ugh harry why

A Harry Potter who gets addicted to dreamless sleep potion
A Harry Potter who sometimes can’t get out of bed in the morning, who doesn’t see the point in his life anymore because ever since he was 11 he only ever saw Voldemort as his future
A Harry Potter who looks at the faces of other mourners and blames himself for not getting it done quicker
A Harry Potter who for once gets looked after by his friends who comfort him when he goes through withdrawal symptoms, who comforts him when he has the worst nightmares he’s ever had, who pause everything to look after each other
A Harry Potter who still has a bag packed and is ready to run because he’s sure this isn’t the end, because he’s sure that Voldemort will come back and ruin everything again
A Harry Potter who can’t sleep without the sound of Ron’s snoring or Hermione’s breathing
A golden trio who sleep in Mrs Weasleys front room for months after everything because they feel unsafe without the others there
A Harry Potter who finds it incredibly hard to deal with the war and its only his family that can help him, even if it is just to hold him whilst he cries
A Harry Potter who is broken and scared and doesn’t understand the future but for the first time in his life is surrounded by people that will help him

Good Morning

A large estate, with red and white roses blooming in the front garden. It’s a large house, but some how it’s modest. It’s homey. The chimney expels white smoke into the crisp morning air.
Lily Potter stands in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. Her stomach is almost about to pop, the new baby close to coming into the world. James wonders down the stairs, blurry eyed as he sits on on the kitchen bench, kissing his wife on the forehead.
“Morning Evans.”
“Its Potter now, James.” This was how they greeted each other every morning.
“Padfoot owled me last night, I forgot to mention. He wants to come over for breakfast? We can invite Moony and Worms as well?” James asked.
“I assume they’ll be over in ten minutes, no matter what I say.” Lily smiled. “ Quickly floo them and tell them it’s a PJ morning. No proper clothes.”
James grinned and went to the fire place.
It was a wonderful morning.

Harry can see it so perfectly in his mind. His mother, no makeup and hair up in a bun from sleeping. His dad the same, his hair somehow defying the laws of physics.
He can smell the pancakes cooking, Remus laughing with Lily as she flipped them. James, Sirius and Peter having an in depth conversation about the recent Qudditch match. He can smell morning breath and flowers and the smell of morning air.
He can see it as he stands in the ruins of the Potter estate, the one his family lived in for generations.

It was a good morning.

Sirius, angry and alone in a cave, reads his latest letter from Harry in utter confusion. They put him in the Triwizard Tournament? Is Dumbledore trying to kill him?

It’s not until he receives the next day’s Daily Prophet, though, that the injustice of the situation really dawns on him, and he throws the heaviest thing he owns - Buckbeak’s water dish - against the cave wall with a feral scream. Then, in a frenzied and ironic tone, he begins to reason through it, “Well, the goddamned CUP said so, so of course we should stick a FOURTEEN YEAR OLD in a competition with DRAGONS AND GIANTS AND wizards capable of working with the man who KILLED HIS PARENTS. Great LOGIC, Dumbledore, you FUCK.”  

It is not the first time that Sirius wishes he had a place of authority in Harry’s life, but it is the most painful. He was supposed to have been responsible for this little life, but the world had taken that from him. 

The last thing Sirius says aloud that day, to a disinterested Buckbeak, is, “James and Lily would never have let this happen.” 


“Did I mention I’m resigning?”

“You’re joking, Perce!” shouted Fred, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.

“You actually are joking, Perce…I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were - “

The air exploded. We had been grouped together, Harry Ron, Fred, Percy and me, the two Death Eaters at our feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured: and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily, at bay, the world was rent apart.

I screamed as we were all thrown around the corridor. Stone, mortar, and othe wreckage flew through the air, clipping us, landing around us. I could feel my arm searing where it felt like I’d been cut. Cold air must have meant the wall was blown out from around us.

There was a cry that sent a chill down my spine. I staggered to my feet and saw Harry looking past me. I turned my head and saw the three red-heads lying on the ground near the hole in the wall. I felt Harry grab my hand and we climbed over the debris.

“No - no - no!” someone was shouting. “No! Fred! No!”

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Chp. 1: Broken.

Alexander Lightwood had been drunk. Alec Lightwood, who was always the sensible, protective, brotherly figure, threw himself into endless alcohol for the first time in his life. 

It was all after a long tiring day of demon hunting with Isabelle and Jace, two days after Magnus had broken up with him, that Alec stated he wanted to have a walk alone before going back to the institute. He just wanted to be alone. Alone with the thought of Magnus, even if it hurt. A lot.

Walking along the cold, dusty, gray colored pavement, Alec frowned and kicked at the sight of jagged rocks in front of him, everything seemed to have pissed him off today. The weather was pretty unpleasant as the broadcast had said so, seemingly echoing the sadness of that break up. It was the moment that he realized he was just one building block away from Magnus’ apartment. Why the hell was he here? Unwittingly walked the same path route that had been burnt into his mind, toward somewhere he was welcomed before.

The sky was gloomy with the moon barely visible, the temperature remained low and the cold breeze of wind flew across the empty street. Alec couldn’t help but placed one of his hand into his jeans’ pocket, while another hand clutched his Shadowhunter gear tightly. As if that could be any warmer. It again reminded him how warm Magnus was. He was always warm.

Even in the summer, Alec kept his baggy sweaters on. He always had a problem with cold.

‘I’m perfectly fine with the cold, I didn’t need to turn on the heater, even in the winter.’

‘You didn’t have to-’

'But I wanted you to be comfortable in here, that’s more important to me.’
Alec still remembered Magnus’ tender smile when he said this, and he couldn’t help but curled up the corner of his mouth sweetly.

Alec missed how those strong arms used to wrap around his body. He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding onto.

The Shadowhunter couldn’t stop thinking about Magnus, no matter how hard he tried to forget. It was then the thought of forgetting got him to the bar, and he tried out drinking heavy alcohol for the first time of his life. How convenient. Alec almost forgot the Downworlder bar located a block away from Magnus’ apartment, and he pushed past the door into the pit of darkness without a second thought.