Elsewhere kinda reminds me of my neighbourhood. My elementary school was tiny, grade k-9 with only 200 students. In the basement, where being able (or, more likely, made) to go down to fetch... something, was a once-a-year occasion. In that basement, there was a tunnel, stretching 20 meters out into blackness before turning into light. No one dared crawl to far in. There were secret staircases hidden under bushes that I have been hard-pressed to find, despite walking there since childhood. (1/2)
(2/2) I remember walking, once, when I was young, through alleyways and
parks, under trees and along streams. There was a driveway who’s gravel
was white, crystal-covered stones. My mum would always let me and my
brother take a stone, but never more than one. We would hurry home and
wash them, scrubbing them with water - never soap - until they shined. I
grew older, I changed schools, and though we still have the stones
somewhere, I never could find the source.
Y/n sat in the back of potions class, carefully adding new ingredients to her caldron, watching as the liquid inside turned to a steady green. Beside her, Fred Weasley let out a grunt, clearly unimpressed by the way his own potion was turning out. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Fred as he tried to finish his potion.
“You need to grind that into a fine powder.” She whispered from the corner of her mouth, watching as Fred instantly began to follow her mumbled instructions. On his other side his twin brother began to mirror his actions.
“I thought I told you to allow the Weasley twins to fend for themselves Miss Y/l/n.” Snape’s cold voice came from behind her. Before she could answer he waved his wand over her potion and caused it to vanish without a trace. Y/n sat there fuming, listening to the Slytherin’s giggle as Snape continued to scold her. “I believe ten points from Gryffindor, from each of you, will really put this lesson into perspective.” He sneered, smiling as the Slytherin’s laughed loudly.
“I suppose there is no reason for me to be in class then.” I hummed, pushing my chair back, gathering my things and walking out of class. Snape sighed, declaring that my lack of respect lost me another ten points, but I could hardly care. I knew, of course, that he was hard but to me this seems to be pushing it. He had never once told me I was not aloud to help Fred and George, though I suspect it should have been a given. With the amount of pranks the pair had preformed at his expense had cause him to hate the twins and anything, or anyone, that tried to help them.
“Y/n wait up.” Fred called out from behind me, his voice startling me out of my thoughts. I pinched my brows together in confusion and disapproval, the disapproval nothing but guess work, as I spun around to face the red haired young man that captured my heart.
“We still have an hour left of potions, what are you doing…” But the rest of my sentence was cut off as Fred placed his lips gently against my own.
“I wasn’t about to stay there without you, you are the only reason I go to that class.” He chuckled as he pulled away, his hand reaching out to wrap around my own. “Now why don’t we sneak out of here and go to Honeydukes?”
“That sounds wonderful.” I giggled, leaning into his side as he began to lead me towards the secret staircase that would take us to the sweet shop, the whole time listening as he explained so prank he and George had planned. As we walked, I couldn’t help but smile widely up at him, knowing that despite all the trouble I get into because of him, he was all I have ever wanted.
His knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tight. His
mind is going a hundred miles an hour every single thing running threw is mind
is about her, their baby, his baby. Something is wrong, it’s bad enough for
Suho to call him at work so it must be really bad. The car isn’t going fast
enough for any of the three men in the car, but getting pulled over at the
moment isn’t something they want to deal with, their patience is wearing thin.
When they finally pull up to their home, the driver and the oldest of the group
is already out of the car and busting into the front door.
Xiumin finds them in the living room, the younger two aren’t far behind,
stopping right on his heels in the doorway to the living room. All of them are
there, scattered on the floor, or standing by the window, Sehun is on the couch
with their baby on his lap. Her face is buried in his neck, his arms are around
her, rubbing small circles on her back. With a blanket over her, it would
appear that she is sleeping but they can see her shaking and watch as Sehun
tries to calm her.
“What happened?” Luhan asks Suho.
Suho looks to Chanyeol to explain, “We walked into the classroom that
Joon told us to meet in and we see him on the floor with Jooyoung crouching
Tao continues, “When we tried to go towards her, she freaked out and
backed into a corner. She yelled at us to stop. She was afraid of us.”
“What happened to Joon?” Kris asks threw clenched teeth, as he, like the
others, tries his best to control his anger.
“He got a good beating, but he’s down in the dungeon for now, we wanted
to make sure she’s okay before we deal with that.” Suho answers.
“Did you guys stop him before he had the chance to do anything?” Lay, who
hadn’t been there for more then five minutes looks to the younger boys.
The six who had been there share a look. What had happened in the room
had already been discussed, earning Joon a few broken fingers when Kai
accidently slammed his hand in the car door. They know Jooyoung is listening
and is already uncomfortable telling them and having them tell each other over
“She stopped him,” Sehun says a bit proudly.
Kai chuckles, “Broke his nose.”
“That’s our girl,” Kris smiles softly as he sits down on the couch next
to her and Sehun.
“We just came in to finish the job,” Tao adds in.
“I’ll deal with him in a little bit,” Xiumin finally speaks for the first
time since hearing the news.
“I’m surprised you’re so calm about this,” Kai says without a thought,
earning a swat from his hyungs close by.
“I’m not fucking calm,” Xiumin’s tone turns icy as he gives them all a
horrifying smile. “It is taking all of my self control not to go down there and
kill him. I just want to see her, to make sure she is okay. Can I see her? Is
she still afraid?” They are all surprised when his tone shifts so suddenly to
something so warm and worried.
“Can you let them see you baby?” Sehun whispers to her. She had only
stopped crying a few minutes ago so she can imagine how horrible she looks.
Only Sehun and Suho have been able to see her bruised face and bloodshot eyes.
“Only if they don’t get mad or yell,” Her small voice mumbles, just loud
enough for them to hear. Never in their years of living had they been so happy
to hear someone’s voice.
“We will be good daddies,” Sehun reassures her with a kiss on the top of
the head. With a deep breath she sits up straight on Sehun’s lap and hesitantly
turns around to look at everyone. Kris and Sehun are the first to see her, like
she had worried her eyes are puffy and red. The bruise on her cheek reaches up
under her eye, a deep purple covers most of her cheek, it looked painful even
to the boys.
At first Kris is happy that their baby will let them see her but the
minute he sees his poor baby’s swelled face he wishes he were down in the
dungeon tearing that bastards fingers off one by one, and from the way Sehun is
clenching his jaw, he knows the younger boy feels the same. The other ten
waiting all gasp at the sight, Xiumin is in front of her faster then she could
have thought possible with Chen, Lay, and Kyungsoo hovering behind him, smart
enough not to get in the older man’s way. Xiumin places both hands gently on
her cheeks, his thumbs brush over them, trying to make the pain and tearstains
He leans down as places a dozen kisses on her bad cheek, “I’m so sorry
baby, I should have protected you.”
“It’s not your fault,” She tries to give him a smile but it falters when
a shot of pain spreads threw her face.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Lay asks, scanning her and finding a few
busies on her legs.
“I’m fine, I’m just really tired,” She yawns cutely.
“You should go take a nap,” Suho suggest.
“Can daddy Sehun stay with me?”
Sehun smiles at her, “Of course baby, I’ll stay with you as long as you
All the boys felt a pang of envy for the younger, she picked him, she
clung to him even after the others had tried to take her away she stuck to him.
Sehun takes her out of the room, taking all the light with him, leaving the
eleven men in the darkness that they know. Without a word they all file threw
the house to the secret staircase behind a bookshelf in the hall to the
dungeon. The dimly lit halls lead them to another hall, but this one has cells
with begging or crying men inside. They reach their pale arms threw the bars,
their annoying cries echo off the wall, begging for their freedom or their
families safety, the boys are too focused to really care. At the end of them
hall they reach the door separating them from the man who hurt their baby.
Xiumin is the first in, the massive concrete room has only a single light
bulb hanging from the ceiling right above the slouching boy. Tied tightly in a
chair the boy is trembling as he tires to pull his hands free of the bindings.
He knows too well what is going to happen to him. Joon is the son of a close
family friend, whose father works under the boys. He had heard his father
telling horror stories about that happens in the Kim’s legendary dungeon. But
the poor bastard doesn’t under stand what had earned him a chair in this hell
The girl. That little fucking bitch is what got him here. He wants to ask
which one of them she had gotten her claws into but from the way all of them
are glaring at him, he figures it must be all. It would be a lie if he didn’t
say he is amazed that the slut is able to get all twelve to kill a close friend
just for fucking with her. He finds himself chucking, “Wow Hyung, that bitch
has got you whipped.”
Bad decision, Xiumin punches him, more blood pours from his nose and his
mouth. His already broken nose only gets more fucked up.
“Don’t you ever fucking dare say something like that about our Joo,” Suho
“Is her pussy that fucking amazing that you guys would want to piss of my
father just because I fucked the bitch up?” Joon chuckles hoping his friends
will laugh along with him and let him go, but no such luck. In fact Kris heads
toward a table filled with tools and other torture devices.
Kris chuckles humorlessly, “Your father won’t do shit even when we send
your head to his door. Because with your head will be a note telling him about
what you did. You broke a rule Joon.”
“What did I do?” Joon yells, “I barely touched that bitch!”
“That bitch? That bitch is our baby!” Chen growls, surprising Joon, Chen
is never the type to raise his voice or even say anything rude.
When his closest friend Chanyeol comes forward he almost lets out a sigh
of relief, that is until he sees the pliers in his hand. His face drains,
“Yeol, what are you doing? Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends?”
Chanyeol laughs, he places a large hand on the boys shoulder, “Friends? I
told you a hundred times not to touch, to not even fucking look at her! But you fucking touched her. You hit her, you made our
baby cry. You made her afraid of us, because of you she saw our dark sides,
something our innocent little baby should never see. You told her bad things
about us. You took her beautiful smile off her face. Because of that, we each
get a minute to do whatever we want to you,” Chanyeol smiles. “As you know, I
think your smile is important, so someone as disgusting as you doesn’t deserve
such a nice smile. I’m going to make this right.”
My baby looks so broken, she won’t even look me in the eye as I stare
down at her, her gorgeous eyes are focused on our feet. The bath is filling
behind me, it’s only half full now, after five minutes of her asking to bathe
herself. I understand that she wants to be alone, that she might not want
anyone touching her after something like that but I don’t want to leave her
alone with her thoughts. She could talk herself into the wrong thing, she could
think of all the reasons she should run away from us, I’ll be having none of
that. I still feel the deep satisfaction of her picking me over all of the
others to comfort her still buzzes threw me. I find myself smirking at the
memory of their glares. She’s all mine for the moment.
“Baby,” I order softly as I grip the hem of her sweater. Reluctantly she
raises her hands above her head to allow me to remove it, next is her button up
that comes off without much of a fight. She surprises me by pushing my hands
away from her tank top, she holds the hem down tightly, more tears begin
welling in those beautiful hazel, cat like eyes of hers’.
“Please daddy, you’re going to get mad if you see it,” She mumbles out.
“I don’t want you to get mad.”
“Why would I get mad baby?” I try my best to keep my voice soft but we
both know there is poison behind it. My mind is racing a million miles an hour
at the thought of what she could be afraid of me seeing. What else could that
bastard could have done to you?
“I told you earlier, he kicked me, hard. I think there is going to be a
bruise but I don’t want you to get mad.”
“I can’t promise that baby, I’m honestly fuming at the thought that he
actually kicked you. But I promise I’ll behave,” I give her a soft smile which
is enough encouragement for her to show me. But my smile drops the moment I see
the purple blotch on her side, it feels as if my heart has been ripped right
out of my chest.
My baby, my little ball of sunshine and rainbows and all that is good in
the world, was beaten. That asshole marked our little kitten, a nickname I’ve
grown fond of when I think about her. I drop to my knees in front of her and
pull her close, peppering kisses all over her stomach, surprisingly earning me
a precious giggle from her. Never in my like have I seen such a beautiful sight
of that little grin on her face, even with the bruise she is the most beautiful
woman I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe I’ve only been able to look at her for a
week, that I’ve gone my whole life without it is amazing.
“Daddy, stop it,” She giggles as I continue.
“I just want to kiss the pain away,” My hold on her tightens, “tell me
where it hurts, daddy will kiss it better.”
“It hurts everywhere,” She answers honestly.
“Daddy will make all of it better.”
I remove her skirt and panties, until her cute frame is in front of me
shivering like a leaf in absolutely nothing. Never in my life have I been so
amazed by the female form. Her petite frame lacks nothing when it comes to
curves, with a perfect chest that he knows for a fact feel as good as they look
and hips that would make any woman jealous. I help her into the water and sit
on the edge, my hand swirls around in the water.
“Are they going to kill him?” She asks out of nowhere. I pause for a
moment, hesitant on whether the truth is best or not. But when I look at her
and see her staring strait back at me, I figure honesty is the best policy.
She nods, “Are you upset that you aren’t down there?”
Another question I wasn’t expecting, “No, I’m happy where I am, here with
“Really?” There is a cuteness to her that usually isn’t there.
I nod, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.” She
smiles down at the water. “Are happy here, right now? Or even in this house,
are you happy baby?”
She’s hesitant, “I’m not sure. I don’t want to be anywhere else right
“When I was with that guy, even thinking about all the bad things I know
you could have done I still wanted you guys to be the ones to save me.” She
pauses, “Have you ever killed a person?”
Without any hesitation I answer, “Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
I shake my head, “I don’t regret a single one.”
“Does that change your idea of me?”
Her head shakes no.
“Do you still love me?” The words surprise me but her automatic nod
surprises me even more. “You love me?”
“I love all of my daddies, even if I don’t like what you do, or what you
It’s as if my heart stops, I don’t want to ever leave this moment, I want
to hear her say that over and over again until time runs out. She loves us. She
Hogsmeade is everything that Hogwarts isn’t. There are no teachers to order students around, no schedules, no rules, no walls. The air is cold and swirled with laughter and conversation. The students smile for the first time in weeks, because it is here where they’re finally free.
For the Marauders, Hogsmeade is everything and more.
Hogwarts is great, with its moving staircases and secret passageways, but it’s Hogsmeade where some of those passages find their purpose. It’s Hogsmeade where adventure is found in twisting alleyways and small tea shops tucked in between the inns and shops.
Hogsmeade is where Sirius ducks into Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop and emerges, three minutes later with a torn shirt and ink smeared across his nose. It’s where Lily and Remus are left to explain the pile of broken quills and the pool of ink to the fuming owner as Sirius and James duck into an alley to hide and Peter stands dumbfounded at the door.
Hogsmeade is where James tries to convince Remus to play Quidditch. It’s where he points to the test brooms outside of one of the stores and gently convinces his friend to give them a try. It’s where Remus falls and breaks his nose, refusing, accordingly, to come to any of James’ games for the rest of the year.
It’s Hogsmeade where Lily learns just how ridiculous James Potter can be. Where she watches him, amused, at Madame Puddifoot’s as he tries to convince her that each type of tea symbolizes a different type of love. It’s where she watches as he takes a small sip from his teacup, scowls as it fogs up his glasses, and makes a face in disgust as the taste of his drink registers. It’s there that both of them decide to never go out for tea again.
It’s Hogsmeade where Peter discovers his allergy to owls; sneezing so hard that he scares half of the post office’s flock so badly that they refuse to fly for days.
It’s Hogsmeade where the Marauders squish themselves into one booth at the Three Broomsticks, determined not to leave anyone behind. (”We’re so close now,” Sirius exclaims with a wince as Peter elbows him in the stomach, “That I have an excuse to upend my drink into your lap if any of you annoy me.”)
It’s Hogsmeade where Sirius slinks out of the Three Broomsticks, hair dripping over his eyes and a crowing Lily skipping behind him.
It’s Hogsmeade where Remus is actually free. Free, with no walls, or precaution, or fear. It’s where he leads James into Zonkos with a smirk on his face, refusing to tell Sirius what they buy. It’s where he spends the last of his pocket money on the finest Honeydukes chocolate and a new book on Transfiguration theory. It’s where he listens as other students tell ghost stories about the Shrieking Shack, rolling his eyes as a fourth year jumps out behind her friend and makes her scream. Remus Lupin, the other students decide as he walks past the shack without batting an eye, isn’t afraid of anything.
It’s Hogsmeade where the Marauders laugh until the sun dips below the horizon. It’s where Lily shoves a handful of snow down James’ shirt and where Peter is banned from the potion shop on account of screaming too many times. It’s where Sirius sings off key on the street corner until his friends shout at him to stop. It’s where Remus tilts his head to the sky and smiles.
It’s where they’re free. It’s where they’re happy.
After the untimely death of her daughter in 1866, Sarah Winchester, wife to the man who created the Winchester Rifle, sought out a psychic medium. The psychic told her that she was cursed by those killed by her husband’s rifles, and that they had taken her daughter as revenge.
In fear, she ordered this massive house to be constructed to confuse the spirits. Apart from it’s mesmerising appearance, the house consists of dozens of intricate corridors, secret rooms, staircases that lead to nowhere, and doors that step out onto thin air, making it a truly unique Californian landmark.
i was wondering if you could write an older damian (maybe in his early twenties) celebrating his s/o’s birthday?… Genre: Fluff. Words: 1,006
“Damian, please answer your phone,”
you mutter into the receiver but it was his answering machine that replied.
It’s your birthday today and you’ve
been getting calls and texts from your friends and family, but none from
Damian. You kept your schedule free, hoping he got your message about dinner at
your place. He’s been away since last week and you miss him.
You’re heading home from the store
with a brown paper bag of ingredients. You’ve been calling him all day but he’s
not picking up. You try to call him again just before you turn the last corner
back to your place. You stop walking because he finally picks up.
anyways books belong to their readers and you can’t tell me that hogwarts castle doesn’t flexibly adapt to students’ needs
you can’t tell me that autistic wizard kids aren’t generating magic stims of light and sound and touch, fidgets that move and reshape themselves and repattern. you can’t tell me that students aren’t charming parchment to transcribe speech, take notes, become whatever alternative format is needed. imagine a spell that, with just a tap, changes an ink writing into Braille– and if the library books can scream they can change their formats for you. i want library books that will speak their information to you, and it’s so much better than a text-to-speech program or a muggle audio format of a textbook bc you don’t have to fuck with the table of contents or struggle to scroll through it you can just ask it
give me students who use dictating quills to take notes and write papers, students who lug their goddamn muggle tech into the school because the wizarding world’s still using quill and ink, and so dumbledore has to change the school policies regarding muggle tech
i want disabled wizards trading useful spells, disabled students trading information on secret rooms, on the best moving staircases, on secret passageways. i want disabled wizards whose wands are their canes, hagrid’s umbrella style, and bewitched braces that adapt and loosen and tighten and restructure themselves during the day. Deaf wizards who sign their spells, who always win duels because they’re the greatest at nonverbal spells. autistic wizards who are incredible at fighting off legilimency because their minds work differently, students with depression who have all the skills to combat dementors
i want the castle itself to start adapting to the needs of disabled students. the walls themselves start to give directions to students who have difficulty navigating the complicated moving layout, the walls themselves give labels, the stone walls raise themselves into Braille or whatever alternate format. no elevators in this castle? go to the landing of the stairs and they’ll move for you to where you want to go.
students of all houses uniting because two of the dormitories are in the basement, in the dungeons, and two are in high towers, and this is not gonna work, dumbledore, you gotta get your shit together
i want there to be an office of disability services so students don’t have to organize all this shit by themselves. i want students with testing accommodations who don’t have to take exams in the goddamn great hall, magic interpreters, individualized class schedules, a counseling center- especially given that these are kids who were raised in the aftermath of a world in trauma. i love the idea of disabled students finding ways to survive with room-of-requirement stuff but let’s also get some institutional support in here too
are there students who have individual rooming instead of the at least four to a space situation we see with harry? are disabled students isolated from the traditional dorms because there’s stairs to each place or do they deal with that? are there students with service dogs? are there students with service owls or rats or toads because those are the only animals technically allowed does hermione have a cat because crookshanks is a service animal
it’s just. it’s lazy storytelling to tell me you can magic away disability. tell me how you can incorporate magic into accessibility efforts, tell me how magical and non-magical resources can be connected and improved by each other. tell me about disabled kids who take muggle studies, who apply magic to accessibility in the muggle world, who apply muggle technology to the wizarding world and adapt it and enchant it. tell me about disabled kids in transfiguration who aren’t transfiguring themselves into nondisabled folks but are transfiguring things around them to be resources. that vanishing cabinet sounds great for sensory overload and oversocialization, tell me about that. tell me about disabled kids in herbology using old wizarding herbs and medicines, about disabled kids studying wizarding law and developing wizard equivalents of the ADA
(( I KNOW I’VE BEEN MORE FOCUSED ON EDITS LATELY BUT I’LL BE WRITING MORE NOW THAT I’M DONE WITH CLASSES. I also repurposed an old piece of writing published on my AO3 account that I do not plan on continuing that does show up here. So enjoy. Also enjoy a very quick edit for Remus that I felt fit with this. ))
It had all happened so fast.
Sirius hadn’t come home that night; Remus couldn’t breathe.
There was a knock on the door. It had to be Sirius. Who else would it be? But yet, there was a deep fear growing in the pit of his stomach. Hesitantly, he pulled open the door of their shared flat, the rusting hinges screeching as they moved. “Remus Lupin?” Two men he didn’t recognize stood on their welcome mat.
“Ministry of Magic. We’re going to need you to come with us.” His heart fell to his feet.
“So, um…” Remus mumbled. “Why am I here?” Sirius. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. He’s hurt. He’s dead. Something had to have happened to him-
“Were you a conspirator in the murders of James and Lily Potter?” James? Lily?
“W-What?” Breathe. “They were murdered? N-Nobody told me.”
“The Potters were found dead in their home last night, by means of an unforgivable curse.”
My friends. “Both of them?”
“Both of them.”
Harry. Their son. Oh, god. Harry. “What about Harry? Is he alright? Oh, please tell me he’s alright-”
“He is alive. For the child’s safety, we will not be disclosing his whereabouts with you.”
Remus Lupin never cried. How could you cry when you didn’t know how? But now, oh now… His lungs were on fire, the pressure behind his eyes was like nothing he’d every felt before. James, Lily… Harry. Sirius. Where was Sirius?
“Mr. Lupin…” He brought his eyes to meet the man. “We’re doing all that we can. We’ve captured the man who carried out the act, he has been charged with the deaths of the Potter’s and Peter Pettigrew.”
“P-Peter…?” Not Peter. No, no, not Peter too. “Why? Who did this!?”
“Mr. Lupin, the murderer has been dealt with.”
“Why won’t you answer my question!?” Peter. James. Lily. Harry. Sirius… Sirius. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. “Sirius Black. Is he okay? Is he? Please, tell me he’s okay.”
“Mr. Black is now serving a life sentence in Azkaban for these murders.” Mr. Black is now serving a life sentence in Azkaban. Mr. Black. Responsible for the murders. James, Lily… Peter. Gone. Sirius. Murderer?
“No. No, no, no, no… You… There must be a mistake. Sirius Black would never-”
Hogwarts was huge – far larger than anything Remus Lupin could have ever imagined. A castle; the largest building he had ever seen was a townhouse, and here he was, inside of a castle. Of all the moving staircases and secret rooms, what really amazed him were the ceilings: those mile-high ceilings. He dreamed of flying, of reaching the sky. Nothing would be able to contain him, no cage too strong, no ropes too tight. He would spread his wings and feel the air move through his feathers. One day, he would break free. And on that first night, when the hat pronounced him Gryffindor, after all those years of being contained, of being controlled, he was recognized as the person he was and not the evil that inhabited him. For just a little while, he was freed from the burden that followed his every step. A new moon.
Evening fell into night as the first-year Gryffindors were lead to the dorm halls. Taking a separate route from the females, the male prefect, a lofty boy with dark skin and well groomed hair, made conversation with the crowd of eleven year olds that followed him. His clothes were freshly pressed and he sported a maroon and gold tie perfectly tied around his neck. The fifth year towered over Remus, who, at the time, was very below-average for his age at a diminutive 124 centimeters in stature.
Remus rubbed at his hair, which was once combed down neatly with pomade, but had now returned to its natural curled state. “Well, here you are,” the prefect boy announced. “I assume Missus McGonagall has informed you of your room assignments for the year. If you have any problems, don’t be afraid to come to me; I’m rooming just down the hall. I look forward to being your prefect this year.”
The three boys that accompanied Remus in his dormitory spread themselves out in a circle, a pile of sweets and types of crisps in the center of them (of which they had bought an abundance of from the trolley on the Hogwarts Express). They seemingly ignored the boy with the scar-covered face who sat in silence as he unpacked the few belongings he had brought with him. Remus was never fond of making friends; he deemed himself unworthy of companionship. Who would like someone so ugly? So monstrous. “You fold your socks?” a voice, slightly lower-pitched in comparison to his own, laughed.
Remus’ face flushed like a cherry, his pale scars becoming even more prominent than usual, as he turned on his bottom precisely 180 degrees, keeping his knees tucked tightly up in his arms and his feet lifted a few centimeters off the ground. “I like to keep organized,” he mumbled in embarrassment, unable to bring his eyes to look at his new dormmate.
“Care to join us?”
“Um,” Remus licked his chapped lips, crawling to the center of the room.
“Nice scars,” a second boy chimed in.
“Yeah, they’re badass.”
“He would never…” Sirius Black. His first friend. A murderer? The world was falling on his shoulders. Sirius Black overcame a world of evil and corruption, despite being brought up by a family built on hatred. Sirius Black, the boy who loved, who overcame, who cared. Sirius Black. Murderer? That was not Sirius Black. Sirius Black was flawed. No matter how hard he tried to be perfect. But he was perfect to Remus. And really, nothing else mattered.
“We have the report here if you wish to hear it.”
“Black was the only one who knew that Peter Pettigrew was the Potter’s Secret Keeper.” He said he was the secret keeper. He lied. Sirius Black. The man who lied. “There are several eyewitness reports vowing that they watched Sirius murder Peter Pettigrew. Those eyewitnesses reported Pettigrew shouting that Black was trying to kill him like he had the Potters. Eleven muggles were slaughtered in the blast and Pettigrew’s finger was found on the scene. Black has no Alibi, and none of the evidence supports his claim to innocence…”
“Thank you for telling me, sir… I have an Alibi. I will give you the names of the people I was with. Feel free contact them. I did not coordinate with the… murderer… Sirius Black.”
The Secret History: classical sculpture, messy paints, museums,
umbrellas blown upside-down from walking in the wind, long midnight
drives, stoplights in the middle of nowhere, handwritten letters, books
in translation, running away and away and away again until you find the
place you know is yours, wide windows, reciting poetry from memory,
coats with pockets and cigarette afternoons, convertibles in the rain,
the top floors of university libraries, needing to know
Doctor Who (RTD Era): space, the colors pink and gold and
blue and brown, stargazing and memorizing the names of the stars, historical
fiction novels, that feeling you get when you come back home after a
long adventure, maps and atlases, dancing at two a.m., missing your best
friend, remembering just how big the universe is, long road trips, exotic foods, are we there yet’s,
blankets in the backs of pick-up trucks, sappy chick flicks and hand
holding, shoes with their soles worn down, cups of tea gone cold,
promising forever and meaning it
Harry Potter: winter scarves, believing in magic,
clandestine meetings, not being old enough to do all the things you
want, castles with secrets, wide staircases, the forest at night, making
blanket forts with your best friends, dreaming about flying, skipping
class to go ice skating on the lake, the frost on window-panes, seeing
things out of the corner of your eye, pinky-swears, mugs of hot
chocolate that keep your hands warm, leather-bound books on mythology,
The Song of Achilles: fig trees and laurel crowns, the
colors white and gold and red, foot races, freckles, the vastness of
the ocean, ships with billowing cream-colored sales, camping at the
beach and waking up just in time for the sunrise, thousands of tiny
flowers, being scared of the future but not scared enough to let go of
the things you love, bonfires, acoustic guitars, cuddles and eskimo
kisses, going through old journals, the end of summer when you don’t
want to say goodbye, saying goodbye
The Lord of the Rings: potted plants, coffee in the
mornings, the view from the tops of mountains, great rivers that seem to
run forever, open spaces, walking boots, new cities and old maps, the
sunlight glittering in the trees at dawn, exploration, rediscovering
long-lost friends, those moments when the earth feels so solid beneath
your feet, cranberry scones, UPS packages delivered to the wrong door,
the English countryside, the glint of gold in the sun, old songs played
on a Celtic whistle, not being able to go back to exactly the way things
were, not being alone
Hamlet: mirrors cracked down the middle, premonitions,
your shadow under the streetlights, empty cavernous halls, flowers on
the surface of lakes, books with the words all jumbled together, wanting
to escape, sitting in the back row at the theater, those times when you
feel like you’re being followed, bare feet on cold tiles, crying
quietly by yourself, soft tree branches shaking, the absolute silence of
midnight, cemeteries, suit cases, love letters, hiding in your room
when strangers visit, praying to whoever will listen
The Picture of Dorian Grey: carnations, the colors ivory
and gold, fancy clothes, portraits with crumbling paint,
heavy velvet curtains closing after an orchestral performance, people
chattering over a meal, being scared to die, seeing your upside-down
reflection on the back of a spoon, pearl necklaces, moodiness, the
opera, that pang of something you first felt when you turned
twenty, finishing a book and not being able to read another one just
yet, stage lights, the concept of eternity, missing the last train home
The Winchester Mystery House, located in San Jose, California, is said to be one of the most mysterious, and haunted, houses in the whole world. This beautiful seven story mansion was the home of Sarah Winchester, the widow of the man who invented the Winchester rifle. She built this bizarre house when her husband passed away to house not only herself but also the spirits of the many men and women that were killed by her husband’s invention. The house consists of secret passageways, staircases that lead to nowhere, and windows overlooking other rooms. It’s speculated that these oddities were created to accommodate the ghostly characters that apparently still haunt the mansion.
They’d been trying to one-up each other, his parents, as to who was more mischievous and would therefore take credit for the first spot of trouble Harry would surely get into. He, Harry, didn’t have any intention of getting into trouble—not in his first week, anyway—but between Mum’s “smart mouth” and Dad’s “talent for trouble” it seemed he might not have much choice in the matter.
“Oi, Harry,” Mum said, grabbing his attention from across the table. “I got into a fair bit of mischief in my Hogwarts days too, you know.”
“Nothing compared to us, though, Evans,” Padfoot said, so sure of himself
that Harry didn’t believe anyone would dare contradict him. Except Mum. Uncle
Sirius always sounded sure of
himself, though, and he always called Harry’s Mum ‘Evans’ when he wanted to get
“I didn’t have as many detentionsas
you lot, true,” Mum said, sipping her drink, which Harry was definitely not allowed to sample, “but that only
means I was intelligent enough to escape detection.”
Uncle Remus snorted and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “February,
A moment of collective silence, and then his father and uncles burst into
laughter. Uncle Pete had tears streaming down his face, and Moony pounded the
table with his fist. Padfoot nearly fell backwards off his chair.
He like he’d traveled in a Police Box through a weird time-space rift,
and everything was just a little bit…off.
They—he, his parents, and his uncles—were gathered ’round the Potters’ kitchen
table eating Harry’s going away cake with forks, straight from the pan. Crumbs
and bottles littered the table; he’d been allowed three Butterbeers. Mum had sent to bed like usual, along with his
sisters, but his Dad had let him come back down, once they were asleep.
He’d been allowed to
stay up so late, it was nearly tomorrow.
All because he was going to Hogwarts in less than twelve hours.
“That was one incident, thank
you very much, Mister Lupin.” She sounded as prim as Aunt Petunia, but saying
as much might get him sent to bed.
James looked at Harry gravely. “You’ll be shocked to know, Mate, that your
deviant mother served eight detentions in her sixth year for attempting putting
fireworks in Greenhouse Four. Nearly cost her her swotty Prefect’s badge.”
“Your dad is telling gross, exaggerated lies, Harry, and he’s neglecting
to mention that he the one who landed us knee deep in manure, quite unable to
escape.” She grinned at Harry’s dad. “You served those eight detentions right
alongside me, no?”
“I did indeed. And that’s where
you fell in love with me, isn’t it?” Dad replied, a wide, lazy grin splitting
Harry was grateful for his Uncles’ presence and the table, because that
grin usually preceded a snog.
“Ah yes,” she said wistfully, “scrubbing bedpans. Terribly romantic.”
“Not that,” his father said,
casting a meaningful look at her, “the other
“What other thing?” Harry asked
loudly, but his mother turned read, and ignored his question.
“Well, I suppose I did fall in love with you then,” she said, and looked
around the table. “What about Halloween, then, gentlemen. Seventh year? You’ve
got to admit that was impressive, no?”
They did this sometimes—his parents and uncles—the five of them talking
at once, or going back and forth faster than Dudley’s computer game. Harry hardly
knew what they were going on about, but did his best to keep up, even if it was
impossible to get a word in edgewise.
“That—that was you?” Wormy
His mum nodded proudly, as if she were showing off a rare batch of
biscuits that hadn’t got the bottoms burnt.
The Marauders—his uncles, and father—stared at each other in stunned
silence, recalling whatever it was that had happened on Halloween, seventh
year, before starting another round of laughter, even louder than before.
Harry took advantage of their distraction and fetched another Butterbeer.
“That was impressive,” Dad
admitted, once they’d calmed down, “but if it’s a matter of being impressive, the
Map takes all.”
Mum’s forehead wrinkled. “All right,” she conceded, “the Map was impressive.”
“What map?” Harry asked. The table erupted around him.
“What Map?” Wormy said,
disbelieving, “‘What Map?’ he asks.
Dad groaned, “I am a failure as
a parent. I have utterly failed you, Mate.”
Moony and Mum both asked, “We’ve never told you?”
Padfoot muttered “sodding fuck” under his breath, but Harry still heard
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Prongs, calling yourself a
Marauder,” Uncle Pete said.
Indignation swelled in Harry on his father’s behalf—impugning a
Marauder’s honor was grounds for a duel. But when Harry looked to his dad, to
offer his sympathy, and to offer his services as a second, now he had a wand,
he was hunched over, his head hung in shame.
“Your father and his mates, Harry,” Mum began, but a chorus of objections
cut her off.
“The map was a Marauder
endeavor, Evans,” Uncle Sirius said, “and a Marauder legacy, and this is a Marauder
disgrace.” He scowled at Dad. “Let Prongs fix it.”
Mum rolled her eyes, but tipped her bottle at Dad.
Dad’s countenance changed immediately as he switched to storyteller
mode—Harry’s favorite version of his father. His father leaned back in his
chair, relaxing, and draped an arm over the back of Harry’s; the shameful grimace
was gone, replaced with another easy grin. Harry settled in for what was sure
to be a good story.
“The Marauder’s Map, Harry, Mate, my son, Mini-Marauder-In-Training, was the
second-greatest achievement of our school days, and the glory of sixth year—”
If you still want to do the pairing prompt thing could you do either 57. "Teach me to fight" or 72. “I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it"? Or whatever you want, I just love your writing
i’m laughing because i’m still working on a (currently) 38,000 word fic that essentially boils down to “teach me to fight” so i’ll do the second prompt instead! you didn’t specify a pairing but i’ll assume exr!
this, uh, turned out way longer than i think it was supposed to.