Welcome to my Harry Potter blog! This blog is for those 18+. All of my original post are tagged #op
Name: Gracie
Pronouns: she/her
Age: 21
House: I like to say slytherin but probably ravenclaw
Location: middle of nowhere Illinois
Other info: âïžAries, đVirgo, âŹïžAries. INTP. bi/queer. I am currently earning my associate degree in history and I am super white and cis so if I say something ignorant or stupid let me know! Also, I know very little about astrology but find it interesting so feel free to educate me.
âLongbottom was the surname of a pure-blood wizarding family, and one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They were related to the Black, Yaxley and Abbott families, and more distantly to the Weasley, Crouch and Potter families.â
Hi Anon! Sorry it took me a bit to get back to you but my mind has been consumed with Midnights
Iâm assuming this number is for the Spotify wrapped playlist ask game? Itâs the last thing I reblogged that would involve random numbers being sent to me. Which shows how active Iâve been on this blog lately lol.
Number 7 on my Spotify Top Songs of 2021 is Gotta Be A Reason by Alec Benjamin.
âAnd this is Nymphadora-â
âDonât call me Nymphadora, Remus,â said the young witch with a shudder. âItâs Tonks.â
â-Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only,â finished Lupin.
âSo would you if your fool of a mother had called you âNymphadora,â â muttered Tonks.â
bitches will be like âmy ot3 đđâ and itâs a woman who could murder them, a guy who hasnât had a good nightâs sleep in six years, and another guy who almost got both of the other two murdered. itâs me iâm bitches
(imp i'm 2500 words into the prompt u gave me but i'm now quite distracted by this so... this takes place directly after That Scene in Grimmauld in TDH)
[1500 words] [TW: child abuse]
After Lupin leaves, frustration in his wake, Harry shakily stands, slumps down on the couch and buries his head in his hands. His heart aches in his chest, exhausted after remaining unyielding in its hurt and fear when Harry had tried to open his mouth to apologise for digging his fingers into Remus' worst fears and ripping them out, rendering them naked to the world. For a boy praised for his kindness and generosity, he can be so cruel.
Now it's too late, and Lupin's gone. The only possible adult left fighting for them has returned back to his family and Harry knows this is the right thing but oh, how he wishes he could just crumple like the child that he is and allow someone else to take care of it, others stronger and older than him to shoulder the burden.
Hermione and Ron retreated upstairs soon after the fight, cautious and tender around him in the way they acted most of sixth year when he'd been out of his mind with grief. He's sick of it, sick of being pitied, sick of fighting, sick of being angry. Sick of it through plain exhaustion, like when you've eaten a food or played a song so many times that you know every single detail about it and you know the gauntlet so well it's repetitive. What's that quote? The one about madness, about doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result. That's what's happening right now, and that's what's going to be the death of him, just like his parents.
Harry sighs and heaves himself to his feet. He clumsily pads across the sitting room to reach the stairwell where he ascends, mindful of the two trick stairs and the sentient bannister. No exact destination in mind, he allows his weary footsteps to wander to the third floor, where he slows to a stop in front of a familiar dark mahogany door.
He keeps getting pulled towards Sirius' room, and he isn't entirely sure why. It may be his morbid longing for an alternate life, one where his parents were alive, where Lupin and Sirius were maybe just his uncles but loved him more than anything, one where nobody was plagued by war and fear and hurt.
Harry enters the room like slipping into a pond, taking a deep step into the murky waters where mysteries lie below. He trails his finger along the peeling and rotting wallpaper, slowly circling the room. His mind can't help but fabricate memories that were never his, of him and Sirius in this room bonding, or maybe comforting him after his nightmares or those moments where his mind whites out and he shakes so hard he canât even breathe.
The truth is he'd never known Sirius that well. He'd constructed a narrative for his own benefit, pretended not to see the bottles that Arthur and Tonks and Lupin swept away or the dark rings under Sirius' eyes or the sharp note in his laughs that reminded you that something was not quite right.
The thing he hadnât made up or embellished, though, was how hard Sirius fought to be okay for him. Harry, despite evidence to the contrary, isnât stupid. He knows Sirius perked up when he was around, took better care of himself, and in the days leading up to Harry leaving was moody and aggressive.
Sirius was worse in this house, too. All of the progress it seemed heâd made during Harryâs fourth year dripped away when the house became the Order headquarters. He was sullen and reckless and Harry just looked away because heâd yearned for a parent for years upon years and he couldnât handle the image heâd fabricated shattering. He wasnât sure why things had changed, only knew that they had.
When heâd learned that Sirius had been hurt, abused, the same way Harry hadâ it had all clicked, and a kinship had begun to develop between them, never allowed to grow . Harry hadnât even known it at the time, still canât exactly describe what the Dursleyâs had done as abuse, so conditioned since childhood to think them normal and himself the freak. But Sirius knew before he did, saw the flinches and the averted eyes and knew.
The wishing for his return is what tears Harry apart, what he shoves deep, deep down in himself to avoid crumbling to pieces. The sliver of hope that the Veil hadnât been permanent. Death has been Harryâs companion his entire life but it took Sirius, took someone who had already gone through so much tragedy and hurt, someone who deserved a happy ending more than any of them, and snuffed it out. Took away what couldâve been years of healing, an eventual happy ending.
Harry canât imagine a future for himself anymore. Not because he thinks heâs going to die, which he does, but because he spent three years imagining a future with Sirius in it, with him every step of the way. Harry bringing a girlfriend home to introduce to him, getting the third degree. Maybe Sirius meeting Harryâs children, eyes shining. But now heâ
Harry startles as he trips over a shin-high trunk, quickly catching his balance. He is frozen in the stale air for a moment and then he huffs self-deprecatingly, one hand still firmly planted on the wall. He draws it away and stands, looking at the culprit of his fall curiously.
The trunk is mostly un-embellished except for a faded hogwarts emblem on the front and above itâ Harry brushes away dust to reveal the name Sirius O. Black in gold plating. Harryâs mouth opens a fraction as he realises the trunk, reminiscent of his own, must have been Siriusâ when he was in Hogwarts.
Sirius had touched this as an eleven year-old, maybe, taken it to the train for the very first time where he met James Potter and Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin, people he would one day live and die for. Grief pulls at Harryâs gut and he sniffs once and inhales to bypass it.
He considers the trunk for a moment, guilt swirling in his chest. Heâs tempted to open it, see whatâs inside, even if itâs stupid papers or something. But what if⊠Heâs not here, Harry tells himself firmly. And he never will be again.
He descends to his knees then unlatches both sides with his thumbs and opens the trunk, coughing at the dust. Only once itâs open does it occur to him that it might have been trapped with a hex or a curse, but nothing remarkable happens so he looks into the trunk.
Itâs uniformly boring at first glance, and he canât help but be slightly disappointed. A few notebooks, wrapped letters, and a file folder stacked neatly on one side. On the other, a faded leather jacket.
Harry tenderly lifts the jacket up, careful with it as he sits down cross-legged next to the trunk. Itâs fit for a grown man, not a teenager, so the trunk has clearly been emptied out since Siriusâ school days. The absence of creases or stains on the softened leather tells a story of a favourite item of clothing, of a jacket Sirius had clearly worn often. Harry hadnât seen him wear it once, so he assumes itâs a relic from pre-Azkaban. (More than he wants to know what his parents were like he wants to know what Sirius had been like before Azkaban, before twelve years in that cesspool of dementors that had destroyed Harry after only minutes in their presence.
After a moment, silent except for his soft breaths in the dusty room, he sets it aside. He wonât take it with him but after, After, he will return for it, make sure it sees new life.
He looks back into the trunk and pulls out the file folder. He goes to flip through it absently but pauses at the sight of his name. He tenderly traces his name typed in bold on the front page, directly below Ministry of Magic and Department of Magical Child Welfare logos.
Certificate of Adoption
This is an official document, please type or print only
The only boxes left empty in the long and detailed sheet are for the places where the adopter would put their name and signature. The rest are filled out in achingly familiar handwriting, detailing Harryâs name, birth parents, the hospital he was born in, if itâs a step-parent adoption or notâ NO, it says in all caps.
Harry forgets how to breathe and slams the file folder closed. He regrets opening the trunk, entering Siriusâ room, accepting his invitation to Hogwartsâ he regrets it all, wants to go back to his cupboard where he may have been just a freak but at least he knew what he was.
Heâs crying before he even exhales again, tears streaming down his cheeks in hot wet trails that he wipes away furiously. âYou left me,â he cries into the empty room, scrambling away from the innocent file folder on the ugly carpet. âYou left me, and itâs all my fault.â
Nobody replies. The file lays on the ground, taunting.
Okay another AU but what if Harry never accidentally called the Knight Bus in Prisoner of Azkaban?? Wouldnât Sirius be concerned that Harry was like wandering alone at night with all his stuff?? I think Sirius would come out of the shadows and really freak the hell out of Harry more than he did as a dog
