomplish this

Loves to play with her hair

Wrote Lily letters following the incident in which he threatened to harm himself if she wouldn’t talk to him. She never did, and neither did he.

Figured out Remus’ secret in 5th year after Sirius gave him a huge hint, and was basically forced to make an unbreakable vow with Dumbledore that he would never tell anyone