#&. lily

[fabianprewctt]

WHERE: Harry Potter’s Birthday Party, the back garden of The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole. WHEN: July 31st, 2002. STATUS: closed / @asphodelmori

Elf-made Wine was not, and had never been, Fabian’s drink of choice — but given the limited selection and extenuating circumstances of the night, he was willing to make do. The bottle had been swiped from the kitchen counter as he made a tactical retreat, thoroughly overwhelmed by the boisterous party that had descended upon The Burrow in celebration of the saviour of the Wizarding World’s birthday. Somehow, Fabian had thought he’d be taller.

History loomed large in the confines of the Burrow that evening, shared losses and triumphs and memories that swelled to fill the room, and while Fabian had never met a party he didn’t enjoy it had all quickly become just a little .. suffocating. The garden was a natural hiding place by comparison, echoes of the celebrations from inside filtering out into the warm night air amidst the buzzing of insects and from beneath the shadow of the same tree he’d claimed as his own earlier in the day, the soft rustle of the grass foretold the gnomes slowly returning home from his and Ginny’s earlier degnoming efforts. 

A cigarette was tucked behind his ear, abandoned, like the lighter in his lap, in favour of the bottle of wine that he took another long swig from, happy at least for a moment’s reprieve from the crushing reality of trying not to feel like a ghost in his sister’s home. It was only at the sound of footsteps swishing through the grass that he rolled up from his lazy recline, wiping away the wine that had spilled down his chin and blinking up through the dim light at the other refugee from the party.

“I hope you bought your own booze,” he offered after a long moment of blinking through the night, “I’m not sure I’m inclined to share tonight.”

[wemultitudinous]

@pr0ngs // lily & james

“Ugh.”

Lily tosses down Witch Weekly, still open at the glossy spread of pictures in which Peridot Cribbe clutches at her heart in delight before reaching out a hand to accept a ring from the handsome man kneeling before her. Her eyelashes flutter and she wipes one non-existent tear delicately from her cheek, playing for the cameras.

“Christmas proposals are so tacky,” she says with feeling. And then, remembering that James had been a little evasive when she’d teased him about her present this year, she panics. What if James is thinking of proposing? What if she’s just ruined his plans? Oh, Merlin. “I mean —if you’re a famous witch who’s going to flaunt it everywhere. I’m sure it could be very tasteful if somebody did it nicely! You’d do it wonderfully, probably. Not that you’re going to, that would be silly.”

She can feel colour spilling out across her cheeks, and she claws desperately at a way to change the subject.

“Your mum sent me the recipe for her Christmas pudding,” she says, too brightly. “I’m going to give it a go, but I bet it won’t be as good as hers—”

[wemultitudinous]

@pr0ngs​ asked:  "Leave a message after the beep"

VOICEMAIL MEME // ACCEPTING

BEEP!

“—what, he’ll be able to hear me? Why don’t I just use the mirror?”

              “Not now. He’ll hear it later.”

“Well that doesn’t make any sense, Evans.”

              “Think of it as sort of like a howler, but it’s in our house all the time, and                anyone can leave a message with their voice if we’re not there, and we’ll                be able to listen to it when we get home.”

“But you’re standing right next to me! Why don’t I just tell you, and you can tell him?”

              “I’m trying to teach you how to do it now so you can do it without me later,                you absolute walnut.”

“Prongs, I don’t know if you can hear this, but if you can, your wife-to-be just called me an absolute walnut, and it hurt my feelings. I’m crying. Sobbing. Heartbroken. I thought she liked me. Nothing for it, mate, you’re going to have to leave her. She’s—ow! Evans!”

              “Just leave him a message!”

“That is my message! That you’ve secretly been mean this whole time. He has to know! James! Don’t let her fool you, she’s—”

             “Sirius Black, put down that phone—”

BEEP!

[wemultitudinous]

WHAT’S A LITTLE BRIBERY BETWEEN FRIENDS? 

@bornbreathless asked for a lily & char moodboard!

[wemultitudinous]

 @bornbreathless​​ asked:  "You're so, so, so pretty." ((for Lily))

SOFT SENTENCE STARTERS // ACCEPTING

Lily’s laugh is soft and throaty and genuine, delight pouring from her. Later, she’ll look back at the photographs and marvel that she isn’t glowing in them. It feels like she is, like happiness is seeping from her every pore, lighting up the space around her. She takes Char’s face in her hands, fingers resting against her cheeks, and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“And you are so, so, so tipsy,” she says, warmly. “Which if I recall is actually quite the feat, so I have to assume that Sirius and James were involved somehow.”

She looks around for them, and sees them on the crowded little dance-floor, swaying back and forth together in a dramatic and exaggerated version of what might generously be called a tango, if the person looking at it had never actually seen anyone dance the tango before. James seems to feel even her gaze, head turning to find hers with a grin that must be as bright as her own.

She takes Char’s hand in her own, and uses the other to lift her dress, and drags her towards the dance floor.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s show the boys how it’s done!”

And as they stride their way across the dance floor, cheeks pressed together and front arms outstretched, fairly shrieking with laughter, Lily feels a happiness well up so complete, so overwhelming and sharp that it seems to lodge itself up against her bones, sticking there hard. And no matter what else—the gathering darkness on the horizon, the troubles and the suffering of the world that awaits them—she knows she’ll have this. Her friends and her family and her husband, and so much love, all folded into her forever.

[wemultitudinous]

@bornbreathless​ asked:  She's like the world's most annoying cat, she really is. Char waits until they're settled before she shuffles along, lying down to worm her way into a comfortable position with her head in their lap. Eyes close and for a moment it seems like she's already asleep, before one arm raises and grabs a wrist, tugging it so that their hand settles into her hair. THEN she goes to sleep. ((For whoever you think will be funniest and/or cutest))

Lily lays out three books, leafing through to set them open at the most useful starting points. She’s got her parchment in front of her, quill and ink neatly laid to one side. Her notes from class in an organised array. A small pile of Bertie Botts’, carefully sorted through and cherry-picked until she’s almost sure she’s only got the good ones, occupies a spot by her left arm. Surveying the table with a satisfied nod, she picks up the quill and goes to work.

Or she would, but it’s at that exact moment that Char wriggles under her arm and onto her lap, just as solid and demanding as the maine coone that’s probably off bothering Sirius just like this.

“Char,” she says, exasperation heavy in her words. “I have an essay to write, you know.”

Char just closes her eyes, quite content. Lily wriggles a little, settling into a slightly more comfortable position and reassessing. Okay, well, she can still get her work done whilst she doubles up as a pillow. She’s a modern woman and multi-tasking is no challenge for her, and anyway, it’s not like she’s not used to it. James is like a particularly enthusiastic puppy, sometimes, demanding her attention by flopping across her on the couch or scooping her up without warning to make her scream.

Fine.

Her left hand reaches for a bean and is waylaid, Char’s fingers wrapping around it with startling accuracy given that her eyes are currently closed. Lily sighs as her  hand is guided to Char’s hair, and looks longingly at what she’s sure is a cola-flavoured bean balancing on top of the pile.

“Silly goose,” she murmurs, and smooths Char’s hair back from her forehead.

It’s not easy, sorting through her notes and flipping through books and writing one-handed, but she manages, her other hand stroking a thoughtless, idle rhythm through Char’s hair. Let her sleep in peace—why not? It feels like it’s getting harder and harder to find these days, what with the end of school approaching and all the things you see in the newspapers, these days.

Still, it doesn’t mean that when she’s done, she doesn’t shove Char unceremoniously off her lap and onto the floor, sing-songing a cheerful ‘wakey wakey!’ as she does.