lily // potter

There's a heartbeat under my floorboards / Charging me guilty and I don't know what for / There's a black bird over my door singing nevermore / widow. mother. lily.

[hollowedlilies]

unbearablyblack‌:

“It’s not that simple,” Sirius presses, shaking their head. They’re fighting the urge to get angry, their hands, apart from Lily’s now, clenched into fists in their lap. Their nails dig into their palms, painfully so, and yet they don’t loosen their grip. They don’t want to argue with her, especially not about this, but they knew she wouldn’t understand. If her words aren’t enough of a giveaway already, the look on her face and the tone of her voice do the trick. Terrorists. They suppose she’s right, but that doesn’t make the word sting any less. They wince at it, like a slap in the face.

All their life, they were conditioned to believe that blood was thicker than water. Even with their love for their friends– they would do anything for them, even before all this– Sirius believed it to be true. Above all else, they were a Black, the Black, the once-upon-a-time heir to an ancient line of witches and wizards. 

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. That’s what they were. That’s what Sirius was, could have been. They’ve lied awake many nights since James died thinking about how easily they might’ve been on the other side of the war, fighting alongside their brother and cousins. Perhaps if they hadn’t met James, standing in line for the Sorting Hat thirteen years ago. Perhaps if they’d been Sorted into Slytherin, like the rest of their family. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. They’ve run a thousand likely scenarios in their head. It scares them how easily one little trick of fate could’ve made them someone else entirely.

Sirius is realizing only just now how much they and Lily don’t know about one another. Then, immediately after: how much she’d hate them if she did.

Is it vengeance? Absolutely. James was ripped from them, Sirius and Harry and Lily all at once, unfairly and far too soon. But it’s much more than that, too. Fighting this war is redemption, for not being there to protect their friends, their own twisted way of asking James for forgiveness, to assuage their guilt, to protect Lily and Remus and Harry and everyone else left in Godric’s Hollow from meeting the same fate. Maybe, after all that, they’ll feel whole again.

“None of it is.” Sirius has already admitted they were wrong. If they could tell Lily whatever she wanted to hear, they would, but they don’t know what that is. “I wish I had such clear an idea of right and wrong as you did,” they say instead, uncurling their fists, “but I didn’t. I’m sure whatever it is you grew up learning, I was taught the opposite.” They sigh heavily, their shoulders slumped, looking like a defeated dog. “I don’t know what to say, Lily. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’m trying my best here.”

The poetic thing: to soften, to stave off the argument and reclaim their hands in hers, to accept the effort and forgive the mistakes. That’s what might happen if this were a book, or if Lily were someone else, James perhaps. Lily is not soft. She used to want to be.

But she’s like Petunia: flinty, with sandpaper where a soft palate should be. She rises to anger too easily; motherhood and grief may have dampened her reaction time, but the reaction itself has not changed.

By now, James would have stepped in. Clarified for her what Sirius was saying, put it in terms that made sense for her, a Muggleborn with no concept of being raised in a pureblood supremacist household. To Lily, it is like hearing my parents are racist, and even after I learned that was wrong I chose not to stand up to them for you. It’s like hearing Mudblood from your best friend’s mouth.

And she’d turned her back on Severus then, and it’s only James’ ghost at her shoulder keeping her from doing it to Sirius now.

“I know you’re trying,” she says, and she’s trying too, trying to keep her voice gentler than she feels. She’s failing and her throat hurts from the tension. “Can we--can we keep talking about this when you get back?” There, something: something for them to hold onto. Something for them to come back for.

[hollowedlilies]

flongbottomed‌:

Frank isn’t planning on answering the door. Sure, he hears the jarring sound of knuckles against wood, but he’s fairly certain it’s either Charity or Amos, so why bother? The fact is they come for Alice. If Frank sounds bitter, it’s accidental—truly, he’s grateful for what they provide even if he doesn’t voice it. His wife is listless and lonely; he notices, he swears, and more importantly he’s working hard on reconciling her grief, but at the current moment that requires more than he can give. Even after all this time and all this effort, he’s still where he was back in November: at a loss for words, answers, and any feeling except righteous indignation. 

With nothing left to do, he gradually begins to recede back into his study, but he realizes Alice has slipped away for the day, so whoever it is will have to settle for him. When he opens the door he’s shocked to discover that his earlier prediction is incorrect; it’s neither Charity nor Amos. Instead, the face belongs to someone that’s not quite a friend but far from a foe: Lily. 

There’s a dull pang in his heart as his mind automatically conjures up James, unable to disassociate him from her. The only real knowledge he has of Lily arises from James so it’s biased, colored by the boastful descriptions and high praises he divulged during arduous sessions when it seemed as if they had all the time in the world. Frank had trained him and perhaps in an indirect way thus contributed to his death. Whatever residual guilt he feels lingering compels him to open the door wider to let her in. He can’t recall the last time he spoke to her—likely, it was at the funeral.

“What can I do for you?” He asks, aiming to avoid the monotony of pleasantries. He finds that he’s losing patience with each glib encounter and though he knows he should act better, Frank can’t bring himself to care at this moment.

She feels worse and better, somehow simultaneously, when the door finally opens and it’s Frank staring down at her. At least the door is open; at least it is Frank and not Alice; at least she is forced to continue with her ill-conceived idea and cannot back down. The moment of decision is often the hardest, and the time that it cannot be reversed the worst to endure.

Lily has never had problems following through with her decisions. There’s never been a point to being unsure, once her mind is made: she has always considered her options, debated pros and cons, and then carried on forward. What is the point, after all, of making a decision if one does not intend to enact it? What purpose is there to hemming and hawing, what joy is there in wishing for uncertainty? Lily has never lasted long in that state, no: she is not a woman of the in-betweens.

Except she is, against her better judgment, against everything she’s ever wanted for herself: she’s spent her whole life making decisions and now she is standing in a threshold, forced to implement decisions she’s made that she doubts. Lily Evans Potter does not, as a rule, doubt herself. Except she does.

Merlin, she’s thankful that he skips the pleasantries, the worst part of the conversation. The part she can barely stomach these days. If she can get through the unnecessary introductions, she rarely has the ability to endure much more. It’s easier this way: push to the meat of it, the why-are-you-here, the justifications for existing in his space.

“I want to help you,” she says, feeling calmer having spoken it, more confident than anything she’s said or done since James’ death. “What you’re doing. I want to help.” Avenge your son. Find his killer. Find something like closure. Make progress, accomplish something, work towards a goal. We all need that, don’t we? We need a purpose. I need this to be mine.

[hollowedlilies]

rcmus‌:

He nearly laughs, a bit, at her suggestions of gardening and painting. Hobbies. It’s been so long since he had the space to think about luxuries like hobbies. He doesn’t even know what he likes to do anymore, has never been the type to see himself sitting around and knitting exactly. The things he liked as a boy – reading muggle novels and playing pranks with his friends and watching quidditch on the lawn – they seem so distant, far-away things, pieces of a life long left behind. The things he liked as a man – cigarettes and drinks at the pub and sex with Sirius, patchworked around a life already lived at war… even those feel like luxuries now he can hardly afford. 

He opens his mouth, though, at the mention of Amos– the man’s name a surprise in her voice, when he’d just been hearing it in his own, in his head. He’d already apologized for the bit with the sugar, when she’d been sitting at the table drinking plain tea when he finally came back inside. Maybe she’s right: maybe he ought to spend time with new people, start to fill the holes in his life with newer things. He’s been, a bit– tea with Xeno, working with Pandora, night-time conversations with Charity and Arabella. Maybe Amos couldn’t hurt anything.

Harry plops down into his lap, suddenly, tiny fingers fumbling to put another puzzle piece into place, his mess of curly hair brushing the underside of Remus’ chin. Lily’s hair, but cut short and still baby-soft. Lily’s hair atop an expression of concentration that he’s seen on James’ face a thousand times as they studied for OWLs or NEWTs late into the night by the firelight of the Gryffindor common room. He rests a hand on Harry’s back, steadying him in place as he shifts a little to sit more comfortably on the floor.

     ‘What, you think I ought to go round the village gardening with Amos Diggory?’

He says it with a smile, like it’s a bit of a joke. He doesn’t say: gardening’s not exactly my style, but you’re not wrong about the company. He doesn’t say: then who will be here to look after you?

How many times have they completed this puzzle? Twelve or thirteen, likely; she sees it in her sleep, when she closes her eyes. Sometimes she sees James, and sometimes Harry, and, rarely, both. Her boys. She used to have more of them. It used to be four. Now she is down, it feels, to two.

Sirius is still there, in physicality but little else. He doesn’t feel like he’s one of hers anymore. She hates it, the sudden, embarrassing knowledge that she has placed more value in her friendship with Remus than Sirius. Lily always expected them to be a couple, never to have to place weight on one over the other. She cringes to wonder what James would think of her. This isn’t what I wanted, she pleads with his memory, his ghost in her mind. Please don’t hate me for it.

If she held up photos of her Harry to James’ baby pictures, she thinks, it would be impossible not to determine the resemblance. But he has her eyes, she thinks desperately. Her hair. Is it enough, she wonders, to help her through the rest of his life? The rest of hers? Will she ever stop seeing James in him?

She reaches one hand up, touching the back of her head, imagining she could feel James’ lips there, the way she used to whenever he felt the need to comfort her. Lily is certain it is a figment of her imagination. You’re in too deep, Evans. Get your mind out of the past.

Harry looks up at her--smiling, so happy, so stable--and though Lily has never been particularly religious, she’s sent a quick prayer Heavenward before she thinks too much about it.

Remus smiles a little too quick. Maybe there’s something more to him and Amos than she originally thought. It seems quick to develop a crush, after the breakup, but maybe he’s not aware, yet, of his budding affection. All she can trust, right now, is this: Remus is smiling, and when she searches his smile, it feels brighter than any other smile she’s seen from him since James’ death.

“Drinking tea with him made you happy,” she points out, not quite matching his tone for jest. “There’s so little joy in the world these days. Take the happiness you can find, Remus, and if you discover a sudden fondness for gardening along the way--well, stranger things have happened, and they usually do.”

It’s the closest to lighthearted she can manage in her current state. It’s the only way she can think to tell him be selfish, for once in your damn life. Put yourself first.

[artseptimus-deactivated20200724]

Playdate Relief || Lily

[hollowedlilies]

artseptimus‌:

Watching Harry lead Fred, George, and Ron off, Art handed Percy and Char two little reading packs he’d drawn the night before. It was difficult having such an age variety and entertaining them all whilst giving them enough material to learn and develop. Molly sat between his ears guiding him through thought, he knew that he couldn’t forget school and act like it was normal to stay in a different house than their home. And so they all bustled in, distractions equally afoot and Art’s face displaying his tiredness, but he was content that his children were happy for now. 

“Morning Lil, how’re you?” His reply bright was the comfort of signing with someone other than the boys for the first time in the days since he had seen her last. She really had done wonders with her own signing, Pandora and he being the prime candidates to learn from and practise with. Arthur was always more than happy to continue to grow those that he could easily communicate with him. 

Her mention of tea had him smiling and nodding. “Yes please.” He offered verbally, as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it up. As he stepped into the cottage, he rolled up his sleeves slightly and stood by her, reach out to touch her arm as he often did. It was weird to not be in contact with everyone as they both had been so used to. 

“How’s the manor holding up?” He signed just slower than average speed, sure to add the accompanying mouthings so that she could easily read the sarcasm he was inferring. 

She couldn’t call herself close to Arthur, before they moved so close together. The Potters and the Weasleys were friends, in the general sense, the way families are friends as a unit. James had known them both--related to them, she heard once, but nobody ever pulled out a family tree to demonstrate the connection--she’d just accepted that it was a normal thing for pureblood wizards, to be related in vague ways and not bother to define it, to accept these people as family and thus inevitable friends. She had such little experience with quote-unquote pureblood families. Maybe it was just a James thing, this unending love for everyone, the willingness--eagerness--to accept everyone as an extension of his family. She loved that in him. (A part of her mind interrupts: you used to love that in him.)

She’s close to Arthur now. It had been Molly, first, the one brought in when Lily was curled up crying in a dark bedroom, wracked with guilt while James held their infant son in the other room, unable to convince her to take him in her arms. Molly who’d slid into the bed with her, talked to her, while Marlene paced by the door, while Arthur talked James down. (She’d heard James cry, more than once, heard Arthur’s voice, taking the baby for an hour, letting James breathe. She hadn’t been able to fix herself even when filled with the guilt knowing what was happening on the other side of the door.)

Everyone in her memories is gone, now. Except Arthur. Arthur’s still here, and they have a comfortable familiarity, almost like what she has with Remus but without the years of friendship built up. It’s the shared understanding of parents abruptly alone, supporting each other because they are all there is, because their children depend on them, because it’s the only way they can ever feel hopeful. Lily relaxes slightly when Arthur’s hand lands on her arm, instinctively reaching to give it a gentle squeeze before she departs for the kitchen (not far--the living room is still visible from here, a requirement for a parent with a mobile child).

They take their tea the same at this hour, milk and some sugar but not too much, so it’s easy for her to duplicate the recipe and return with two cups quickly. “Still standing,” she replies, rolling her eyes a bit heavenward. “For now. How is everything with your lot?” That’s what the Weasleys were, in her mind: a lot of them, a crowd, a clan. A unit. Children without a mother, just as she was a wife without a husband, the Longbottoms were parents without a child. Every puzzle, here, was missing a piece.

[artseptimus-deactivated20200724]

Playdate Relief || Lily

[hollowedlilies]

artseptimus‌:

Date TBA Mid Morning  Lily’s Cottage

It was a common request from his children to go and see Harry and Aunty Lily at their house. There was no reason whatsoever to deny them the brief suspension of their weird, middle-land living, for a happy playdate. It was a relief to be around Lily for Arthur, she understood the weight of entertaining children and was excellent with all of the boys. 

Fred and George would hold hands, sandwiched between Charlie and Percy. He had Ginny in the carrier on his chest and Ron holding his left hand. Kept his wand hand free and them all within sight. They weren’t always the quietest but as long as they weren’t screaming and tearing around the pavement, he was more than happy with their noise. Molly wouldn’t believe it to see them all walk holding hands, they had tried for so long to get them all to daisy chain together but to no avail. They boys weren’t clueless to their situation and had cottoned onto behaving a different way than usual, that was the sad part of it, the reason for their behavioural changes. 

Five minutes later than he aimed to arrive, Arthur tapped lightly on Lily’s door, children squished infront of him as he glanced up and down the street. Fortunately they were all in their spare winter coats, something he and Molly had thought to pack in an emergency ‘get out’ backpack. It wouldn’t be long before Charlie was growing out of his, something Arthur didn’t even know how to address.. They’d have to sort it out when they got there. 

The Weasleys were--a lot, of course, for someone not accustomed to interacting with that many children all at once--but also a godsend, Molly and Arthur both, resolute in their family, always there, shouldering every burden without a hint of the weight in the lines around their eyes. Laugh lines, she thinks when she sees them, because it’s true--some of the Order are developing lines of grief and frowning, but Arthur and Molly’s lines have always been those of smiles and cheer. Lily has no idea how they do it. How Arthur does it, without Molly.

Lord--Merlin--knows she’s struggling enough with just the one kid. And here, Arthur has six, if she’s counting correctly, minus the one at Hogwarts. They’ve arrived at the house smiling and hand-holding and Lily’s heart is full, swinging the door open to let them in, Harry immediately grabbing the hands of whomever’s nearest to drag them over to where his puzzles and toys are all laid out in the living room. They’ve spent the morning preparing, talking about the Weasley boys, rehearsing their names and proper sharing techniques. Harry is one and a half, not-quite-two, the age of learning to string multiple words and considering the construction of sentences.

“Good morning, Arthur,” Lily signs-and-says, careful to practice her signing with him while she has the chance. The kids are flooding into the cottage, and she’s drawn in their wake, keeping an eye on the curly-haired, wobbly-legged toddler of hers amidst all the Weasley boys. Harry and Ron are already together, which is no surprise--they’re the same age, around the same size, and best friends from the moment they met. “Shall I make tea?”

[hollowedlilies]

rcmus‌:

     ‘Yeah, buddy,’ he mutters quietly, affectionately, taking the new puzzle piece out of Harry’s hand as he toddles off to find another one. It’s habit, second nature, to respond to Harry in the middle of another sentence, doing whatever he can to affirm everything he does. He figured, pretty early on in his life, that he’d never be a father– for such a wide variety of reasons that it never made any sense to question it– but this, being an uncle, helping Lily to raise Harry, this child he finds himself loving more than he’s ever loved anything… it feels like a gift, so natural, worth every moment. ‘Fish, good work.’

He’s relieved, when Lily’s advice comes in the form of trying to talk him down from overworking himself, rather than trying to talk him down from whatever’s happening – or isn’t happening, perhaps – with Sirius. It’s not something he wants to talk about, not something he knows how to talk about. Or… maybe he does want to talk about it, but he wants to yell and scream and shout and cry and he isn’t ready to do any of that, certainly not with Harry picking up the rear half of a tiger off the floor and pressing it into his hand, next to its matching piece, saying Kitty! with a big, proud smile on his tiny little face. 

He’s been overworking himself since he was twelve: he knows how to handle this advice without breaking down. Not to mention he knows she’s right. 

     ‘No, you’re right,’ he says, and that’s easy. Admitting that Lily Evans-Potter is right about something is, often, the easiest thing in the world to do. ‘You know I’ve never been good at, er, relaxing, but…’

An image flashes into his mind, unbidden: Amos, knees in the dirt of their front garden, mug of tea steaming in his cupped hands. The chest-unfurling feeling Remus had had, the other day, talking to him, like he had, for a moment, just relaxed. 

Amos still baffles him. Amos is still, in some strange way, a mystery he’ll never unravel, a stranger he doesn’t understand. And what would it sound like, to say to Lily, who is still living with him and Sirius avoiding each other like the wrong-way-round poles of two magnets in her house, to hear well, I’ve been spending some time with Amos Diggory when she told him to take a bloody vacation? He’s not even sure why that’s the thing that occurred to him, honestly, can’t quite parse what it means through the fog of strain and stress and exhaustion.

     ‘I do promise I’m trying, Lil. It’s just that distracting myself is easier than anything else, and there’s not all that much to distract myself with.’

She used to have a pretty clear idea of what her future might be. Several kids--Harry was just the start--raised in their house on Godric’s Hollow, James the Auror, Lily moving into whatever career suited her after the kids were old enough--maybe nursing, like her aunt, or something new and tailored to a magical life. Lunches with Remus, dropping the kids off at the place he shared with Sirius, arguing good-naturedly with Sirius about what did and did not constitute appropriate gifts for young children. Maybe, someday, making up with Petunia and meeting her nephew. Living long enough to see Harry married, laugh as her grandchildren learned to speak. Lily has never seen her future as anything different, because she knows it is exactly what James wanted, and no part of her has ever acknowledged the possibility of wanting anything inconsistent with James’ dearest desires.

 There’s no James, now, no Sirius-and-Remus, no charming uncles’ flat for her children to go to when they’re tired of Mum and Dad. Maybe she will live long enough to see Harry grown. First she has to make sure Harry can survive outside of a heavily-protected refugee camp. First she has to make sure the world is something he can live in. She has Harry, for now; she has Remus. The future yawns in the distance, empty and terrifying, and she knows no option except to stride forward into it with her jaw clenched and holding tight to everything she has left.

Everything they thought could be forever was ending. They’re still here, though, moving into their own personal futures. She watches Harry with Remus and thinks about the boy she met on the train to Hogwarts, smiling nervously, experiencing all of this with the same disbelieving awe she felt. She can think about a future where maybe it’s Remus beside her on the platform to see Harry off to his first day at Hogwarts. She can be okay with that.

For herself, maybe. Not for Remus. Remus, she has always felt, deserves to have someone who can dedicate themself to him, no holds barred. She casts about for ideas, thinks about what friends Remus has here, what recreation might possibly be available in this godforsaken place.

“Is there anything you want to do?” she presses, leaning back on her palms, smiling at Harry as he looks up at her, looking for validation. He’s getting better at not being around her for long stretches of time, but still asks for James now and then, still bursts into tears without clear reason. “I know you’ve been helping Pandora with her potions, but maybe...” She hums a bit. “Gardening? Painting? Or just...spending time with people who aren’t...you know.” Lily gestures a bit, unsure of a delicate way to say it. Not Sirius. Not friends with Sirius. “Amos Diggory, you know, he was here doing some gardening the other day and I saw you talking.” And I saw you clean out the kitchen to bring him tea, had to drink mine without sugar, saw your face when you came back inside. He could be good for you, maybe.

[hollowedlilies]

Where: Longbottom’s cottage When: early February Who: @flongbottomed

What are you doing, Lily?

She’s standing before the Longbottom’s cottage. Already too close to claim she wasn’t intending on walking up. She hasn’t spent much time near the house since they’ve all moved out here--it’s easier to avoid Alice that way. It’s too hard, seeing the blank look on Alice’s face, the flashes of unbridled grief when Alice catches a look at Harry. The same age her son would have been, had he been the one to live instead of Harry.

It happens with Frank, too, but it seems to Lily he’s coping better, doesn’t get the look on his face when it’s just her. He had almost been a friend before James’ death. He had, at least, been someone who knew James, who had reached out to her, attended the funeral, been there. And maybe Lily hadn’t been as proactive after Neville’s death. Maybe she’d tried, and pulled away when she realized that her son’s life brought attention to their loss. It was hard to say, now. So many of her memories from that time were foggy now.

She doesn’t want to pull away anymore. She’s been living alongside them--carefully steering Harry away, around corners when she hears Frank or Alice’s voice, back into the house if she sees them striding by. Living on their periphery, trying not to make things worse. For once, Lily wants to make things better. So she knocks, resolute, shoving her hands into her pockets while she waits. Please don’t let it be Alice.

[hollowedlilies]

unbearablyblack‌:

“They were my family,” Sirius replies, eyes shining. They don’t know how to explain it. This, actually, might be the one thing that Lily Potter doesn’t– and can’t– understand. She was born a Muggle, after all, didn’t know a thing about wizards or the obsession with blood purity until well into her life. Sirius, meanwhile, had their family’s ideals embedded into their brain long before they got to Hogwarts. They used to joke that their first words were the Black family motto: Tojours Pur. Always pure. It leaves a sickening taste in their mouth now, but for a long time, they believed it. Why wouldn’t they?

Sirius didn’t grow up in an abusive home, per se, but there was certainly no real love in the Black family household. They raised their children with heavy hands and stern faces: there were expectations to be met, beliefs to have, standards to uphold. Sirius had always been a troublemaker, Regulus quickly becoming the favorite of the family, but nothing Sirius had done was quite as awful as being sorted into Gryffindor.

Sirius never feared their family until that day. Years later, they’d laugh it off, humor and insincerity masking even their deepest wounds, but nothing was the same after that. The Howlers they could handle, Sirius’ mother’s voice booming through the Great Hall as she screamed her disappointment at her son– her eleven year old son– who had no choice in the matter, but that holiday break from school was the worst. It was like Sirius wasn’t even there, a ghost in their own home, ignored by everyone but the house elf, who only stopped to express his own distaste for the Black family heir. When they were acknowledged, it was only to drive the point home– you’re no son of mine. Regulus quickly took over, his position as the only son solidified in his sorting into Slytherin.

And yet, despite Sirius’ outward indifference toward their family, they still sought their approval. It’s a complicated feeling, because as unfair as their parents’ treatment of them was, Sirius still feel like they let them down. As much as they wanted to, and pretended they did, they didn’t hate their parents. At the end of the day, they were still their parents. It’s a tough bond to break, even with all three of them trying their best to do it.

Voldemort’s ascent into power made it difficult, and as much as Sirius didn’t believe in blood status, they couldn’t allow the last hammer to fall with their family. They loved Regulus, their one and only brother. Loved their parents, who raised them, despite it all. Sirius watched James with his parents, saw how loving they were, how supportive, and a large part of them was jealous. They wanted that, too, couldn’t risk the possibility of losing it entirely– and so they simply didn’t. They knew their parents supported Voldemort even if they didn’t outright don the Dark Mark on their arms, but they turned a blind eye. Sirius is loyal to a fault, even to those who have hurt them, and they might’ve continued to do so, still toeing the line between one side and the other, if it weren’t for James.

It always came back to James, because he died when he shouldn’t have, because Sirius wasn’t there to prevent it, because none of them could, despite all their best efforts. It didn’t feel like Sirius’ war until then– until it was too late.

“You love your sister,” Sirius says, a statement of fact rather than a question, “despite it all. I loved my family. I didn’t want to lose them. I guess I thought it’d be easier if I didn’t pick a side.” They shrug and lean back in their chair, allowing their hands to fall away from Lily’s lap. “I was wrong,” they say, their voice heavy. Sirius hasn’t said that aloud to anyone, not even Remus. “I’m trying to make it right.”

Lily stiffens automatically at the mention of her sister. That’s none of your business. Is it? Should it be? She’s never talked about her family with Sirius before, not beyond tight-lipped one-word answers whenever asked about siblings, whenever caught in an ignorance about magic. Too many differences in her upbringing and Sirius’ upbringings for any conversations about it to be easy. She’s talked about her family with Remus, with James, even Marlene, sometimes. Nobody else. Lily’s heritage is hers, not to be used against her. Her memories of Petunia are too conflicted to be spoken aloud.

(Petunia before Lily knew she had magic, when her reactions to the strange things Lily could do were awed and pleased. A bird landing on Petunia’s outstretched arm and Petunia’s delighted laugh. Petunia the first time she learned to be jealous, to be afraid. Petunia snatching flowers out of her hands and crushing them below her heel. Petunia shoving Severus off the swing, telling him leave us alone, we don’t want any of your evil stories here. Petunia looking crushed, horrified, betrayed when Lily refused to follow her.)

It’s different. It has to be.

“It’s not the same.” She talks through her teeth, almost, drawing her hands back to her cold mug, circling it then releasing it, shifting restlessly. Talking about Petunia is unsettling and she doesn’t want to be distracted from this, from the point of why she’s here right now. “My sister isn’t part of any terrorist groups killing my friends, and I still let her go long ago. You knew what they were supporting and didn’t do anything, but as soon as James and Marlene are dead--suddenly, now, it’s a cause you care about. This is just vengeance to you, isn’t it?”

[hollowedlilies]

xenosechoes‌:

This isn’t the sort of thing they’re used to, a raw emotionality, put side-by-side with an empathy for someone else that never came easily to them. But it’s easy now, even if it’s uncomfortable thinking of all the ways the world isn’t what it should be for them all. Because even if each and every one of their circumstances are different, the pain is the same, and here in this strange village, the only way for them all to move forward, they think, is to do so together. Understanding and acknowledgement is just the beginning of that.

She sees him, and he sees her, and that has to count for something, even if the words don’t fix the pain. “I think with time, things will grow easier,” Xenophilius nods softly. It’s not optimism, it’s realism. Time moves forward, and they all keep moving, too. “We’ll find new places to put that love that’s slipping over, and one day, we’ll all have just enough space again. Until then, we all have this together.” 

Crying usually hurts. Salt burning a path down her cheeks, carving grief into her skin, the slow erosion of the rocks in her throat. Crying is an effort of force, not a gentle process--it’s wracked by sobs in the wreckage of a house clutching a shred of James’ shirt, whimpering quietly into Remus’ shoulder at the funeral, dry heaving every morning of the first few weeks she woke up in the musty cottage in Godric’s Hollow without James by her side. This, by contrast, is almost soothing, no energy expended to cause or cease them, warm rather than scalding streaks crossing the gulf between her eyes and jawline.

She can’t even be embarrassed, really, because Xeno and Pandora have given her every reason to be vulnerable here. They have, after all, opened themselves up to her repeatedly, allowed her in and given her ammunition oft used to ridicule them. Lily tries to stem the tears half-heartedly, more surprised at them than anything else. Surprised that she has the capacity to cry in this way, like an emotional release instead of compounding. “You have a very good outlook on things,” she comments, voice watery, something you could shine a light through to see the veins. “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, if that makes sense.”

[hollowedlilies]

rcmus‌:

Focusing on Harry has been… a balm, honestly. It’s so easy, putting puzzles together with him or stacking up and knocking over blocks with him, or sitting him in his lap and telling him stories, to not think about Sirius Black. To not think about the break up, or Ottery St. Catchpole, or what Xeno had said the day before. To focus on the child, half James and half Lily and so a little bit of everything Remus loved, growing up and exploring the world before his eyes. 

He reaches over, now, as Lily asks her question, to take Harry’s hands in his, gently, to carefully help him guide the two puzzle pieces into place, to watch Harry’s little concentrated face – nose scrunched up, lips pressed together – light up into a joyful smile at the tiny miracle of things being set into place. 

     ‘I have been sleeping better,’ he admits, and it’s nice because it’s an honest answer. Harry’s quiet snores in between him and Lily have lulled him to sleep most recent nights, chasing away the insomnia that’s been a constant companion since he became Secret Keeper. The rest of her question, though… it’d be easier, he thinks, if he could actually create some real distance, could step away from Sirius for a few days, a few weeks, not have to think about him constantly or see him all the time, but… He’s not sure how to talk about it, really. Even to Lily, to someone he’s always been able to confide in. ‘I’m just… trying to focus, I guess.’

Harry grins a dimpled smile as the pieces slot into place. “Fish,” he identifies, stabbing a finger at it, a cartoon image of a whale formed by the toddler-sized pieces. He stands up, moves to retrieve a new piece, and hands it to Remus before fetching a second one for himself. For all he is an only child, Harry has never been good at doing anything alone.

The loss of his warm weight in her lap keens deep in her soul, even as she knows she has to let go, has to let this darling thing that used to draw its life from hers live independently now. It comes in waves, this possessiveness; when it fades, she’ll be back to wanting to hand him off to anyone, anything to get the face that looks like James away from her so she can sit in the bathtub with her head between her knees and cry.

Deep breaths. One. Two. Her heart returns to a normal pattern. Harry and Remus continue with the puzzle.

She tries to imagine it: Sirius without Remus. Remus without Sirius. It seems impossible. They’ve been a thing, in her mind, for almost as long as she’s known them--longer than her and James, longer than Marlene and anyone. Lily has a hard time believing that this separation is permanent, yet she can’t ignore the finality in Remus’ voice. There’s no end date, here. This is just...done for now. Perhaps for ever.

“Have you tried--” she hesitates. Unsure if this is the right time for advice. She’s just too used to Remus coming to her for advice, especially where it comes to Sirius. “Not focusing, for once,” her voice soft, light, pleasant so it doesn’t tip Harry off to any conflict in the house. “I know you can’t go on vacation, not as such, but--Remus, you need something. You’ve taken on so much here, and I don’t want you to implode trying to keep it all in.”

She’s James and Lily both now, absorbed her husband’s essence on the moment of his death. Giving advice for the two of them. Hoping her voice carries as much weight as she needs it to.

She has no idea how James would react to the news that Sirius and Remus aren’t Sirius and Remus anymore. They are Sirius, full stop. Remus, full stop. The end of an era. Lily, full stop, too.

[hollowedlilies]

unbearablyblack‌:

“I–” Sirius opens their mouth to defend themself, but they stop. Perhaps it’s hearing James’ name that makes them reconsider, or maybe it’s that Lily says they matter to her. They’ve been so preoccupied by what they’ve lost that they keep forgetting who they have left, but Lily’s here, their hand clasped in hers, like an anchor, telling them she needs them.

The harsh truth is, Sirius hadn’t considered Remus or Lily at all when they volunteered for the mission. Amelia asked for their help and they didn’t think twice before agreeing to go. They were thinking of their protection, of course, of bringing an end to the war, but never once did Sirius consider how they might feel about them going. At the time, they didn’t think it mattered, as long as they knew they were doing the right thing. That’s always been Sirius’ weakness: their carelessness, their apathy. Lily and Remus both cared and loved far too much for them to keep up. 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says instead, their eyes on their entwined hands rather than on Lily. Shame envelops them all at once, tears stinging their eyes as they try not to break down here. If Lily is hardened after James’ death, Sirius is the opposite, weak and vulnerable from their loss. 

“I just…” they trail off, unsure of how to put their feelings into words. It’s another one of Sirius’ selfish thoughts that nobody could understand what they’re going through, with Lily right in front of them. Of course she knows. More than anyone, she knows, perhaps even more than Sirius. They lost their best friend, yes, but Lily lost her husband, the mother of her child. Sirius thinks of Harry, innocent and kind as he already is, and they can’t help the stray tears that fall. Neither of them deserve this, they think, over and over again.

“I don’t know what to do without him,” they admit finally, honestly, their free hand shaking as they move to wipe the tear from their cheek. “I thought this was the right thing to do,” Sirius adds, a little forcefully, as if to convince themself of the same. Their voice is softer when they speak again, another apology without saying so. “Honestly, I did. I hope you can believe that.”

I’m sorry. Easy words, really. How many people had said that to her at the funeral? Sorry for your loss. I’m sorry. So sorry, dear.

She was so tired of hearing it. As far as Lily was concerned, if anyone was sorry, really sorry, they would act like it. And not just talk it. She and Sirius had fought about something very similar to this, months ago, when she had to bury the memory of her husband because there wasn’t a body to bury, and Sirius hadn’t been there. James’ best friend, his brother, hadn’t bothered to show up at his funeral. And Sirius hadn’t just snubbed James in that decision--they’d snubbed Lily, Remus, Harry...all living, all still there. Lily hears them say the right thing to do and all she can think of is the way Remus kept glancing around at the funeral, hoping against hope that Sirius might show up.

So she doesn’t cry, even though there’s a rock in her throat and a hot pressure on the backs of her eyes. She always feels this way, close to sobbing, but a dry gulf of pain stands between her and any show of vulnerability. A part of her wonders if these are crocodile tears, intended to pull sympathy from her cold fingers. She’s never known how to read Sirius like James and Remus and Marlene could.

But she has no doubt that, in a reversed position, Marlene would be doing the same thing if she was the one dead in the ground. Reckless. Trying to make a difference. The main change being that Marlene has always been like that, was part of the Order with James and Remus, and nobody would expect anything less from her. But Sirius was not a fighter until after James’ death. They don’t know what they’re getting into. All problems cannot be solved with blunt force.

I don’t know what to do without him. “You weren’t a part of this when he was alive,” she says, just this side of callous, her voice thick. “You weren’t here when James and Remus and I were. I don’t--why is this the right thing to do, suddenly?”

[lxckwolf-archive]

Masterlist of Memes

[unbearablyblack-deactivated2019]

lxckwolf-archive‌:

☹ My muse is visiting your muse on their death bed

♫ A drabble about our muses inspired by the next song that comes on shuffle

☻ A drabble of our muses on their wedding day

☺ my muse trying to piss yours off

ت our muses running into each other after not seeing each other for several years

ヅ for a situation that got both our muses arrested

シ my muse walks in on your naked

Ü your muse walks in on my muse naked

ϡ a goodbye letter from my muse to yours

♥ you muse suprises my muse with a kiss

۵ my muse kisses yours to shut them up

ღ a forehead kiss from my muse

웃 my muse torturing yours for information

유 my muse trying to seduce information from your muse

♈ a holiday drabble featuring our muses

♉ our muses are together when they get ambushed

≑ my muse wakes up in your muse’s body

?  my muse will ask your muse a question they always wanted to ask

+ my muse has died and your muse is included in their will

◈ my muse’s reaction to finding your muse beaten and bruised 

♊ my muse will do something stupid to impress your muse

✃ your muse visiting mine in the psych ward

♋ my muse visiting yours in the psych ward

❅ my muse rescues yours

✪ my muse seeing the ghost of your muse

● my muse’s turn offs

○ my muse’s turn ons

△ our muse’s get in a playful wrestling match

⍢ my muse gives yours a hickey

✧ our muses having dinner together

☎ my muse drunk dials your muse

✈ our muses on a flight together

☼ my muse giving yours a massage

♡ my muse flirts with your mue

☣ your muse visiting my muse in prison

♌ your muse visiting mine in prison

X my muse doesn’t remember anything from the night before. They have blood on their hands, and your muse is beaten at their feet.

☁ our muses are trapped in a fire together

〰 our muses are at the beach together

❢ my muse has lost their memory, and at the sight of your muse starts to remember things

✑ my muses daily routine

❂ a new years eve memory from my muse

✬ our muses share a new years eve kiss

✆ your muses name, ringtone, and icon in the muse’s phone

◙ a christmas gift from my muse

♍ a sexual story from my muse

₩ our muses are caught in a thunder storm together

❊  a regret my muse has about your muse

♎ your muse tracing one of my muse’s scars

♏ my muse tracing a scar of your muse’s

♐ my muse hearing your muse scream

♑ our muses go out for coffee together

♒ my muse visit’s your muse’s grave

♓ my muse injures your muse

✄ your muse injures my muse

☩ a dream my muse has about your muse

☨ my muse searching for your muse

☦ my muse trying to cheer up your muse

✞ my muse taking care of a your muse while their sick

✛ my muse trying to calm your muse down

✜ my muse trying to get your muse to recover from amnesia

✝ a confession from my muse to yours

✙ our muses shopping together

✠ our muses watching the stars together

« a past memory with our muses

» a daydream my muse has about yours

✐ a mistletoe kiss

✎ our muses going to a costume ball together

✏ our muses are evil and out reaking havoc together

♔ a kiss on the cheek

♕ a kiss on the palms

♖ a kiss on the back of the hand

♗ a kiss on the nose

♘ a kiss on the eyelids

♙ a kiss on a bruise

[hollowedlilies]

pandora-goodlove‌:

February 17th, early afternoon // Pandora's clinic, village centre // OPEN

The rusting plaque hanging on the second storey door still bore the name Ari Shafiq, but Pandora had made the small Healers clinic her own. There wasn't much left of the room, a few vials of potions, scales, a handful of metal tools. A cabinet full of patients files, the lives and stories of Godric's Hollow past inhabitants. Pandora read these sometimes, learning the history of the town through its ailments. She hadn't opened James', but she had moved Lily's and young Harry's files across to her own small collection. Xenophilius' was the thickest, reams of parchment spanning years detailing their condition, every possible cure they had tried. Remus' file was growing rapidly. Her notes for the rest of the Order weren't much more than 'alive'. 

Pandora tried to spend a few hours in her clinic most days, people knew they could find her here if they needed a potion, a salve, a cure or a listening ear. She had to feel as if she were doing something, as if she had a purpose to be here. Sitting idly by was difficult, Pandora needed to help however she could. A few hours had passed lost in Remus' potion, several failed attempts and one revelation. She would track him down this afternoon to deliver it to him. 

She wasn't working now. She sat with her arms wrapped tightly around the record player Xeno had lugged up the stairs for her. She played it far too loud to keep in their home, the angry music not to Xeno's taste. A punk record on, volume dial pushed up as high as it could go. The bass reverberated through her palms, up her arms, though her chest until it reached her heart. Her body flooded with the music she couldn't hear but could feel deep within every vibrating nerve. Pandora's eyes were closed but for a crack, they shot open when the lights and charms decorating her ceiling lit up. Her fingers reached for the volume control, bringing the music down to a whisper she could no longer feel. Pandora ran a hand through her hair, across her crumpled shirt and she turned to the opening door, her cheeks flushing as if she were caught doing something she oughtn't. 

Familiar things hurt. She avoided them, as much as she could while still living here. It was too easy to imagine James still there, just behind her, out of sight, ready to creep up and wrap his arms around her or whisper something into her ear and make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. They’d lived here for years, the Potters, made friends with neighbors and bought produce and gone on scenic walks with James’ parents. She’d gone to a grief counselor once, after her parents died, who had told her to immerse herself in their home and their things, spend time packing things up and choosing what to keep and what to donate, bond with her sister over the memories.

She went to the house once only to find that Petunia was half-finished, their parents’ belongings all in boxes, and only James’ presence beside her (and his irate insistence that Petunia allow her equal share in the experience) kept Lily from running away and never coming back. She was not, she’d decided then, cut out for this kind of grief management.

Only now she was immersed in the town where her husband and all their friends and neighbors had died. No escape, not when people were occupying houses, raiding rooms, carrying back books and toys and information. Not when Pandora was working out of the clinic, the one she’d taken Harry to countless times since his birth, watched James and the doctor swap stories of raising an infant. Smiled when the doctor offered her words of encouragement and gave Harry something sweet to distract him. The Lovegoods were wonderful people with bright spirits, but even Pandora couldn’t erase Lily’s trepidation when she stepped into the clinic.

The music, though, that was new.

It took them a while to get up the stairs--Harry moving at a typical toddler pace, concentrating hard on holding her hand and moving his feet up the steps--and by the time they reached the room Pandora was standing guiltily by a record player. Lily’s sign knowledge was scant--she’d learned in childhood from a hearing impaired neighbor, but forgotten much through disuse over the years--but she did her best in conversing with Pandora and was brushing off her vocabulary a little more every day. “Hello, Pandora,” she signed, saying the words aloud for Harry’s benefit as well as her own. “I hope we haven’t interrupted you.”

[hollowedlilies]

Where: Holly Cottage When: time is relative; after Sirius and Xeno’s disagreeable conversation Who: @rcmus

Someone’s found Harry a puzzle, and she’s never bothered to ask where it came from. It’s easier to believe that it came from a shop in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or a Muggle part of London and not from the room of a dead child down the road from her dead husband’s house. Her house. Their house. Lily just thanked the deliverer and set it up for Harry and helped him sort the pieces by color (he was getting pretty good at colors).

Four days later, he’s done the puzzle at least six times, but he’s not yet two years old and these things don’t get boring for him, and anything that keeps Harry’s mind off asking for his father or hunting down Padfoot is a good thing in Lily’s book. He’s sitting on her lap on the floor of the bedroom, holding up pieces and trying to fit the sides together, for once more focused than chatty and allowing his mother to carry on a half-decent conversation with Remus.

“--have you been sleeping alright?” Lily asks him anxiously, staring at him over a head of unmanageable dark curls. Remus has moved into their room, rather unofficially, after the breakup and her finding him napping curled up in her bed with Harry after leaving him to babysit one afternoon. It’s only logical--it’s too awkward for them to sleep in the same bed, and Lily is unwilling to ask either one if they’re ready to find alternate sleeping arrangements. Her bed is more than big enough, and she’s been accustomed to sleeping with Harry and James since the baby’s birth. The substitution feels a bit like waking up with a ghost in her bed but at least she’s sleeping better and avoiding the incredible tension that had been building between Remus and Sirius while they were still sharing a room. “Are things still...” she gestures, unsure what to say. This breakup has been hard on both her friends, she can tell, and she feels ill-equipped to support them simultaneously.

[hollowedlilies]

xenosechoes‌:

It’s too easy to get lost in their thoughts, to spiral, let the voices take over, agree with every little bitter thought they’ve had. The curse makes it clear that they could never be the sort of parent they wish they could, makes it clear that they can’t even be the husband they want to be for Pandora, that it’s all a futile effort in the face of such pain. But Lily’s voice is louder than the whispers, brings them back to the ground again, and they frown as she speaks, listening closely.

Her words paint a beautiful, messy picture, a family in which it didn’t matter if not everything was figured out, because there was so much love overflowing that all that mattered was that they all had each other. He wondered what it would be like to feel that way, to have a family like that. His own parents had decidedly not had it all together, and it was clear to him, looking back, that they hadn’t been able to care for themselves, didn’t know themselves even, had built everything on a hope for a better life than they had had at home. Maybe they had thought they had enough love to make up for that, but in the end, they hadn’t. How he longed to be different from them. 

How he longed to have enough love that it was all that mattered, like Lily said. And he had a strong feeling that she wished for the same thing. “That’s a very beautiful thought. I dearly hope that I might have that,” Xenophilius hums, with a nod. “And, if it means anything at all, I think it’s clear that you have love in spades, more than enough, so much at times it may hurt to try to hold it all, when there are so few places to put it now, after everything.”

For all she is unsure of the stability of Xeno’s mind--and not, necessarily, through any fault of his own--she is certain that everything he says now is true. He has conviction in his voice that comes from being a genuine kind of person. Surrounded as she is by genuine people whose lives are shaken and broken by circumstance, Lily has learned the sound of it. She is better at telling when she is lied to than lying herself.

“Thank you,” she answers softly, suddenly blinking back tears, surprised at their existence. Lily turns her head a bit, trying to be discreet as she presses the back of her hand to her face and swallows back the rest of the unwanted saline. “We all have fewer places to put our love than we’re used to. It takes some adjusting to.” 

[hollowedlilies]

unbearablyblack‌:

“This war has to end, Lily,” Sirius says, his tone maintaining its persistence. His hands, curled into tight fists now, drum against his knees as he talks. “You deserve to see it end. Harry deserves to see it end. J–” He wants to add that James would’ve felt the same way, but he still can’t say his name. He chokes on it, instead, swallows hard and tries again. “You don’t deserve this,” he starts again, gesturing vaguely in the air. This meaning a home that’s not hers, a son without a father, a pseudo-life in a village marred with death; there are plenty of terrible things Lily got, but never asked for.

Though he can’t explain why, Sirius feels like he’s to blame, like James’ death and all that followed is his fault. Like he hadn’t done enough, hadn’t loved any of them hard enough to protect them from what happened. This includes James, and Remus, and Lily and Harry, his guilt all-encompassing.

“If I can help bring an end to it,” he continues, turning towards her. He doesn’t break eye contact this time, his knees knocking against hers as he turns in the chair, “I’m going to do it. I’ve been–” he stops himself again, demonstrating uncharacteristic self-restraint, but the thought that was meant to follow catches even him off-guard. I’ve been ready to die since the war began. That’s what he was going to say, but not even Sirius, someone so wholly affected by his own self-pity, can put that on Lily Potter. Even he isn’t that selfish. Even if it’s true.

Sirius, who used to trace maps of their future on Remus’ arm as he slept, Sirius, who would do anything for his friends, kill for them and die for them in the same stroke, Sirius who loves Remus more than any other person he’s ever known, doesn’t want to die, not really– it’s far too final for someone who is constantly moving, too permanent for someone who loves as hard as he, but he would. In an instant, without a second thought, if it could bring James back, could end the war. 

“I’m going to be fine.” Sirius places his hand, palm-up on Lily’s leg, his eyes pleading for her to take it. “I’ll leave tomorrow night and be back the next morning. You won’t even know I was gone,” he adds, smiling because the only other option is to cry. He can feel his eyes burn, but he doesn’t allow himself to, not here, not in front of her. He’s not going to die. Not so soon, at least. “Hopefully with a few more people than we had when we left.”

She listens because that’s what Sirius deserves. Deserves to be heard, like James used to hear them. God. She can’t be James for him, neither can Remus, and without James Sirius is floundering. Bad enough that even Remus had cut them loose. Safety rafts and the boat. The ship is sinking. Save yourself, save only yourself, you’re the only one worth saving. She can’t watch Sirius drown.

She takes their hand, grateful for the gesture because just before that moment she wanted to reach for them but couldn’t bring herself to move first. They’re grounded in their linked fists, both out of control more days than not, both burying themselves bit by bit in grief. Except Sirius is spiraling, burning up with it, and Lily has stamped out the embers and exists in cold certainty that she can’t stop until the world does.

She grips Sirius’ hand in hers and stares them straight in the eyes, cool detachment making her certain that even if they cry, tonight, she won’t, because her entire body is exhausted and dry from all the tears she’s shed over lost friends and loves. “Bullshit,” she says, trying to stay calm and even, raising her voice just a little too much. “You know what I deserve, Sirius, what Harry deserves, and it’s you. Alive.” Her other hand falls to theirs, and she’s now clutching Sirius’ hand with both hers, holding him inches away from her, daring him to try to escape this. “I’m not going to stop you from going. I know I can’t. I know James wouldn’t.” She says his name like a weapon, half because it is, and half because it feels like it explodes off her tongue rather than is spoken.

Lily takes a second after that--swallows, breathes, tries to forget the tang of her dead husband’s name in her mouth again. “But this is scary. And you can’t--you can’t just go off and make these kinds of decisions without talking to the people you matter most to.” To me. To Remus.

[hollowedlilies]

omg-dorcasmeadowes‌:

Was Dorcas really that involved in everything around her that she’d somehow missed that Lily was either a Half-Blood or a Muggle-Born? Doe wasn’t entirely sure and she wasn’t really sure that she wanted to think that far given the fact that she wasn’t exactly the most friendly individual at Hogwarts; no, if she wanted to be really honest with herself Doe would admit that she had been a selfish, self-involved bitch and more focused on what it meant to further her Quidditch skills than it ever had been for her making friends. After all, Lily was only a year older than she was, she shouldn’t have been so oblivious that she hadn’t known that. 

“I–she’s familiar with owls?” Doe wasn’t entirely sure how most families handled things, but for all she knew, Lily’s family could think t hat now she was just traveling the globe. “Or do you want it to go through the Muggle post to be safe? I can figure it out though.”

She has a mental image of Petunia’s face if an owl were to come flying through her window bearing news, happy or sad. If what she remembered was correct, Petunia was married and living in some cookie-cutter perfect house, probably decorated in pastels with vases everywhere. Dursley, that was her name now. Petunia Dursley and Lily Potter. No Evanses, not anymore. And Petunia Dursley would pull a face like no other if an owl came crashing into her house. Shriek and chase it right back out again.

Although Lily couldn’t be sure Petunia wouldn’t just throw out her letter as soon as she saw the handwriting. Sending it through the Muggle post would, at least, give her a better chance.

“I--no. Yes. No.” She was making no sense. “Muggle post would be better, I think...Petunia is...she doesn’t trust magic.” Understatement of a lifetime. How do you wrap up two decades of hate and bitterness and mistrust and jealousy and betrayal and unhealed wounds, deliver in a handful of words? To a stranger? Does Dorcas understand what it’s like to manifest magic early in life and be told it makes you wrong? She used to chase Petunia everywhere, want to be just like her--it stung more than anything, that repeated freak, freak, freak that turned the tables and chased her right back.

“I haven’t written it yet. Can I bring it to you once I have?” Merlin, God, fuck. This letter was easier to think about before it was a reality. Now she actually had to write the thing.