Based on comealongraggedypond's prompt: au where james and lily don’t get together in hogwarts so instead there’s all this unresolved sexual tension and feelings in their early days of being in the order. one day on a mission lily gets captured by death eaters and when they demand to know her name she panics because they’ll definitely kill her if they know she’s muggle-born so she pulls a elizabeth swan by blurting out “lily potter”
This story took on a mind of its own. It’s not what I intended to write, or probably what Jess was imagining, but so it goes.
It rankles to have been captured by this brute of a Death Eater, one so thick as to think violence is the way to pry honesty out of his captives.
Lily doesn’t think about lying. She can’t, in fact, think about much of anything over the blinding, all-consuming pain wracking her body. Without planning, her mouth cries out against the floor, “Lily Potter!”
The tormenting magic vanishes as quickly as it set in, the sudden reprieve drawing another strangled sound out of her.
"Potter and Meadowes," the man says, his voice rich with condescension. "They’ll be happy to hear that."
Lily’s lungs, still in residual agony, can’t seem to draw in enough air. She struggles to control her shaking limbs, but she manages to roll onto her back to let her chest heave freely. As she lies there, sucking in damp air and squeezing her eyes closed, she hears his heavy footsteps shuffling across the stone floor, thankfully away from her.
The door thuds shut behind him. His muttered spell guarantees they’re locked in, but at least it also means he won’t be casting another Cruciatus against Lily for the moment.
Then there’s only the sound of ragged breaths.
Her mind has never been so utterly blank before. Nothing permeates her thoughts other than how much she aches, from her scalp down to her toenails. She can’t move, she can’t think, and time stretches on, marked only by the faint subsiding of her symptoms.
Dorcas recovers first, pulling herself upright against the wall. In the faint light of the candle hanging out of reach above their heads, her eyes meet Lily’s.
"Your first time with Cruciatus, yeah?" Dorcas says, her voice as rough as the floor beneath them.
Lily nods, and even that motion was a mistake. It’s beyond her how Dorcas can be as mobile as she is.
"You should’ve answered sooner." Dorcas grimaces as she props up her back against the wall, letting her head fall backward. "No point drawing it out."
"Hard to think about talking," Lily says, "when you can’t think at all."
"Unforgiveable-happy, that one." Dorcas glances at the door before looking meaningfully at Lily. "Well done on answering."
Oh. Right. Lily had lied.
It was a smart lie. Captured muggle-borns don’t usually fare as well as purebloods.
But she had to say Potter, didn’t she?
Thank God it was Dorcas in here and not Marlene, who would never have let Lily live that down. Dorcas will have understood the purpose of the lie. She won’t ask about it again. She won’t tell anyone in the Order.
"It’s not because I fancy him," Lily feels compelled to say.
Dorcas doesn’t say anything.
Lily’s hands curl into fists, and it doesn’t hurt as much as it would have a minute ago. Her nails are sharp and ragged against her palms, ruined from her wild scratching against the floor earlier.
"I didn’t plan to—" Lily cuts herself off at Dorcas’s sharp look. Of course. Who knows who’s listening in?
Besides, she doesn’t need to convince Dorcas. Dorcas doesn’t care.
And so she shuts her mouth, closes her eyes, and tries to convince herself that she’s going to be perfectly fine soon.
“It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”
― Pablo Picasso
I just realized that in POA not only does Snape teach about werewolves because he hopes someone notices Lupin’s lyncanthropy, but he also takes away Remus’ opportunity to teach about them as they should be, not as monsters, but as afflicted people.
#he took away lupin’s right to represent himself (via deadbeatrice)
He’s Counting Down From 21, And By The Time He Reaches 15, My Stomach Is In Knots
This. This is important.
He’s beyond amazing
Can’t handle how amazing he is
30 Day Teen Titans Challenge
Day 1: Favorite Titan;
"My abilities are controlled by emotion. The more you feel the more energy you unleash."
I don’t have any real explanation for this other than I was bored and in the mood to write.
He’s always messing with his hair.
Rubbing it, grabbing it, sticking his fingers in at odd angles and twisting. Ruffling it up to impress. Flattening it the week after his mum dies.
It shouldn’t even be that interesting. His hair doesn’t have infinite shades like hers does. It doesn’t flow around his shoulders or shine in the sunlight. It doesn’t even smell like anything but shampoo, the few times she’s been close enough to notice.
(She’s definitely not looking for opportunities to do that because that would be pathetic.)
If anything, he should be thinking about her hair. Her hair is a marvel, and deserves every single compliment she gets for it.
But he never talks about her hair. It’s always, “Morning, lovely eyes,” or “After you and your fantastic bum,” or “Use those marvelous hands to pass me the salt, would you?”
A year ago he wouldn’t have made these sorts of comments. Not because he wasn’t thinking them (he probably was), but because he knew she would’ve caused him permanent damage.
Now…now there are no hexes from her. She’s got a look instead. A look she has perfected, with the right blend of unimpressed eyebrow lilt and slight tilt of the head, the one that says, “Really?”
It’s not an effective deterrent.
But deterrence isn’t the game. Not anymore.
And he knows it, too, the prick. He volleys back to her look with a slight pull on one corner of his mouth, a knowing, cocky half-smile, and for a second they’re stuck entirely on each other, dancing around the issue.
It isn’t that she doesn’t know what she wants (the short hairs at the back of his neck tickling against her palms and why is that all she can think about). It isn’t that he wouldn’t say yes if she asked.
Part of it is that the game itself is fun. It’s only October, and they’ve got time. They’re spiraling to a point, they just haven’t got there yet, and the journey is half the fun.
The other part is that he seems to be cataloging her with compliments except for her hair.
It’s weird. It doesn’t make sense.
Finally she cracks.
“Please, sir, don’t! I have a family! Don’t you have a heart?”
The man in the mask leans forward, presses the muzzle of his gun against Lily’s chest chest. It traces, cold and heavy, down the bare skin at her sternum, follows the neckline of her blouse, threatens to duck into her cleavage. Lily presses her lips together and glares.
Him being a sleaze is not a part of the plan.
Especially when he balances on the counter to peek down her blouse. She pushes down—pushes far down—the heat she can feel in her face, breast, low in her belly—and rreminds herself that people are watching, that she’s supposed to be terrified, a gun and a masked robber threatening her life. He demands, again, and loudly, “Give me the money, sweet thing, and I won’t blow that pretty face of yours off. Quick, if you please.”
thank you to bobandsmallbob for spectacular betaing.
February brought pale light and a slow melting of the snow that blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts. The buds of flowers were just beginning to raise their heads on the frail branches of winter-shaken trees, and the ground didn’t freeze your bum when you’d been sitting on it for the first time since the end of October.
Lily liked February. It was never that unbearable scorching hot like it was in June and July. She liked that the sunlight was still weak enough so that she didn’t feel it beating down on her relentlessly when she stepped out from under the shade. She liked that there was still a touch of frost on the air, that kept her cool and alert. She liked to sit outside during the month of February. She liked to watch things come back to life after a lazy, slow slumber during the winter months. More than anything, she liked to watch the blossoming of new flowers, baby leaves and trees. They often replaced old flowers, and she liked to quietly observe the new life, often something more beautiful than what had been there before.
She liked the idea that the cold, balmy breeze still gave her the feeling that it could whisk her away, to distant snow-capped mountains or green fields that stretched further than the mind could see. This particular year, the last year that she would spend her February in the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts, she especially liked its appeal, because for a little while, she could allow herself to be swallowed up by all the good that February had brought and forget all that troubled her. Especially, she could forget that only a few days ago, as January drew to its close and marked another year in her life completed, her family had forgotten her.
Her friends insisted that her letter had simply been lost in the post, and that it would be here soon. If they knew that she thought they had forgotten her, they would be so heartbroken. The usual. Lily waited with hope, and in the meantime, she could escape in the lovely air that February brought to the Hogwarts grounds.
This was why, one evening early on in the month, James found her outside, in her favourite spot. It was slightly sloped ground, perfectly slanted so that she could either lie out to gaze up at the sky or sit up if she’d brought homework or a book with her, without feeling uncomfortable. It had a view of the lake and Hagrid’s hut, and was right next to a tree of pink blossoms.