It’s Sirius’ first year of Hogwarts. Finally a chance to get away from his family and live his life exactly the way he wants to live it… and hopefully make some friends along the way.
(( OOC: Inspired by @blvnk-art‘s amazing artwork that fulfilled all my long-haired Harry dreams. Sirius was the only living father figure Harry had any memory of, and I’ve always loved the idea of an older Harry modelling his aesthetic off of his punk Godfather.
So have this angsty post-war Harry Potter who hasn’t had a haircut in three years and is still fighting his inner demons. ))
(( OOC: *SCREAMS* ))
When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Arthur Conan Doyle, The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes (via books-n-quotes)
((OOC: Arthur Weasley was always an excitable child. He learned at a young age that the world was a big, beautiful place, filled with so many wonderful things that it made his tiny head spin. His parents were always aghast at how much energy one tiny human could have, always galloping through the house, through the yard, wanting to DO EVERYTHING. And every week he has a different Life Plan. He stumbles across a gnome in the turnip bed, and wants to be a Magizoologist. He sees his mother using a powerful potion to scour out the bottom of a rusty old cauldron, and decides he’s going to be a master of Potions, so he can figure out how they do what they do. Every night at dinner, he tells his parents about the new job he wants to do, and they always say, “Alright, dear, if it will make you happy.”
And then, one day, Arthur Weasley is hit by a car. Well, sort of. He gets a little too excited on a return trip from Diagon Alley, canons out of The Leaky Cauldron at full tilt, and runs headfirst into a parked car. And he loses. His. Tiny. Mind.
Future job chats are overturned at the Weasley dinner table by endless questions about what cars ARE. And what are they FOR. And how do they WORK. His parents hell him that muggles use them to travel, because they don’t have brooms or Flue Powder. He sits back in his chair, his mouth agape, and is silent for the rest of the meal. Then, as a dish of peach cobbler hovers past his place, he straightens up, his little face scrunched up with purpose, and says, “I’m going to be an expert on Muggles when I grow up.” His parents start to reply with their usual, “Alright, dear, if it will make you happy,” but are startled by the serious look on Arthur’s face, and how undeniably he had capitalized the letter M.
The following weeks, Mr and Mrs Weasley ask their son daily what he wants to do when he grows up. And every day, he says, “I am going to be an expert on Muggles.” His dad is worried, after all, that isn’t really a career. But his mum is sort of pleased that one of the many passing pleasures has stuck in her son’s mind. And so, for every following birthday, every following Christmas, there is always one special parcel that is handed to Arthur, and he receives it reverentially. The parcel is always wrapped carefully in muggle newspaper. It always has the largest bow. Arthur always saves it for last. One year, it’s a ball point pen. Another, it’s a paint roller. A roll of masking tape. Five used batteries. A four year old copy of the Beano. A piggy bank. And Arthur erects a shrine to muggles and their amazing inventions in his closet, and he spends every spare moment researching how they all work. Then, he goes to Hogwarts.
Teenage Arthur maintains that joy of life, that wonder in all things, but he focuses it into a fine point that he wields like a damn sword. He finds something that intrigues him, and he will sit with it until he understands it from all angles. He writes his parents to tell him about every new little thing that the world has delivered unto him. His grades fluctuate like CRAZY, as he falls in love with and then forgets all about each subject. He’s an amazing friend to the other boys in his dorm, always willing to talk about anything on their minds, and he laughs with genuine glee at all of their jokes, because how did they learn to be sO FUNNY? And for all his solemn stares and deep intense focus, he is still that cheeky, adventurous little boy, who flings himself into every amusement. He can never properly prank anyone, because he gets so excited about this amazing thing he’s concocted, that he just sits in a corner, vibrating, his face red and eyes streaming, SO EXCITED ABOUT THE THING HE HAS DONE AND WON’T EVERYONE BE SURPRISED. His friends play along, because you just can’t allow a boy like that to get sad.
But as with all focused minds, when he gets onto something really special, everything else in the world falls away. It takes Arthur all of first year to fully realize that there are girls in the Gryffindor tower. And even then, so what? Girls are just like boys, but with longer hair and smaller hands, right? He makes friends with these strange new creatures, and becomes the sort of young boy who keeps track of which girls are interested in which boys, who is walking to class together with whom, who maybe needs an extra bar of chocolate at the end of a long, hormonal day. But he’s never fully a part of that world. Arthur is too busy for things like dating himself, he has to become an expert on muggles. That takes a lot of time, a lot of work. And besides that, girls don’t really seem to be interested in him that way. Sure, there are some who think he’s cute, but he can see it in their eyes when they zone out twenty minutes into his fascinating explanation on how toasters work, and he could never really bring it on himself to try to tone down his enthusiasm on his favourite subject. So, maybe there just isn’t a girl who quite suits him at the school.
And then, he meets Molly. Molly Prewett. He had been sort of passingly aware of her, always laughing the biggest laugh at the breakfast table or braiding someone’s hair. This plump little girl with big bright eyes and hair almost as red as his. But it takes her until fourth year to approach him. So he doesn’t really see her. And then, she starts showing interest in muggles. She actually listens to him when he talks. Three hours in, she’s still engaged.
And then, all he can see is her. ))
((OOC: I also wanted to add, @asktheboywholived is exactly what I picture Arthur as being like. He’s a little more solemn, is absolutely focused, but the cheekiness is perfect. Arthur is a playful guy! And I think that’s what draws Molly to him initially. I mean, he’s cute as all hell, but then she sees him around the common room, talking animatedly, hands dancing through the air and his eyes all bright and excited, and all the air leaves her body, and she goes, “That one. That is the one.”
And then we get the whole issue of her being shy for the first time in her life. She’s always been this big, cheery, outspoken minx, with giant hair and a booming laugh and an uncontrollable maternal instinct. She’s not cool, necessarily, but she has this passion and this confidence that draws people to her. But there’s something about Arthur that makes her so nervous, because she knows he’s perfect for her right away, and she feels so much pressure to make something happen. But any time she tries, she spills tea, or she laughs too hard at her own jokes, or she just straight up falls over.
So you’ve got this great dynamic where there are two people who know exactly who they are, but neither of them quite know at the beginning how to relate to each other. And then through trial and error, they have seven kids. And they love each other so much, and they are so important to me, and- and- oh MAN I have a lot of feelings! ))
The realization that she loved James Potter didn’t hit her
like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t some epiphany she had in the middle of Charms
while watching him laugh with his friends. She didn’t suddenly see him on the
Quidditch pitch and think Oh my God, I’m
in love!
No, Lily Evans realized she loved James in a slow trickle,
little bits flowing in one at a time. First it was his laugh, that infectious mischievous
laugh that meant something was afoot.
Then, it was his hair. That stupid perpetually messy hair of his, that begged
for her to tame it. Next, his hands. Spindly capable hands that could cast a
quick spell just as well as they could gingerly bandage a cut. His eyes were
next. Those brilliant hazel eyes that saw everything,
and were almost always laughing. The first time she saw him cry, she almost came
undone herself. She’d never known eyes like his.
His temper was quick and fierce, and once you crossed him he
never forgave you. Everyone knew it. It was one thing that Lily couldn’t stand,
until she saw that part of him unravel completely their sixth year. Sirius had
messed up bad. The day he forgave his
best mate, Lily fell for his new-found gentleness. She watched as James became
more rounded and fell for every softened edge. She fell for his loyalty and the
way he faced danger head on, standing straight and unafraid.
The last piece clicked into place on an average morning
their seventh year. They sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall,
steadfastly ignoring the growing number of empty seats around them. Classmates were
dropping like flies. The owl post came, with the Daily Prophet and its daily
list of the dead. He leaned over her shoulder and they both scanned the list. A
thought floated up to the surface, gentle as can be. James, she realized, was
the only person she couldn’t bear to lose.
It wasn’t a shot in the dark or a bolt of lightning. It came
as easy as an old memory. She wasn’t sure how long, but it had been there for a
while. She glanced up from the paper and met his eyes. “I think I might love
you,” she said quite simply.
He blinked a moment, taken aback by her statement. Finally,
he spoke. “I think I might love you as well.”
It was a quiet confession, not a big declaration or a
whirlwind event. They both turned back to the paper in comfortable silence and,
when they were finished eating, left the Great Hall hand-in-hand.
write write write 