#leejordah

[pekkarolling]

My Accent Challenge

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B3r6M5mLfxFbZjI1YTFXZnBHLS1zcVhKeFppMndwdXljUE5N/view?usp=sharing

Thank you so much for asking me to do this! I’ve tagged everyone who asked <3 Also sorry I’m so awkward lol

[sinegards]

three superb chasers → katie bell

"At once, Katie rose into the air, not as Ron had done, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet there was something wrong, something eerie... Her hair whipped her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression.”

[gryffindier]

@lightningeranet​ creation event: lightning era ships

ginny weasley x luna lovegood

[sinegards]

three superb chasers → angelina johnson

“I also think we should have a name,” Hermione said brightly, her hand still in the air. “It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?”

“Can we be called the Anti-Umbridge League?” said Angelina hopefully.

[sinegards]

“Rowena Ravenclaw selected her students according to intelligence and wisdom. Ravenclaw House therefore values a sharp mind, wisdom, creativity, and cleverness in its members.”

[sinegards]

three superb chasers → alicia spinnet

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Malfoy spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him. Alicia shrieked, “How dare you!”

[pekkarolling]

karkaroff >>> ripjily

Hi! So, since it’s nearing the Halloween season, it’s time to get *festive*, and even though I’m on a semi-hiatus due to school and the fact that I am currently doing a lot in my cult of theatre, I figured nothing could be more perfect than changing my url to celebrate! I will switch back to @karkaroff after Halloween. Or possibly not. We’ll see. 

(also if you want to join me in being festive I have more dead Jily urls? Message me!)

[pekkarolling]

Onions at Midnight: submission for @percyprotectionnet

Percy Weasley was downtrodden.

He wasn't, he reflected as he tapped the fountain pen on his desk, depressed. He was completely fine. Just a bit worse for wear, a bit like a handkerchief crumpled with tears instead of the starched one he'd been before. Yes--downtrodden was the right word. Nothing else. One wash and he'd be good as new.

Why, then, had Audrey Jones given him her card?

It read in simple, bold lettering: AUDREY JONES, THERAPIST. FIRST SESSION FREE. Like he needed a free session; working for the Ministry for eight years with steady promotion had given him galleons to spare, for once in his life. But the latter part of the card bothered him much less than the former.

Why would he need a therapist?

Percy glanced at the sole picture he kept on his desk. Him and Fred, before the war, before death had decided he liked the look of one of them a bit too much. In the photo, one edge of Fred's mouth was curling into a smirk and Percy's head was thrown back, laughing. A reflection of the other's usual expression. They stood in front of the Burrow, and in the corner of the moving photo, a broom and its redheaded, unidentified rider came into view.

That had been the summer Dad got the lottery win and they had wasted the money on something fascinating, yet frivolous. Right before they left for Egypt.

Percy realized he wasn't breathing and forced himself to. A quick swipe under the eyes told him no tears were there, which was unusual, but he still brought out salad ingredients from beneath his desk. He'd come up with the initiative of "create your own food" for him and his employees, which basically meant that his onions could create a stellar excuse for any tears.

Maybe no one would have blamed him for them, but he certainly blamed himself. Percy Weasley let sadness collect like snot in his handkerchief self instead of buying his own hanky. It was a lot easier, he had found, to pretend that sadness didn't exist than to find a way to fix it.

He was very good at pretending things didn't exist. Too good, in fact. If the war had taught him anything, it had taught him that.

Carefully, with practiced fingers, he started to chop an onion. Prewashed and on the cutting board he now kept in his desk, along with an assortment of tea bags. It was habitual. Routine. He hadn't had a lunch--or, as the time now reflected, a very late dinner--without onions in it in three years.

Maybe he was more than just downtrodden.

The chops were slow and rhythmic against the cutting board. He always took extra long chopping the onions because he was always afraid he might cry.

Maybe he would cry, right now. But he was a well gone empty, and for a moment, he wondered where his tears, as ever present as the dark circles under his eyes, had gone.

Maybe Audrey would help him find the tears. Or himself. Or something better than both. She wouldn't have leaned over from her stall on an unknown street and asked him, voice soft, if everything was alright if he had looked like everything was.

Onions forgotten, he fingered the card, glanced at the photo of him and Fred, then smiled.

Fred would want him to be happy. Fred would want him to laugh.

Percy wanted to laugh.

He stood up, a handkerchief unwrinkling. He looked at the card, memorized the number.

And then he called it.