For the past few weeks, I have been recording a podfic of the incredible The Last Enemy: The Howling nights by @chdarling @chdarling-tle
This is a process that I am doing with no help, teaching myself about recording, editing etc etc, and I am enjoying it immensely. It has been so much fun so far!
The first 5 chapters are up now, so go and have a listen. I won't be posting every time a new chapter is up, so ensure you're following me on A03 if you don't want to miss out :)
[podfic] The Last Enemy: Book 1 - The Howling Nights - Chapter 1 - TheatreScribbl1 - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]
Harry leaned forward eagerly, expecting some dazzling display of magic. Instead, a white blur shot through his eyesight.
“Hedwig!”
Before either boy could react, the snowy owl landed squarely in Ron's lap, snatched Scabbers in her talons, and launched herself back into the corridor.
“My rat!” Ron shouted.
“Hedwig, no!”
The two boys burst from the compartment and sprinted after her down the length of the Hogwarts Express.
“I can't believe Harry Potter's owl ate my pet!” Ron yelled.
Students poked their heads out of compartments as they raced past. Laughter, pointing fingers, and confused shouts followed them down the train.
Harry could feel his face burning. This was ridiculous. He desperately hoped Hedwig wasn't actually eating Scabbers. If she was, Ron might punch him. Or worse.
Harry imagined himself being sent home before even reaching Hogwarts.
Sorry, Professor. My owl murdered a rat. The story sounded ridiculous in his head.
The Dursleys would never let him hear the end of it.
“Ronald!” A pompous voice cut through the commotion.
“You should not be running on the train!”
“Harry Potter's owl is eating Scabbers, Percy!” Ron shouted over his shoulder.
They neared the end of the train car just in time to see Hedwig swoop toward the end of the carriage.
Then everything happened at once.
Ron crashed into Harry.
Harry crashed into Hedwig.
Hedwig slammed into the wall.
There was a loud crack.
For a moment, Harry thought they'd broken part of the train.
Then he blinked.
Instead of a rat dangling from Hedwig's claws, a short, balding man in shabby robes was sprawled across the floor.
Hedwig was furiously pecking his head.
“Scabbers?” Ron asked weakly.
Harry stared.
“Is it normal for rats to turn into men in the wizarding world?”
Ron shook his head. “No.”
The man scrambled backward on all fours, wild-eyed and trembling. He looked around frantically before his gaze landed on Harry.
His expression turned to horror.
“James?” the man squeaked.
“No,” Harry said. “I'm Harry.”
The man swallowed hard and then he bolted. He darted into the nearest compartment and immediately began struggling with the window latch.
“Is he trying to jump out?” Ron asked.
“He knew my dad's name,” Harry said, a strange feeling twisted in his stomach.
“Stop!” Ron shouted, grabbing the man's robes. “What did you do to my rat?”
The man yanked free with ease. Unfortunately for him, he threw himself backward at exactly the wrong moment.
CRACK.
His head connected with the window frame. He collapsed instantly.
Ron and Harry looked down at the unconscious man.
Then at each other.
“I don't think that's what the spell was supposed to do,” Harry said.
“No,” Ron agreed. “Definitely not.”
By the time they arrived at the train station, Hagrid was gathering the first-years.
“First years! Follow me!”
Harry hurried over.
“Hagrid, there's an unconscious man on the train.”
Hagrid blinked.
“A what?”
Harry quickly explained.
“Well, I'd better talk ter the conductor. He can send a message ter Professor Dumbledore.”
Soon, Harry found himself crossing the dark lake with the other first-years. The illuminated castle rose above them, magnificent and impossibly large.
When they reached the shore, a tall witch with square glasses was waiting.
“Hagrid,” she said. “Professor Dumbledore received your message. Please take the first-years to the Great Hall. I will escort Mr. Potter to the Headmaster's office.”
Harry's stomach dropped. This was it, he was being expelled.
He'd barely been at Hogwarts five minutes, and already his owl had apparently attacked a man who used to be a rat.
Professor McGonagall led him through winding corridors until they reached a stone gargoyle. Waiting beside it stood a tall wizard with a long white beard and a purple pointed hat.
“Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter,” he said warmly. “I understand you had an eventful journey.”
Harry stared at his shoes.
“I'm sorry, sir.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Potter.”
The old wizard's expression became grave.
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
Harry looked up.
“Sir?”
“I have just had an opportunity to speak with the man found aboard the train. His presence reveals that I have made a very serious mistake.”
“I don't understand.”
“No,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I suspect you do not.
“I am about to tell you the story of a man named Peter Pettigrew, who, until this evening, we believed to be dead. I am also going to tell you about a man named Sirius Black, who has spent the last ten years imprisoned for Pettigrew's murder.”
Dumbledore paused.
“And, Mr. Potter, I am afraid both of those men have a great deal to do with your father.”
ok I'm having a bit of a shit week (I'm aware it's Tuesday), so I have been retreating to my happy place, aka Hanging Out With James Potter.
In the spirit of maybe making someone else's shit week a little less shitty, here is me impulsively sharing a random TLE3 scene.
with the eternal caveat that everything I share could completely change in the final draft. 🙃
Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End
The door swung open and James sauntered in. “All right, very funny,” he said, dropping himself in the armchair and kicking his feet up on the trunk that served as Sirius’s coffee table. He gave them an amused, exasperated smirk that suggested they were all in on the same joke.
“What’s funny?” said Sirius.
“Come off it. I know it was you.”
Sirius and Lily exchanged a confused look.
“What are you talking about, mate?”
James rolled his eyes, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled letter. Then he cleared his throat and read imperiously: “Dear Mr. Potter. We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite your rather colorful school records — nice touch, that — the Headmaster feels that you have exhibited exemplary courage, creativity, and leadership skills — pah! — We are certain you will…blah, blah, blah, responsibilities, blah, blah. Very clever. Very authentic. I’m impressed, really.”
Sirius gaped at him. Lily had covered her mouth in astonishment.
“So what does this do, then?” James went on, heedless to the shock on his friends’ faces. He held up a shiny red and gold badge. “Will it turn my hair green or piss at me if I try and pin it on?”
“You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?” said Sirius at last. “You’re not really Head Boy.”
“Of course not, because you sent me a counterfeit letter.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Come off it,” said James, whose amused expression had at last faded into something more closely resembling genuine alarm. “Joke’s up, I figured it out. We both know there’s no way Dumbledore made me Head Boy.”
Sirius walked over and grabbed the letter from James, examining it closely. “Did you try any anti-counterfeit spells?”
“N-no…”
Sirius began to poke the letter with his wand.
“Mate,” said James, “just tell me you sent this letter.”
“Would if I could, Prongs. It’s legitimate. This letter came from the desk of Minnie McGee herself.”
“No…no. There’s no way.” He turned beseechingly to Lily, who was still hiding her mouth behind her hand. “There’s no way. Leadership skills? I mean, I wasn’t even a prefect.”
“Well, you are Quidditch Captain,” offered Lily. “That’s a leadership position.”
“But that’s…that’s Quidditch. Head Boy should be a prefect. Remus—”
“—was a bloody awful prefect and he’d be the first to admit it,” said Sirius.
“Yeah, but—”
“They’re probably hoping a bit of you-know-what will sort you out,” said Lily.
“You-know-what? I don’t know what. What?”
“Responsibility,” she whispered in a conspiratorial hiss. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.
James, for his part, looked at them with dawning horror in his eyes. “Oh, sweet Merlin with his knickers out to dry. They’ve made me a figure of authority.”
At this, Lily dissolved into giggles, falling back into the sofa cushions.
“It’s not funny. Evans, stop laughing!”
Lily sat up and gave a sharp salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”
“Nice,” said Sirius approvingly.
“Well, I learned from the worst,” said Lily.
James looked on with a sulky glare. “You know, I’m not sure I like you two being friends.”
“Cheer up,” said Sirius. “I’ll still be your mate even if you are Head Swot. I mean, not publicly, of course. And you probably shouldn’t eat meals with us anymore, but you can still sleep in the dormitory. For now.”
“Shut it.” James chucked his Head Boy badge at him. Sirius dodged and the badge hit the wall with a resounding ping. “This can’t be happening,” moaned James, sinking further into the depths of his chair. Then, he sat up abruptly. “Oh, Merlin. Who do you think the Head Girl is?”
“Probably someone really awful,” said Lily with a commiserative grimace. “Sorry.”
“Yeah,” agreed Sirius. “Probably some stuck-up, frigid goody-two-shoes who — ow! — hits disturbingly hard for a girl” he finished, glaring at Lily while he rubbed his shoulder.
“You think it’s McKinnon?” said James, wide-eyed and appalled.
“God, you’re stupid,” said Lily affectionately.
Sirius tapped her on the shoulder. “Should we tell him? I think we should tell him.”
“But he’s so cute when he’s terrified.”
“You’re mean.”
Lily stuck out her tongue. “And you used to be fun.”
“What are you two on about?”
Sirius smirked and gestured at Lily. “Head Boy, meet Head Girl.”
“What? You’re Head Girl?”
Lily shrugged. “That’s what the letter says.”
James’s entire demeanor was suddenly transformed. “Blimey, why didn’t you say something? Letting me prattle on and on like an idiot…”
“It was much more fun watching you angst.”
“Hey, if you two need a set of matching crowns, I know a goblin,” offered Sirius.
James and Lily both flipped him off in unison.
Sirius snickered. "Look at that. A united front. Just what Hogwarts needs."
It wasn’t long after they officially adopted their daughter. Petunia’s original plan for her to see her sister for the first time in years was on Marigold’s seventh birthday. Obviously that wasn’t going to work. The next one was the day Lily and James were going to be signing the adoption papers. That suggestion was even worse. By the sounds of Petunia’s tone of voice, it was this one last date or nothing at all.
Three years after we fell in love with Marigold, her new mother Lily reflects on the time when she and her father James met Lily's sister for the first time.
Read on A03
La Azucena en Flor - TheatreScribbl1 - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]
I'm back after a many-month break and cannot wait to share this extra story in Marigold-verse
Marigold || Read Chapter 1 on A03 || Currently 2,122 words
A new Muggle AU, multichapter (amount of chapters TBC)
James Potter, 26 year old Bachelor, wants to be one thing more than anything else: a father.
Therefore, he decides to give foster parenting a shot. He then meets a little girl, who is set to change his life forever.
This idea came to me as a microfic that turned into a micro-oops... It wouldn't leave me alone and I had to get it down.
I am SO excited for you guys to start reading this little labour of love of mine.
Re-reading PoA for the billionth time (thank you insomnia), I found Marge and Petunia’s dynamic fascinating.
The few scenes of them together reveal much about their relationship. Marge, with her overbearing confidence and crass behaviour, embodies everything Petunia cannot afford to be: loud, unapologetic, and entirely unbothered by societal judgment. Petunia’s deference to Marge is not born of affection or respect but of necessity (a desperate bid to secure her tenuous position within the Dursley family and, by extension, the social status she clings to so desperately).
From the moment Marge strides into the Dursley home, the imbalance of power between the two women is clear. Marge ignores Harry entirely, treating him like a "hat stand," and greets Petunia with a brusque, physical dominance, "bumping her large jaw against Petunia’s bony cheekbone." This awkward, perfunctory exchange is far from a warm familial embrace; it is a collision of two bodies that reflects the transactional and hierarchical nature of their relationship. Marge’s large jaw (symbolic of her overbearing personality) contrasts with Petunia’s "bony cheekbone," underscoring Petunia’s fragility, both physical and social. This brusque greeting sets the tone for the rest of their interactions, where Marge’s dominance and Petunia’s submissiveness are repeatedly reinforced.
This dynamic becomes even clearer in the kitchen, where Marge’s dog, Ripper, disrupts the pristine order Petunia painstakingly maintains. Despite her evident dislike of animals (Harry observes her "wince slightly as tea and drool flecked her clean floor"), Petunia says nothing, allowing Ripper free rein. This small act of submission symbolises a broader pattern: Petunia is willing to sacrifice her comfort and preferences to maintain Marge’s approval. The scene illustrates how Petunia’s obsession with control and refinement crumbles in the face of Marge’s unapologetic intrusion.
The tension between Petunia’s forced refinement and Marge’s unapologetic crassness comes to a head during Marge’s final dinner:
"‘Aah,’ said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. ‘Excellent nosh, Petunia. It’s normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after.’ She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach."
Here, Petunia’s exaggerated manners (such as sipping coffee with her "little finger sticking out") highlight her performance of refinement, a middle-class aspiration to maintain appearances. Marge, however, is wholly unconcerned with such performances. Her casual dismissal of Petunia’s elaborate dinner—"It’s normally just a fry-up for me"—strips Petunia’s efforts of their meaning. Marge’s behaviour (which includes "burping richly" and patting her stomach) is not a lapse in decorum but an expression of her confidence and entitlement. She does not perform respectability because she feels no need to prove it; her unbothered nature is tied to her place in Vernon’s family and the social hierarchy it represents.
Petunia’s deference to Marge extends beyond hosting, reaching into darker territory: her complicity in Marge’s mistreatment of Harry. At Dudley’s fifth birthday party, Marge strikes Harry with her walking stick to stop him from beating Dudley at musical statues (an act of casual violence Petunia allows without objection). Years later, Marge gifts Dudley a "computerised robot" for Christmas while presenting Harry with a box of dog biscuits. These acts of cruelty are not merely expressions of Marge’s disdain for Harry but also tests of Petunia’s loyalty. By remaining silent, Petunia reinforces the household hierarchy and aligns herself with Marge and Vernon. Harry’s humiliation becomes a scapegoat for Petunia’s insecurities (deflecting attention from the precariousness of her own position within the family).
This dynamic reaches its sharpest expression during Marge’s comments about bloodlines:
"‘It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I’m not saying anything against your family, Petunia—I mean, your sister was a bad egg. But it’s no wonder Harry turned out the way he did, bad blood will out in the end.’"
The qualifier, "I’m not saying anything against your family," is transparently disingenuous (as Marge proceeds to disparage Lily directly). This backhanded insult cuts to the heart of Petunia’s anxieties. Marge’s comments about "bad blood" are not just an attack on Harry but a veiled critique of Petunia’s background (drawing attention to the very aspects of her identity she seeks to suppress: her connection to Lily and her working-class roots). Petunia’s silence here is significant. Rather than defending Lily or Harry, she aligns herself with Marge’s prejudices (prioritising her need to conform to Vernon’s family over her own familial bonds). This act of complicity underscores Petunia’s internalised shame and her desperation to distance herself from the parts of her identity that threaten her constructed respectability.
Ultimately, Petunia’s relationship with Marge highlights the fragility of her middle-class aspirations. Marge’s confidence and rejection of societal judgment starkly contrast with Petunia’s anxious performance of refinement (exposing the futility of her efforts to maintain control). Petunia’s silence, her meticulous hosting, and her complicity in Marge’s cruelty all reflect the deep insecurities that define her character. Beneath the brittle facade of china cups and polished floors lies a woman desperate to preserve a respectability that remains forever out of reach.
Another year, another Jily Bingo! Tuck into your favourite favourite blankets, and grab your favourite drinks because it’s time for the reading marathon weekend!
To participate, read the fics and post the completed bingo before 14th October, 11:59 PM and tag us!
As always, leave comments and kudos on the fics as proof that you have read it and to appreciate the authors :) It is not necessary to re read the fic if you have already read it, left a kudos and commented before!
i'll marry you after this by @myuntoldstory
Love is in the Hair by @drearymondays-05
KAPOW! by @ghostofbambifanfiction
Heart Transfiguration by @siriuslychessi
The Muggle Way by @vyntagewrites
I Want Your Midnights by the_casual_author
Definitely Not by @celestemagnoliathewriter
a day like any other by @emeralddoeadeer
Mistle-Wow by @livelaughlovetoread
A Cashmere Christmas Miracle by @oyprongs
pillar of pride by @sunshinemarauder
Front Page Material by @annasghosts
Another by @joyseuphoria
basic maths by @gigglesandfreckles-hp
Vanilla Ice Cream by @theatrescribbles
after O.W.L.s by @juniperpyre
I might just love you 'til the end by @ncoincidences
Abnormal by @ohmygodshesinsane
when it counted by @cascader
Ephemeral by @forgottenweasley
Only Human by @practicecourts
The One I Love by @writtenonreceipts
one last by apalapucian
Murder on the Dancefloor by @possessingtheproperspirit
I couldn’t help myself. I really really really wanted to do a redraw of Tonks, because she is such a fun character! I love how cool and kind she is, yet clumsy. She’s well -meaning and loyal and free of judgement. A true Hufflepunk 🎀👌🏻
I just love her. And now I want to dye my hair purple🔮👀
Technically 1 day late, but it has been a year since I posted this little microfic xx @jilymicrofics
Words: 679
Partly inspired by the song "Beautiful" from the musical Everybody's Talking About Jamie.
Lily Evans did not consider herself beautiful. A certain Gryffindor thinks otherwise...
Read on A03
Lily Evans did not consider herself beautiful.
She was definitely not the worldly sense of beautiful anyway. Not like the models in Witch Weekly. Not like Amelia Fawley who looked like a bloody nymph with her sleek blonde hair and perfect cheekbones. Or even (she hated saying this), like some of the Slytherin girls, who hold this dark, mysterious beauty. No, Lily Evans in no way compared to them.
If there was a word she would have used, it wouldn’t have been ugly, not at first. Just plain. Ordinary. Nothing special.
She was no twig. She had curves, but they made her feel stocky in some places.
“That just means,” her Mum used to say, “That there’s more of you to cuddle!” before attacking her with bear hugs, tickling her until Lily begged her to stop, as she cried giggling and her cheeks hurt from smiling.
But her Mum wasn’t around anymore was she.
Lily’s weight went on her tummy or her thighs. Catch her after a Hogwarts Feast, or put her in a too-tight outfit, and she could look 5 months pregnant. “I have SUCH a food-baby!” she would complain to Mary and Marlene afterwards, laughing back to the Common Room; only after her friends went to bed, did she let the smile slip.
She could swear one boob was bigger than the other.
Petunia called all her freckles “a mud splatter”. She was probably right.
Lily liked the colour of her eyes, but not the shape. They belonged on a cat, not a human.
Though she would never dream of dying her hair, it being the same shade and thickness as her Mum had, she did sometimes wish it was a colour that didn’t make her stand out so much.
Put this all together and….
Oh, who was she kidding. As soon as she got to Hogwarts, it was made plain to her that she was the ugly Mudblood Gryffindor girl. It was stupid to dare to think anything else.
Eventually, Lily learnt to put everything into her studies. She never wanted to be the school supermodel anyway. There was and is so much to learn about magic. Who cares about being the prettiest girl in school when there were more important things for a Muggle-born to worry about…
And as long as she never let them see her cry….
“Lily? Did you hear me?”
Lily blinked. Her friend was standing in front of her in the corridor with a quizzical expression on his face. In any other circumstance, she’d be laughing at his look, but not this time. And she couldn’t figure out why. How long had she been in her own world...?
“Err… no… sorry, spaced out… what?”
James Potter let out a low chuckle. He always sounded so happy, Lily thought. While she tried to keep her head down, he was the complete opposite. He was outward in every way, attracted people to him like a moth to a flame. Or like the Sun.
Lily realised, as she became friends with James, just how thoughtful a person he was. How special a friend he had become to her. He wasn’t bad to look at, but that didn’t have anything to do with it… Nope, nothing at all. Not his tanned skin, not his hazel eyes, not his athletic build, not his messy mop of hair she had to restrain herself not to touch 24/7…
No, that wasn’t it at all?
It was just… in among the grey of all the slurs, and the homework, and the worrying dread of war just outside the castle doors; he’d become a little bit of glitter.
He reached out to cup her face; and then, to Lily’s surprise, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was so tender and light, but it burned her. She hoped it would leave a mark. Where it touched not just her skin, but also her soul.
Stop staring you idiot, Lily chastised herself, but it was impossible to tear away from his face.
