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Today's Document
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@thelittlekingblack
"Hmm…. I hate to go Hufflepuff again but probably Gwenog Jones. I bet you she’ll go pro."
Jones is pretty damn good, probably why she’s captain of their team. She nearly broke my arm one time because I was about to catch the snitch and she hit a bludger at me. She has really good aim.”
"If it were a fair question, would it have been as interesting to answer?" She nodded along with his choice. "Sure Kirke is good but in my opinion, the passion Fenwick puts behind his saves makes him a better all around player."
"It was a bit ambiguous," he told her with a smirk. "The Hufflepuff Keeper? yeah, he's pretty good, I suppose. I don't know about better, but..." he mused, giving her a curious look. "So who do you think is the best then?"
Get to know me: [1/5] favorite male characters
Charlie played by Logan Lerman
"I am very interested and fascinated how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other."
"I’ll be fine!" Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What’s wrong with Ev, anyways?" She frowned slightly, not sure she understood why Regulus disliked him so much. "Don’t you dare, Black!" Emma huffed. "If you tell that bloody woman I won’t be the only one needing a replacement for Saturday." She glared at him, unimpressed.
"Nothing's wrong with him," he told her, not having a real reason to dislike him. He was a bit pompous and full of himself, but nearly all slytherins were. "Yeah? What're you going to do to me from a Hospital bed?" he teased, taking a couple of precautionary steps backwards. "Besides, you don't want to bench your best seeker, do you?"
"I am healed! It’s just a few cracked ribs, if I dose myself up on meds I’ll be fine!" Emma spoke firmly, rolling her eyes at his reaction to Evan. "Oh, he’s not that bad… I’ll make sure he knows that you’re the one in charge." She sighed, tutting when a Regulus brought up the replacement. "Oh, she won’t be needed, I’ll be fine come Saturday." The blonde’s voice was full of indignation as she stared at Regulus, daring him to disagree.
"Right, because flying while heavily medicated is totally safe," he huffed, rolling his eyes. She was so stubborn. "Whatever you say, Cap'..." he groaned, still not incredibly fond of the older male. He narrowed his eyes at the girl on the bed, crossing his arms defiantly. "We'll see what Pompom says about that," he smiled mischievously, making a mental note to make sure the girl was still ready despite Emma's protests.
These are familiar titles on the shelf. Dark Arts through the Ages. A History of Cursed Objects and How to Recognize Them. A History of the Wars of the Jewels. Some Account of the Fore-Part of the Life of Salazar Slytherin and His Involvement in the Founding of Hogwarts. A History of the Magical Peoples of Europe. A Case for the Abolition of the Statute of Secrecy and the Subjugation of the Non-Magical Peoples of Europe. The Pure-Blood Directory. The Fundamental Tenets of Magical Law in England. Mythologiques Magicales (all the volumes, naturally).
And yet, and yet. There is something not quite right about this bookshelf. Too unnatural. Too obvious. Something unnatural. Shimmering. Move a little to the left and there it is, the slight shimmer. So very slight, nobody pays any attention to it. This house is old, this house is full of dark magic - a little shimmer on a bookshelf hardly attracts any attention.
So it goes unnoticed for years.
And as the years tick on, he keeps adding to this shelf, smuggling books in under his robes. He can’t help it, he bathes himself after reading each one, whispering Scourgify as he watches the skin on his hands peel off. Still he keeps coming back, taking them down and reading them, feeling like scum and mud and filth afterwards. He ought to burn them, burn them all, but he is drawn.
He is filth.
(Muggle sorcery, he tells himself.)
Some he reads immediately, staying up late at night and reading by the light of his wand so that his mother will not catch him - so that he can pretend; if no one sees me it is not real. Some he reads again and again, letting the words settle until he can quote word for word, page for page because those are the words which matter.
It’s quite the collection he has. Esoteric titles his mother would almost certainly disapprove of. Muggle titles.
(It’s not as though she has the right to care anymore, not when she’s been cold as the tombstones in their family burial ground. All she cares about is the death-cold mask and that, at least, is an art he has perfected.
He still whispers Scourgify and watches the way the skin on his hands turns red and raw.)
The glamours are as cold as the mask he wears every minute of his day. So he strips them away at night, when the cold chill finally settles on the grim and silent old house (like a tomb for the living) and his mind begins to wander and he wonders if he has finally turned into the cold, pure stone statue they all seem to want him to be. He strips away each glamour and takes them down from his shelf one by one, opens them and breathes. Each page crackles with warmth, with life, with the thought lives of hundreds of people stretching over hundreds of years.
He reads them again and again. The Stranger. Waiting for Godot. The Plague. Eyeless in Gaza. Crime and Punishment. Howl and Other Poems. The Waste Land.
He reads them again and again to remind himself that he is warm flesh and blood. That he is more than just a mask, or a carefully chiseled statute. He is not merely their Galatea. He is a liar. He is a traitor. He is filth. He is unnatural. He is his own person.
He is real.
The glamours go back up. The cold mask settles itself on his skin, makes it creep and crawl. And once again he is their Galatea, a perfect work of art, rotten and maggoty underneath.
(for johnegbertthefeminist who wanted to hear more about Regulus Black. Image Source.)
Or I could be pissed that I’m in here to begin with. [She huffed, carding a hand through her hair in frustration.] I need you to run the practice for me tonight, Ev’ll help. I’d try and get out but she’s watching me like a hawk.
"You got hurt playing quidditch! can't you just let yourself heal?" he asked incredulously. Then he shrugged, hearing Evan's name mentioned. "Yay, Rosier..." he mumbled in mock excitement. "I can do it, don't worry. It's just one practice without you. besides your replacement should probably get a good practice in." he looked at her pointedly, knowing she'd likely want to play despite her injuries.
~ Colleen Hoover
Doe nodded quickly, glad that he’d agreed to go. She looked at the floor, trying not to show her own embarrassment. “Yeah,” She said quickly. “Um, I’ll see you Thursday.” She said, turning quickly as her cheeks turned red. She almost jumped up at her thought, turning back to him for a second, “Thanks again for letting me borrow the book.”
"Bye-" he said quickly, seeing her turn to leave. Then he let out an audible sigh, feeling as if he'd been holding his breath. He collected himself again as she turned back around, smiling as he told her, "Yeah, of course, anytime. Thanks for letting me borrow yours too.."
Stupid fucking wellwishers.
You should be happy they care enough to give you something, Emma.
Doe smiled widely at his response. “Cool,” She said, unable to think of anything else to say. She had managed to get him to agree to go to a muggle studies party. A Slytherin, at a muggle studies party. She hoped that he wouldn’t get any crap about it from his housemates, not that she thought he’d tell them. And she really hoped that when someone told Sirius, he wouldn’t be angry with her. “It’s on Thursday, by the way.” It was probably a good thing to let him know when exactly the get together was happening, and honestly, she wasn’t sure she could come up with anything else to say as she stood their with what she was sure was a dorky smile on her face.
"Thursday, right," he said, quickly thinking through his schedule and noting that he didn't have quidditch practice on that day. He could feel his face still burning, and as much as he wasn't happy about going to something about muggles, he couldn't make himself refuse when he wanted to spend more time with the Gryffindor girl. "So ...erhm," he started again, "I'll see you thursday then?"
"Clearly," She retorted with an eyeroll of her own. As much as Sirius claimed they were nothing alike, she could see the clear similarities between the two. "Alright then, if you know every Quidditch player by name, who is the best? And if you say yourself I may have to let this bludger accidentally go free.”
Regulus thought for a moment before replying, "That's not really a fair question. There's four different positions afterall." he shrugged, chewing on his lip. "Kirke is a really good keeper," he offered, biting back a comment about how a good Seeker could make the rest of the team useless.
http://escapes-from-this-ugly-reality.tumblr.com ☯
logan-lerman en We Heart It.
"Him among others." She shrugged. "I mean I guess I’ve heard your name over the speaker, then again I would assume that’s how you know mine as well."
"Among others, huh?" he rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. He didn't care what the lions thought of him, or so he tried to convince himself. and he already knew James just about hated him. stupid, petty, arrogant son of a bitch, he thought to himself. "Clearly they're just jealous of my amazing quidditch skills," he quipped sarcastically. "I know just about every quidditch player by name, yes."
