In 1978, they were on a raid. Lily had his hand grasped in hers for one last moment, even though it was utterly against the rules to be on an Auror mission with your fiancé. But honestly, it was Halloween and they’d been perfectly content in their flat in London, giving out sweets to the Muggle children in their costumes when the silvery bear had burst into their living room and spoke in the voice of Mad-Eye Moody.
So they’d put out a note in the bowl of candies, instructing the takers to please only take one, thank you, have a good night, and Lily had found their uniforms hanging in the closet they used for laundry while James sorted out the wards on their flat. Together, then, they had hurried into Muggle London, past the pubs filled with revelers and the hundreds of costumed, horribly, terribly innocent children. James tapped the bricks behind the Leaky Cauldron and they ducked into the eerie silence of Diagon Alley, where every witch and wizard knew that darkness was a forbidden hour if you wished to keep yourself above the ground and out of the hands of Death Eaters.
They were just seventeen, then, and that night they faced Voldemort himself with Lily’s hand wrapped in James’ and hope in their hearts and spells on their lips, and they won, even though half their fellow Aurors became casualties that night in some Muggle village far from home.
do not pity the dead
In 1979, they were at the Potter’s vacation home in northern Wales. Lily was laughing, and James was smiling, and they were perched on the roof with a thick blanket round their shoulders. The sky was the deep colour of pitch, scattered with stars, and James had just told her some horrific pickup line about how much he loved her, involving counting all the stars in the sky. And even though it was perfectly ridiculous, it really was sweet and so Lily pressed a kiss to his lips, sitting there on the roof of the mansion.
Halloween had never been better, in her opinion, and James agreed too, at least until they saw the dark figures on the lawn. A quick Cushioning Charm and they were on the grass far below, having jumped hand-in-hand.
But it was too late, as the Death Eaters broke in, headed by Voldemort himself. They followed, of course, but by the time they escaped the curses scattered around the doorway, meant to stop any rescuers, the house was lit in flashing strobes and the radio had turned itself to tortured screaming as Charlus and Everly Potter fell as if in slow motion, and their son followed, dropping to his knees on the marble in the agony that always followed the three syllables of Crucio.
And as Lily dragged him to safety, her tears fell too, the only innocence left in that house on Halloween 1979. She dropped to the ground on the grass outside, she couldn’t make James come any further, and together they cried as lights flashed green through the windows, twice, and as the house was set aflame to burn a vivid golden, and as the beautiful black of the sky was marred by the emerald snake emerging from an emerald skull.
They were eighteen that night when Voldemort screamed their names through the woods, promising them all manner of torture as James’ childhood burnt down behind him.
forget to live
In 1980, they had a child, tucked into their cottage in Godric’s Hallow. Harry James Potter was all that was right with the world for his young parents, barely adults themselves.
And James wanted out, out of everything except for this, out of his own skin even if it meant he could end the day and the memories and maybe (most definitely) he thought of picking up his wand and whispering obliviate.
Besides, wasn’t that the point of Halloween, to forget who you were for a little while?
Lily disagreed and so on Halloween of 1980 they screamed at each other until they were hoarse. They screamed and screamed and then neither of them could have said who was crying first (it certainly wasn’t the baby) but by the second slip of silver down her face and the third glinting in his eyelashes they were tangled in each other because war wasn’t about tearing each other apart and watching silver tears fall, it was about being torn apart and watching scarlet that once scrolled through veins and limbs and living breathing beings flow over floors and ceilings and leaves and everything except where it was supposed to be.
And so they faced midnight that night with pain in their hearts because someone with red eyes and the voice of the devil had stuck a knife in and twisted by starting this war and now they had so much more to fight for.
Because Lily didn’t even care about the blood in her veins and James didn’t worry about that in his. It was about the other and their son and god one day they would see Voldemort gone if it was the last thing they did.
pity the living
In 1981, they floated in some sort of odd interim, because they had both agreed they wouldn’t fight, they couldn’t fight on this day, and so Lily watched the windows for children passing by and James watched their child and they watched each other.
Unlike 1978, no call came.
Unlike 1979, no one else died.
Unlike 1980, there wasn’t a single word of strife when the door burst open and everything golden turned green and black and evil.
There wasn’t a single choice when Lily swept their baby into her arms.
When James stared at a man so afraid of death that he gave it to everyone but himself.
When Lily fled even though so many months ago she had promised to make sure the demon (standing in her living room like any normal guest) died.
She had no choice, she told herself as she ran because for once the devil was actually behind her.
And so there was no choice when Lily heard James die.
even in the darkest of times
Written for the Writers Anonymous Halloween Challenge.
Thank you for reading, make sure to eat some chocolate, and we will all get through tomorrow together.
We’ve known each other for what, how long? Too
long, you’re probably going to say. That’s how well we know each other. Hell,
remember those photographs of us when we were toddlers with those horrible
costumes we made for each other? I tried. I really tried, despite your costume being
made out of a bin bag.
I love you.
I love you so goddamn much it hurts me
sometimes. I know we see each other regularly and we talk quite a bit, but it’s
going to get hard. There’s exams, work, extra activities we have to juggle. It’s
weird. I know we can do it, but I can’t help but feel a little sad. Sad that I
won’t get to touch you in person, to feel your skin, to see your smile up
close. I know you’re upset by it too, I just want to let you know that we’re
stronger than that. This is obviously going to be hard because we’ll miss each
other so much, but let’s face it, we’re strong. I just want to let you know
that I accept that. I’ll fight for us and I know you’ll do the same.
I don’t remember a time where you weren’t in my
life. From the first time I remember doing anything, you were always right
there beside me. And I was there for you. It’s going to be difficult but I want
to let you know that this is worth fighting for. We may be young, we may be
judged and we may be reckless but I know from the bottom of my heart you’re
worth fighting for.
I love you.
Please don’t be upset. We have so much to look
I've made similar posts, but given the circumstance here goes
I work as manager for spirit Halloween.
Unfortunately we got the email that the Caitlyn costumes would soon be arriving in our shipment and we have to put them out.
Let me make it known I am 1048362803% against the caitlyn costume as are almost the entirety of my staff. WE HATE IT AS MUCH AS YOU DO.
however, we have no say in whether or not this costume continues to be sold.
Please please do not harrass the store associates.
If you’re that upset let your voice be known! Take it up with corproate for both Spirit Halloween and Spencers.
I want this transphobic horrible costume stopped too, but yelling at store staff is NOT going to help the cause.
I’m sorry to whomever this costume hurts. Your identity is NOT a joke. Hang In there.
Despite being technically grounded in science, the Iron Man movies are also among the most unrealistic Marvel has to offer. Which is why I’d like to see a movie featuring a more down-to-earth gadgeteer superhero. My suggestion for that is Mitchell Hundred, aka The Great Machine from Brian K. Vaughan’s Ex Machina. He’s what I picture a real-life engineer would be like if given superpowers: an awkward sack of fuck who randomly gains the ability to communicate with machines and soon finds they’re often lying and treacherous dicks. He manages to put together a jetpack and a bunch of gadgets, dons a frankly horrible costume and starts kind-of fighting crime, until he semi-accidentally manages to stop a major terrorist attack and winds up the mayor of New York City. And therein lies the catch. Mitchell Hundred is a poor man’s Tony Stark that actually has to clean up after himself.
Hey, people. Make sure you don’t link to those horrible costumes of Caitlyn. At the very least, run the link through a service that doesn’t help their google rank. My girlfriend knows someone who’s a manager for a big costume company. They KNOW people are going to be pissed about it and spread it over the media.
What happens is rightfully pissed off people talk about it and link to it, and it helps their google rank. When people search for costumes, their company will come up higher. When indifferent cis people check out the links, they browse their site and buy other costumes. They’re exploiting trans women and profiting off of the rightful anger of trans women, trans people as a whole, and our allies and it’s disgusting.