âpfft, yeah, itâs been rough,â roseâs tea has long gone cold, but they continue to clutch their mug in tight hands, as if by sheer will and pressure they can summon any more warmth from the brew. âevery client i have has had someone close to them displaced by this time clash. and what am i supposed to tell them? âhereâs a worksheet of coping exercises for when your dead aunt brenda shows up on your doorstepâ?!â
The Burrow was almost the same, but had unavoidable, disconcerting evidence of future life, of Weasley (Potter) grandchildren, everywhere he looked. There wasnât solid ground anywhere to stand upon, Harry could almost despair, except ... Hermioneâs relentless force mixed with Ronâs self-deprecating humour. It was bizarre, yet also bizarrely comforting to see it so obviously in Rose. For the first time, he could easily believe this was all real, and here it was, solid ground. âI canât decide which one of them you sound more like,â he said, a smile breaking through the set of his features. It felt foreign on his features, disused these past weeks. âEr, if you want my sickleâs worth, Iâd definitely say skip the worksheet. Canât see that helping anyone work through things. I suggest smashing a Death Eaterâs face in, always works a treat for me.â It was a joke, but it also wasnât a joke.Â
who: harry & james @thebrokenfallâ
where: the potter cottage, godricâs hollow
when: the day of the time disruption
Harry had sensed something wrong the moment heâd opened his eyes, instincts blaring like the engulfing crackle of fiendyre. It had been like there was a beacon luring him out from his small cottage in Godricâs Hollow, suspicion and unease at how different everything looked turning only to dull unsurprise when it had tugged him to the one place in the village he never went, the house heâd been born in. The jagged, broken down outline of it was ominous as he approached. Heâd been through enough to know when something was stirring, something dark, and using the very heart of him to get at him. It wasnât the first time, probably wouldnât be the last, but heâd still staggered back when the tall frame had come out of the abandoned house. Wrong, wrong, his gut warned, after the inital jolt of hope had risen.Â
That brief flicker of hope, the humiliating knowledge that heâd never grown out of harbouring the childâs fantasy, so easily used against him, had been what made it all the worse, the turn to rage all the more powerful. His whole body felt it burning as Harry pulled his wand out, bearing down on the mirror image of himself. His mind analysed the situation quickly, fury still able to mingle with deliberation, after all these years. There were still a few Death Eaters out there, evading capture, and he knew only too well that they still hated him. But that they would dare this- With a violent jab, he pressed his wand into James Potterâs neck. Almost a perfect double image of himself, but heâd stared at his fatherâs photo with lingering, desperate eyes enough to know the difference. Harryâs breath caught in shaky fury and he let it loose, each word slinged out raw and incandescent. âYou think after everything you and your people have taken from me, that you can show up here, as him, and I wonât make you regret it?âÂ
âItâs a photo. A photo I am dying to see, although Iâm sure something inside of me will die from seeing it. He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and itâs not about his face, but the life force I can see in him. Itâs the smile and the pure promise of everything he has to offer. Like heâs saying, âHere I am world, are you ready for so much passion and beauty and goodness and love and every other word that should be in the dictionary under the word life?â Except this boy is dead, and the unnaturalness of it makes me want to pull my hair out with [all their grief] combined. It makes me want to yell at the God that I wish I didnât believe in. For hogging him all to himself. I want to say, âYou greedy God. Give him back. I needed him here.â On the Jellicoe Road, Melina Marchetta.
he gift-wraps self-sacrifice and calls it love; he has never known how to love any other way. he has never given his heart in scraps - it has always been laid bare, whole and beating, on the altar.
and how does one love without an altar? how does one love without bleeding?
call him a martyr or call him a hero, but this kind of love always ends the same. he plants a kiss on the cheek of his love, and then plants his blood in the ground at their feet.
â martyr or hero, he has always been a tragedy // p.s.
WHO: ron & harry ( @unchosenlionâ )
WHEN: thursday, march 20, 2003
WHERE: lockhartâs estate, ostara festival
It must be something else to have a bank-account so full of gold, Ron thinks as he looks around the ostentatious set-up that was Gilderoy Lockhartâs gardens. Sure, he expected nothing less from their former professor, given what they had seen of him a decade back, but reallyâŠ
Shrugging off the thought, Ron turns his attention back to making sure he doesnât trip and fall on his face, lest he manage to humiliate himself in front of what feels like the entire Wizarding World. Instead, he moves himself off to a less crowded side, nudging Harryâs shoulder as a hint.
âRemind me again why this feels more like the Gilderoy Gala than the actual festival?âÂ
Balancing a stick of Everlasting Candyfloss in one hand and his newly received lucky hare foot in the other, Harry was only half-listening to Ron as he glanced around in an excited daze at the overwhelming amount of stalls. At least, he had only been half-listening until he caught the very clear sound of disdain in Ronâs voice and was nodding in agreement before heâd so much as twice thought about it.Â
Harry didnât really know why they disliked Lockhart so much. Certainly, heâd been an annoying professor but by far not their worst. Still, Ron obviously disliked him intensely and that was good enough for Harry to join in, loyalty surging up to turn his tone equally mocking.Â
âCould be something to do with not being able to turn half a centimeter without being haunted by his face,â Harry said, matching Ronâs scornful expression. He did, in fact, agree entirely that the candles were a bit much. âMate, am I seeing things? Have I been cursed? You see it too, right? Everywhere you look?âÂ
WHO: harry & sirius ( @padfcctblackââ )
WHEN: Â thursday, march 20, 2003Â
WHERE: muggle field, twenty minutes from lockhartâs estate
"Well, Merlinâs baggy Y-fronts,â Harry announced, rather calmly, to the empty field - at least he hadnât accidentally broken the Statute of Secrecy - despite the fact that he could feel a trail of blood trickling from his forehead to his jaw. Since it did make him feel a little better about the situation, he continued to express himself with stronger words for another half minute. He supposed it was a bit embarrassing - given that he did fly professionally - to have crashed Siriusâ bike, in the middle of who knew where. But he wasnât particularly overwrought, carelessly wiping at the blood with his hand without a second thought. It wasnât Harryâs first scrape. Actually, it wasnât even his first scrape involving a flying vehicle that technically shouldnât be able to fly.
It was just Sirius was so protective of the bike - would probably never let Harry take it out again, he thought mournfully, giving the Reparo charm one last chance to take hold. It did nothing. He suspected heâd broken some of the flying charms on his way down. Maybe heâd been going too fast. Maybe heâd been trying out one too many Quidditch moves that probably didnât translate from broomstick to motorbike. In retrospect, the Sloth Grip Roll did seem like something of a bad idea, but at the time, heâd been having fun.Â
Weighing up his options, Sirius really was the only answer. Ron wouldnât know flying motorbike repair charms any better than he did. Hermione probably would, but the lecture wasnât worth it.Â
At least it gave him a chance to try out the Patronus Charm, he thought, brightening at the idea. Though it was far more difficult than most of the magic heâd mastered at school, since joining the Order he had felt a particular affinity for this spell, on the few times heâd managed to conjure it successfully. Or maybe it was just the warmth heâd felt every time heâd seen the stag shape emerge out of his wand, as it did now. Heâd never seen his fatherâs animagus form - such magic was far beyond James now - but Harry had heard stories enough to recognise it and feel a pang of half-melancholy fondness each time for this somewhat more living form of his father than the aging-before-his-time, empty-eyed man in the hospital bed ever appeared to be. âGo to Sirius,â he instructed the wisp of a stag, as it stood obediently at its side. âMessage is: no harm, no foul. But I could use a rescue, if youâre still up for it in your old age.âÂ
Name: Harry James PotterÂ
Faceclaim: Suraj Sharma Â
Age / Birthday: 23 / 31 July 1980Â
Gender: cis manÂ
Pronouns: he / himÂ
Sexuality: bisexualÂ
Occupation: Chaser, Puddlemere UnitedÂ
Affiliation: Light
positive traits:Â
+ resilient: Never one to back down, Harry is capable of pushing himself to extremes and has a high tolerance for pain, though itâs something he hasnât got a great deal of experience with. Nonetheless, when in a situation others might turn from or give up, Harry pushes on, his strength of will and determination bordering on obsessive. He doesnât let go, not when itâs something he really wants. In his life so far, thatâs mostly meant a determination to push himself to win at Quidditch, but as things get darker, itâs something he calls on more and more, uncaring of any risks to his own safety or health in the pursuit of a higher goal.Â
+ intuitive: Heâs not one often found at books and never made top of the class during his Hogwarts career. Truthfully, Harry didnât have a lot of interest in studying and when he doesnât want to do something, he doesnât push himself to do it. Despite that, he has a high level of natural intelligence, and is much more clever and deep-thinking than he often seems, with a strange gift for figuring things out. His tactical mind notices things when it needs to, when heâs focused, and puts things together that others might miss. On the other hand, if he discounts it as something unimportant - then, admittedly, Harry tends to be a bit oblivious and let things pass him by.Â
+ protective: Harry reacts strongly against injustice. Blood supremacy is an ideology that infuriates him â this is especially personal for Harry who loves his mother dearly, even if their relationship is necessarily a distant one due to her having been in St Mungoâs as long as he can remember. Threatening or insulting her is a sure way to set him off. Heâs sensitive to any suggestion of blood prejudice and will react with wandfire, if not simply going in fist first. He is, in general, the type who always runs in, headfirst, at any sign of trouble. If thereâs two things in front of him and one looks big, scary and dangerous? Thatâs the one heâll run towards. Especially if it means protecting someone else. This attitude can take on the opposite extreme, however. Of his own loved ones, he is very defensive and can be somewhat blind to their faults, allowing his partiality and protective feelings to get the better of his clear-minded judgement.
negative traits:Â
- stubborn: With a natural tendency towards hard-headedness, Harry gets incredibly set on his own path and his own opinions. He can be immovable from seeing things a certain way, or from stepping down from an action heâs decided on. He likes to do things his way, and doesnât like to be talked out of it - no matter whoâs trying. There are a few people he respects enough to listen to (namely, Sirius, and a few of his friends) but even then he often does what he wants anyway, and anyone else might as well give up before they try.Â
- quick-tempered: Smart-mouthed and quick-tempered, Harryâs defiance extends to the point of being provocative and actively picking fights. Raised with a distinctly anti-authoritarian streak, he prizes freedom and independence and likes to speak his mind. This is especially so with people he doesnât respect, who he is incapable of calmly debating with, choosing to escalate things every time. He is, truth be told, incredibly volatile and easy to bait into a fight. His temper has also affected his relationships with those he loves most, who often have to bear the brunt of his hot temper. If someone upsets or frustrates him, Harry usually responds with sharp and resentful words, even if he regrets them soon after.Â
- reckless: Heâs not one for thinking things through, preferring to act upon instinct. As a result, Harry can get caught up in his impulsivity and wild energy. He doesnât always think about his actions, and he doesnât always think about how they affect others. While he tries to be considerate, he has very fixed ideas about right and wrong, good and bad or on the less serious side, even fun and boredom. He can be impatient with people who donât keep up with him, or who are interested in other things, with a fairly intolerant understanding of other peopleâs views.  Â
headcanons:Â
001. Sirius Black was always Harryâs idol, favourite person, and a constant presence in his life. He grew up knowing he was loved - even more than that, adored - making for a very different childhood from what might have been in another world, and it led to him being more confident and naturally cheerful. He is more of an extrovert, who having modelled himself on his adoptive fatherâs behaviour, is inclined to be found at the centre of attention. As a child he was especially fidgety and excitable, and it never really left him as he grew up. Harry likes to keep moving and is always coming up with bright ideas that generally get him into trouble, like sneaking out for a midnight broomstick race or leading his friends on an expedition into Muggle London, but he usually thinks itâs worth it in the end.Â
At Hogwarts, Harry found himself in and out of detentions and quickly identified as a troublemaker. It was never something he really meant to do - he just couldnât help himself, whether that was his high spirits leading him into mischief or his disinterest in schoolwork meaning he didnât complete his homework yet again (âSorry, Professor, I really meant to do it this timeâ). With the exception of his fifth year, when his loyalty had him instantly at Nevilleâs side for the trip to the Ministry, Harry had a great deal more fun at Hogwarts than danger (his many Quidditch accidents aside, since heâd rather risk life or limb than not take a shot, no matter how many bludgers were coming at him).Â
Despite his high level of confidence, he retains a natural modesty and is rarely perceived as arrogant, more as sincerely enthusiastic. Heâs a natural leader, and tends to hold a lot of weight with his friends, but he is a leader that has never felt the pressure of responsibility, the burden of it. He was never a Chosen One and the final decisions have never been in his hands. Without the feeling of the weight of the world on his shoulders, Harry doesnât think he needs to save everyone, doesnât believe itâs his job. He just wants to, his nature remaining intrinsically selfless despite his different childhood.Â
002. At the same time, he grew up starkly aware of what had happened to his parents and with as close a relationship to them as was possible in the circumstances. This relationship accounted for a darker side often hidden by his cheery surface. Harry holds grudges, letting them fester in a deep place. He was bitter over what had happened to them - bitter and full of resentment, a resentment that could easily turn to wrath, the desire to pay it all back. Perhaps this was what accounts for his tendency to get into fights, even pick fights with those he saw as enemies. His anger had nowhere to go. He was never called up by Dumbledore or anyone else to take on a greater role. As far as Harry knew, the war was over. The Death Eaters were gone. Even the ones who had tortured his parents were in Azkaban. There was no one to fight. But he was still so angry and it had to go somewhere, even if it was just into fighting his classmates. His defiance might have seemed like the antics of a child, but it revealed the deeper aspects of the pain he felt, visiting his parents year after year, and seeing the state they had been left in.Â
While they were unable to recognise him, Harry still felt close to them. He never begrudged visiting them, and it was one of the only times in his life where his restless nature was still, sitting by his motherâs bedside, or holding his fatherâs hand in his, and talking to them in a soft voice. It wasnât uncommon for him to visit more often than he was supposed to, particularly during the school year. While Sirius would always take him if he asked, Harry felt a craving to be with his parents almost all the time and was often too impatient and impulsive to wait until his godfather was able to bring him out of school. Instead, he made use of his knowledge of the secret passageways to sneak into Hogsmeade and make his way onto the Knight Bus, time and time again.Â
He considered these times the most worthwhile detentions he ever got, and despite the frustration of professors, Harry never stopped doing it. He liked to tell James and Lily everything that was happening in his life, even the stupidest, most mundane details - even if they stared into space while he was telling them and never really heard any of it, while he tried to keep his voice steady and angrily fought off his vision blurring. It didnât matter. He would talk to them for hours anyway, knowing heâd have a better chance of getting back to school undetected if he cut it short, yet being unable to bring himself to stop talking.Â
003. It wasnât unusual for Harry to spend a lot of time talking. It was difficult to say whether it was the influence of Sirius, or the experience of sitting with his silent parents and wanting to fill the aching emptiness of the quiet but one way or another, he had a surprisingly talkative and extroverted personality. But for all of that, he remained a deeply private person. Anyone paying attention while he spoke, so seemingly confident and carefree, might have noticed that he never really said anything personal about himself. That he might grin and laugh and joke, but despite that, he never let anyone particularly close. His deeper personality remained an inscrutable and introspective one, and he kept all his truest feeling close to his chest, despite a surface-level tendency to be open and sociable.Â
004. While not one particularly known in Gryffindor for achieving them house points for either academic achievement or good behaviour, Harry was known for being a solid member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He wasnât a prodigy, had no particular acclaim such as youngest team player in the century or anything like that. On the contrary, heâd tried out in second year and not made the team. Fourth year, however, Harry finally made the cut as a Chaser. It was the position heâd played since childhood - since being told that his father, James Potter, had been a Chaser. It had often been suggested to him that he had the build and reflexes of a Seeker but Harry stubbornly refused to switch positions. He liked being a Chaser and was determined to be like his father. He wasnât brilliant at it, not the best in the school, but he was good, good enough to get the attention of scouts and be courted out of school by Puddlemere United.Â
Having been a junior player for the last few years, he has recently finally made the starting team. Though ever since leaving school heâs been advised to try Seeking, even told heâd be more likely to get a starting position sooner, Harry remained obstinately determined to be a Chaser, fighting every inch of the way to get to where he is now. He doesnât particularly care that he might receive more glory as a Seeker - that heâll probably never be a star Chaser, just one who puts in a solid performance week after week and helps to support the real prodigies on his team. He wonât be dissuaded to change by anyone or anything. All it does is motivate him to try harder. Â
005. Regardless of not being considered a star, Harryâs content in having achieved his dream. He always wanted to be a Quidditch player - almost always. There was a brief time in his life, where he considered becoming an Auror. It seemed like the right thing to do, what he owed to his parents - and what he owed to the rage inside of him. There was part of him that had, throughout his entire childhood, wanted to take up the fight that they had, and in the absence of war, being an Auror seemed like the only way to do it. But this ambition was brutally crushed in his third year, when Remus Lupin was sent to Azkaban and then given the Dementorâs Kiss. Any desire Harry had to be an Auror was destroyed in a wave of fury almost more powerful than what he had ever felt towards the people who had tortured his parents. Only it wasnât someone Dark and evil who had done this - it was the Ministry of Magic. It was the Aurors. And it was, in Harryâs mind, completely unforgivable.Â
With his tendency to see the world in black and white, to sort into extremes, to see only the good and right versus the evil and wrong, it changed his worldview entirely. From that day, he firmly sorted the whole Ministry into the enemies category and even now, as part of the Order, he considers the Ministry almost as much of a threat to his friends and family as the Death Eaters.
âItâs a photo. A photo I am dying to see, although Iâm sure something inside of me will die from seeing it. He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and itâs not about his face, but the life force I can see in him. Itâs the smile and the pure promise of everything he has to offer. Like heâs saying, âHere I am world, are you ready for so much passion and beauty and goodness and love and every other word that should be in the dictionary under the word life?â Except this boy is dead, and the unnaturalness of it makes me want to pull my hair out with [all their grief] combined. It makes me want to yell at the God that I wish I didnât believe in. For hogging him all to himself. I want to say, âYou greedy God. Give him back. I needed him here.â On the Jellicoe Road, Melina Marchetta.
@hewholivedagainâ sent đĄ for an angsty starter
James hadnât thought anyone was going to be here when he rounded the corner. It was the reason he chose this particular part of the castle, just trying to sneak off for a moment away from everyone else.Although honestly, he would have been alright with really running into anyone else here, especially now that it was too late to turn around and pretend he hadnât seen Harry there. James wasnât sure how obvious he had been in his attempts to avoid him, but subtlety had never really been his strong suit and he definitely hadnât gone out of his way to talk to him unless he absolutely had to. It was just easier to pretend everything was normal and the only reason they hadnât talked was they were both busy, not that it made James sick to have to explain who he was to his own father.Â
But there was no getting out of it this time. He had stared directly at him, made eye contact and the only thing worse than this conversation would be having to explain why he ran away from this conversation. So he picked back up his steps, walking towards him until he was stood at his side and looked down, picking nervously at one of his nails. âI uh- I didnât think Iâd miss being here so much when I left..â
Heâd called after James on instinct, uncertain if the rush of fear heâd felt upon seeing his disappearing back was simply due to his anxiety about being outside of the safe house for the first time in months. But there had been a part of Harry that had known he shouldnât let James go off alone. Not now, not here. So heâd followed and made his presence known. At this point, Harry was getting better at reading other people. A few months ago he might have suspected that James, eyes wide, body tense as if he wanted to run, didnât want to talk to him. Now, Harry knew James didnât want to talk to him. But heâd tried avoiding - that hadnât helped. Perhaps it was time for head-on confrontation. In a way, it appealed to him. From what Harry had heard about his former life, he had always been something of a blunt instrument. Â
âIt seems like a place thatâd be easy to miss,â Harry responded, trying to will James to look up again. Then again, there was something about not being able to see his sonâs face that made it easier, like he was talking to himself. âBefore all this, at any rate.â But he realised he had misspoken - there had never really been a âbefore all thisâ. The war was just a continuation of one that had come before, and the real Harry should have known that. He smiled weakly at James, an apology, perhaps, for his continued lack of knowledge, his missteps, but it faded quickly. âWhere were you going? I thought we were all supposed to stay close. For safety. Not that I would be much help in any trouble,â he finished, self-deprecating, but truly angry at himself underneath it. Harry was so sick of being useless, of looking at Jamesâ heavyset shoulders and knowing himself to be the burden resting on them, weighing the boy down. Â
@hewholivedagainâ sent đ§ for me to shuffle my playlist and use the first line of the next song as a starter ( sine from above by lady gaga & elton john ).
â when i was young, i prayed for lightning. â susan had approached the charmed figure slowly but without much warning, looking at the towers and castle walls in front of them. there was a saddened tone she doubted his young memories would have of her, always trying to hard to be a breath of fresh air whenever she was around. the woman had her arms crossed and an expression bordering on teary, a contrast to the coolness sheâd kept while subtly disrupting the memorial moments before. â i remember staring out of the windows here and wondering what would happen if one struck a tower, or a tree, or anyone. i donât think even you would have understood it then. â the castle was still very familiar - susan tried to visit it every anniversary of the battle, pushing for remembrance events and awareness talks. yet the notion that students would once again feel as STUCK as she once did made the looming building morph in her head, taking an ugly shape. a prison. â we were stuck here, most of us. that isolation⊠the repeated trauma of it all - you can get quite numb. i used to sit by the windows in stormy nights and just wish for a fire, a flood, anything to shock the systems. i suppose you know the feeling now, though. âÂ
Harryâs expression didnât alter as he was approached, but he did stiffen, before realising this was an ally. At least, he thought she was. He still regarded all of them with the barest hint of suspicion, not sure how to trust entirely when there was nothing left inside, no memories, to build trust upon. He relived the doubt all over again when Susanâs words so evidently spoke of a shared past, of who he had been. Harry heard it all but understood nothing. Except the idea of being numb. Shifting foot to foot, he bowed his head in acknowledgement, looking away from the grand silhouette of the castle. He did crave something he couldnât even put into words. A lightning strike might be the thing, some sort of jolt, whether deadly or benign. He didnât care if it took him out or made him start living again - he just needed one or the other.  âYou could argue Iâve already had my shock to the system,â he commented, without much inflection, staring up at one of the towers. Harry had gotten good at holding people at a distance, as remote and untouchable as its peak stretching out almost indistinguishably into the sky. âTwice, if the stories are to be believed.â Two chances at life. It sounded impossible, was impossible. He wished it had been impossible. âWanting another seems greedy, wouldnât you agree?â It wasnât a real question. His smile at Susan, first intended to reassure, was bitter. Â
who: @ginpctterâ sent a đĄ for an angsty starter
where: great hall, hogwarts
when: january 12, memorial service
He should probably feel more nervous. It was the first time in months that Harry had been outside the safehouse, and here, he knew he was among enemies, here to mourn one of their own. People who would kill him if they saw through the enchantments placed upon him. People who might have actually killed him before.Â
It should make Harry afraid. Instead, it was electricity coursing through his veins. What kind of man was he, to be nothing but the timid remnant of whoever heâd been before around his family and friends, reluctant to even reach out, but now, here, among enemies, he felt alive? He wished he could say it was because of a memory of his old school, but Harry suspected it was just the prospect of action, at last, of doing something that had called all his senses alert, scanning the crowd at the memorial service with little recognition of any of them. What he remained most aware of was Ginny at his side, a familiar presence to him now, but that didnât change how on edge he felt when she was near. The vague hope heâd had that he would remember something had faded, but it sparked a rush of gratitude that she was still here guarding him regardless, even though now he was nothing to her, not truly her husband, not truly anyone but a blank slate. âIs it like you remember? The school?â he asked her, mostly to break the silence.Â
