Instead of “have a nice day,” I think I’ll start saying “have the day you deserve.” Ya know, let karma sort that shit out
moodboard → lily evans
“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”
Trace of Mischiefs: The Story of the Marauders coming to you 11.25.16
Gryffindors are bright mornings, leaves dripping in gold. They’re the trailblazers, unafraid of the road ahead. They’re laughing so loud your stomach hurts, the knowledge that your friends are right behind you wherever you go. They’re ice skating with someone you love, clinging on to them for dear life. They’re make-believe games with quests and dragons and swords pointing at the sky. They’re rosy cheeks, winter winds and freezing hands. They’re the adrenaline when a plane takes off, the drop at the top of a rollercoaster. They’re delighted screams and freedom, the wind through your hair. They’re panting, pillow fights, feathers bursting into the air. They’re finger painting and festivals and burning sunsets. They’re the burn in your lung after chasing something you’ll never be able to catch.
Hufflepuffs are honey and flowers and the soft autumn sun. They’re knitted jumpers and scarves and soft tan boots. They’re fresh air and nature, the sound of birds singing. They’re rolling down a hill in the spring, grass stains on your knees, daisy chains in your hair. They’re waving at someone across a crowded room, bright smiles and laughter. They’re coming home after a long day and seeing your family. They’re playing fetch with your dog, your cat weaving between your feet. They’re fluffy socks and song birds and kraft notebooks with hand drawn patterns. They’re throw cushions on a bed, a tiny cottage surrounded by wilderness. They’re the ground beneath your feet, the air that you breathe. They’re the light you chase when you thought you’d never see the morning.
Ravenclaws are leather bound books and overstocked libraries. They’re waking up at two am to google that thing that’s bugging you. They’re journals with half the words crossed out, scribbles and ink stains and missing pages. They’re stretching when you’ve been hunched over all day, rolling off the edge of a bed, burrowing in blankets. They’re torch light and held breaths and reverent whispers. They’re the entire night sky and everything beyond it; the embodiment of the universe. They’re desperate searches and hidden castles and ghost stories by firelight. They’re the mystery of a dark corridor, the force of a whirlwind. They’re the excitement of discovery, the rustle of crunched up paper. They’re the last whisper before you fall asleep.
Slytherins are foggy hillsides and picturesque landscapes. They’re hand written love notes and subtle glances across a classroom. They’re black boots, long coats, buttons done up to the top. They’re tipping your head back to breathe the air, kicking up stones on a deserted path. They’re mirrored lakes, everything below the surface. They’re the confidence to get something right, the feel of magic in your fingertips. They’re holding your breath underwater, pretending to be a mermaid when you swim. They’re finding that one song that makes you want to create a storm. They’re the chill in the breeze, the force in the tide. They’re enchanted forests and lingering glances and long drives. They’re the lightning and the thunder and everything in between.
when all you want is for your favorite character to be happy but all they get to be is dead
prettyboysintheimpala
or worse
expelled
You musn't have to make them want you. They must want you themselves.
Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur
so i was thinking.....
you know how when harry sees james, lily, remus and sirius w/ the resurrection stone? and remus & sirius look “younger than he’s ever seen them,” but lily & james are described to be wearing the clothes that they died in?
is JKR trying to imply that enough of remus & sirius died the day james & lily died that when they came “back” they were their 21 year old selves?
like, although remus & sirius lived, it could be argued that what made them them died on october 31st, 1981.
i mean, sirius lost james and lily, who were betrayed by peter and was sentenced to life in azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit with the knowledge that: a) peter had gone free and b) remus, his only remaining living friend, thought he was the reason james and lily (and “peter”) were dead and he has to live with that for TWELVE YEARS. by the end of that, he’s not really sirius anymore.
and remus, poor sweet remus, he thinks that james, lily and peter have been killed, murdered, because of sirius who is supposed to be their best friend and who he loved so much and he went from having an amazing group of friends who loved him and supported him when he thought that no one ever would to nothing in one night, and he lived for twelve years alone. twelve years of full moons alone, always remembering what used to be and believing sirius was the one who ruined it.
so, i think it could be argued that, by the end of the twelve years, remus wasn’t really remus anymore either
so essentially, remus, sirius, james and lily “died” in 1981
in another life (we could have had it all)
because this month wasn’t depressing enough yet. the lawyer/judge au none of you asked for
FFN | AO3
They meet in law school. Criminal law, senior year, to be precise. Professor McGonagall drones on and on about mens rea and strict liability and because it is an eight a.m. class on a Monday, most students are half-asleep. Potter’s not, of course. He loves it.
“And the purpose of diminished capacity is… Potter?”
“To negate mens rea.” McGonagall nods, and Lily swears she can see the corners of her mouth twitching.
The months go by. Eventually, because it is only natural, the two of them fall in love, and they fall hard. It’s the kind of love that lasts for better or for worse, forever. Lily’s never believed in soulmates, (Potter does, of course,) but, at the risk of sounding cliché, it feels like the familiar tug in her heartstrings was meant to be.
They could have had it all, but in the end, they both choose their careers.
It’s a mess, and it hurts more than anything, even more than the time Lily was fifteen and her sister went missing, only to wind up in the hospital a few days later. Potter doesn’t feel like a sibling, he feels like a part of her. It feels like her heart is being torn in two and he’s taking one half with him.
Neither of them wants it, but it’s how it has to be.
(Four years later)
It’s nine in the morning when she steps foot inside the courtroom. She walks to the bench, sits down, and fumbles with a loose thread in her robes. People start coming in, defense attorneys and witnesses and the jury and him.
She still sees him from time to time, out of the corner of her eye after a long case, in the back of her mind when she’s trying to fall asleep. He’s turned into a brilliant lawyer, like she always knew he would. She stayed in law school, studying to become a judge.
When the clock ticks half-past-nine, he runs his hand through his hair - she’s glad to see that hasn’t changed - and stands up. Today isn’t about James Potter and law school reunions; it’s about Tom Riddle and his organ trafficking business. The british government has been after Riddle for years now, and Lily prays Potter doesn’t muck it up. Riddle’s guilty, she’s sure of it, and yet she can’t do anything if the prosecutor doesn’t do a good enough job.
“Good morning. My name is James Potter and I am the prosecutor in this case.” His voice is deep - deeper than she remembers - and his face is set in a serious expression, one she hasn’t seen him wearing since his father’s passing.
The trial passes in a blur, and even though his closing statement ended with “and in conclusion, may I say that black robe is very slimming on you, Your Honour,” she can’t help but feel somewhat foolish.
She shouldn’t have been so on the edge about his performance. He nailed it, of course. And now, Riddle’s in jail. Fucking finally.
When she reaches her office, he’s beat her to it, undoubtedly waiting for her. Something is pulling the two of them together, time after time, and she doesn’t know what it is. It can’t possibly be fate, (because there is no way fate can be this cruel.)
“Potter.”
“Evans,” he nods, fully aware of the fact that they can only drop the pretence once she shuts the door. And so, she does. “Long time no see, eh?”
“I know. It’s been the most peaceful month I’ve had ever since I met you.” He clutches at his chest, and she smirks.
“Ouch.”
“You did wonderful back there. I particularly liked your closing statement.”
“Well, you know me.” She does, even though he’s different now. Grown up. Life isn’t his playground anymore, it’s serious. His posture is straighter, his eyes are sharper. But not everything has changed. His smile is still the same, and the dimple on his left cheek is still there. They are both still head over heels in love with each other, but Lily knew that was never going to change.
Her gaze drops to the floor, and she asks, “do you remember-”
“Of course I do,” he finishes. “Criminal law. Your hair was in a braid.”
She steps closer and their foreheads touch.
“I’m sorry, James,” she whispers.
“It’s not your fault.”
“If it got out, Riddle’s lawyer could easily convince the jury of favouritism. We’ve been after this for so long-”
“I know.”
There’s silence, but it feels like their hearts are in deep conversation with each other. Beat, beat, beat.
“I love you, you know,” she says, because it’s true, because it is the only thing she knows to be true.
"I’ll always love you.”
His lips touch her temple, and he leaves, under the promise of someday, somehow.
