#phantom:starter

[andpxtions-blog]

throbbing, terrible headache that threatened to tip them over. not a good way to start the morning, but it was better than staring at the ceiling, feeling wavy and bland. they blink, tries to adjust eyes but it’s a pointless mission. it’s too damn bright. they attempt sitting up but that’s hard enough. flops back down and tries to roll over on their side, but there’s something there. books? no books were hard and hurt their side and they could kick those off. materials? no. not that either. still hard, still made their side hurt. they bring their eyes open, just a smidge, then blows them wide open. their mouth gapes, garish and wild. okay, no, that’s not what happened was it. something else, not that. something? oh merlin.

“promise we will never speak of this. ever. we’ll both claim drunken stupidity and obliviate ourselves. fair?”

[ferxciti-blog]

Mary had always believed that the best fix for a hangover, even the little ones that she would get occasionally, was more alcohol. Donning what could easily have been Sirius’s sweater- the laundry room in the flat was a bloody mess and she would often ‘accidentally’ steal an item of his that she found more pleasing than her own- she headed towards the tiny liquor store near the flat. Shivering from the slight chill in the air, she glanced back- ever paranoid- spotting someone that looked even worse than she felt. She nodded to them, trying and failing to look sympathetic to their own hangover.

[lliypotter]

Lily’s legs dawdled rampant on the foot of the stranger’s coffee table ( on further inspection, it seemed it was her own table, and the surroundings she faced were, in fact, of the same home she’s called hers for months ), dwindling and twisting within and out of each other, making decent play with the limitations of her tainted consciousness. The new year had come hours prior, arriving in a flash of rainbow sparklers and diminished “ resolutions ". Her own were but merely an unspoken prayer, if hardly even that. Before, when her hair shined brighter and her eyes weren’t quite so dim, the promises would fall carelessly and freely from her unholy lips, her voice ringing with hardy determination and a daring edge, warring of the inevitable befall of a broken promise. Now, wise enough to realize reckless words and half-assed truths were of no match to reality, it seemed the whole tradition just wasn’t worth it. Of course, that never stopped the girl before, and with the helpful aid of a few sips of firewhiskey ( never as much as before, for a reason ignorant to her ), a whisper of a resolution passed. 

                                         W h a t e v e r.

No harm done, and with the events of the night only hours ago finally fleeting, she slowly retreated into a cross-legged position, before fully transitioning into a stand. Thoughts of hangover potions and grumbling mates flashed through her mind, and with only a slight grimace, the actions of her departure were marked; she accioed her bag and went to stand under her chimney, a handful of floo powder tightly held in a grip, while the familiar words motioned through her scratchy throat. ( Of course she was made presentable first, focusing largely on scrubbing the stink of the new year’s sentiments and worries until there was nothing left, porcelain skin left a raw red, with only the simple notion of being free leaving her satisfied. )

The Leaky Cauldron was no place aimed for peace, and the infamous chaos was exactly what met her when she emerged from emerald flames. Dusting herself off with eyes set downward, a soft “ oof " left her in a winded trial, body slammed against body as the surprise contact weakened both parties. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Her words were laced with something akin to shock, but her voice lacked the harsh tone often associated with the emotion, leaving only the light surprise of the flurry.

[sirivsorionblack-blog]

❝ I know that you spent the entire evening out;          I was with you, you twat. Doesn’t mean you have       an excuse for lagging behind. The day doesn’t          stop just because you’re a lightweight with a hangover. ❞

Though really, Sirius was surprised that he was faring so well. He could only recall bits and pieces of the evening before: a rush of friends, a slurred countdown, a roar and a kiss as the New Year came rolling in. It had been brilliant, but it had left him groaning in bed this morning. The last thing he had wanted to do was pull back the curtains and face the day, yet here he was, in the middle of Diagon Alley, rushing about with all of the other people trying to make the most of their self-proclaimed new beginnings. 

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

He stood on the cobbled street, hand shielding his eyes as he squinted up at the windows in front of him. Pieces of parchment stuck to them, each loudly declaring some stranger’s new year resolution. Though they were hardly readable through the glare, Rabastan was 99.9% sure that a majority of them were about losing weight. “...They’re hollow. If you cared about making a change in your life, you could do that any time. But, here, it’s just for a mome-- the moment? Just because. Do you have motivation? No, just because it’s a new year. But a year’s just a marker, that’s all.”

[petreconstcntin]

New Years was fun. Wasn’t New Years fun? Petre thought so, and he had been sure to tell everyone he saw that he thought so -- at the top of his lungs, no less, shirt unbuttoned halfway and reeking of cheap booze. That was the state he found himself in well after midnight. Stumbling through the streets singing in Romanian, trying to either find his way home or find his way to the bottom of the bottle in his hand.