This Fic Was So Lovely And Relaxing. I Could Have Easily Binged A Whole Television Series About Remus

This fic was so lovely and relaxing. I could have easily binged a whole television series about Remus and Sirius living in a Muggle village a la All Creatures Great and Small.

Summer, 1999. Harry comes home with news. Quite a lot of news.

Harry takes a deep breath. “I’m quitting the Aurors,” he starts with, which is followed by a moment of stunned silence. “What?” Sirius says. “All right,“ Remus says. “Do you know what else you want to do? Did you think about it?” Harry blushes, the way James used to—a rosy glow lighting up his brown skin—and says, “I wanted to—that is, I thought I might be a teacher.” Remus, quite suddenly, seems to have something in his eye. "Oh.” “What?” Sirius says. “And uh—there’s more. I was thinking I might like to. That is. I want to become an Animagus.”

It has been approximately 10 thousand years since I’ve posted fic on this blog but hey! Here we are! 

A canonical list of times Remus told Sirius to sit and Sirius said I’m sat

Then Lupin spoke in an odd voice, a voice that shook with some suppressed emotion. “Where is he, Sirius?” Black’s face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn’t move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand and pointed straight at Ron.

And Crookshanks was thrown to the floor as Black lunged at Scabbers; Ron yelled with pain as Black’s weight fell on his broken leg. “Sirius, NO!” Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again.

“And Harry — you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!” Black stopped struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on Scabbers, who was clamped tightly under Ron’s bitten, scratched, and bleeding hands. “All right, then,” Black said, without taking his eyes off the rat. “Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for. . . .”

Lupin was struggling against his bonds. Black bent down quickly and untied him.

“How did you find out where he was?” Black put one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others […] “How did you get this?” Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck. “Fudge,” said Black.

[Sirius’s] voice broke. He turned away. “Enough of this,” said Lupin, and there was a steely note in his voice Harry had never heard before.

“Ready, Sirius?” said Lupin. Black had already retrieved Snape’s wand from the bed. He approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face. “Together?” he said quietly. “I think so,” said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other.

Black’s wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning look, then turned again to Pettigrew, his voice light and casual.

“Now he’s going to kill me too. . . . You’ve got to help me, Remus. . . .” Black’s face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes. “No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” said Lupin.

Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they lowered their wands.

Sirius started to rise from his chair. “Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” said Lupin sharply. “Sirius, sit down.” Mrs. Weasley’s lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

“There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you . . . I think Molly’s right, Sirius. We’ve said enough.” Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue.

“I’m coming up there to have a word with Snape!” said Sirius forcefully and he actually made to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him back down again. “If anyone’s going to tell Snape it will be me!” he said firmly.

Draco Malfoy 

I used this color palette via @color-palettes​

Look I drew a thing for myself for once

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rebel, rebel 🐾

What do you love about Drarry?

This ask has been sitting in my inbox (and wriggling around in my brain) for some months. Others have answered it, very eloquently, and I didn’t know that I had more to say. But I do. Thanks for asking.

I love Drarry because of how completely, and how instantly, the characters transcended their original narratives. How the community finished reading Deathly Hallows in July 2007, said “hmm,” closed the book, and promptly started tagging fanworks with EWE (Epilogue, What Epilogue?).

Because we all saw that epilogue for what it was: the kind of future that we might imagine for ourselves in grade school, doodling the name of our cutest classmate in our notebook and making up names for our kids. Or the kind of future some parents would write for us, where we marry their friends’ children and never leave our hometown and never disappoint or surprise our elders.

But my hunch is that most of us, here in this space, have lived lives where we scrapped our own pre-written epilogues.

Whatever that has looked like for each of us — whether we came out, or got divorced, or left our religions, or had the baby too soon, or never had the babies, or have climbed mental health mountains, or picked a path less pristine — we chose different things to believe in.

I’ll be honest: I rarely return to the books that started it all. By now I know them enough. They live a bit in the same mental spaces as my own childhood. I love my childhood because I desperately love the smaller version of me who had so much to figure out! She was trying so hard and learning so much. But I don’t spend undue time reliving the particular traumas that got me here.

And most of the guides I trusted back then, who tried to shape me into a particular ideal of what my future should be? I have left them behind. It’s complicated. I could feel bad that their investment in me did not pan out the way they hoped, but I don’t owe them who I am becoming.

Likewise, I love these kids that went to magic wizard school and went through unspeakable horror, often at the explicit maneuvering and brainwashing of their elders. I observe the ways in which they were manipulated and shaped to have certain futures.

And then I free them from their author. I let them grow up to be something different. The child I was recognizes the child they were, and then together we agree to go forward to messier, wider, more true stories.

I think this is why I can keep reading & writing Drarry even as their original author spirals into hateful existence. To me it’s like the “okay, well then, I’m your mom now” response to a disowned trans kid or a pregnant sixteen-year-old.

We collectively see these (fucked up, and for good reason) characters and say, “okay! Well then, we’re your authors now. Get in. We've got places to go."

💗

Secret rendezvous 💜💙💚 //