Tomarrymort As Lps

current mantra

I just know that dating her must be a nightmare.

II. Black

<- previous day

The main issue was the house’s deceiving magnitude. Realistically, Potter would’ve never used half of the rooms in it. The ancient house-elf was only capable of making no more than a quarter of them inhabitable. Draco was left with no space to breathe. He rotated between his room and its attached bathroom, the kitchen, and his temporary potions lab. He refused to go into the living room unless he was coming through the floo, but even so he barely had reasons to leave the house for the time being.

Regardless, Draco was too busy to spend time exploring the rooms of this wretched place.

He walked into it by mistake. It was like the other rooms he’s accidentally gotten glimpses of. The only sign of life was the worn rug. Draco walked in and scanned the surrounding area. 

Once upon a time the sitting room would’ve received many noble guests, the lumoses reflecting off their crystals as raucous laughter spilled from their mouths. Presently the room was veiled in darkness. Only the light from the hallway illuminated the skeletons of furniture, each covered in a thick layer of grey.

Draco recognized it as soon as he glanced it, the Black Family Tapestry. His eyes were drawn instantly to his mother’s name—whether by instinct or some forgotten old magic—and the golden embroidery, now in the dimness no more than an ecru line, connecting her to his father. Below them he knows is his name, but his eyes drift to the scorched mark next to his mother.

He’d seen it again at the bottom of the fireplace with a match at his hand. He’d thrown it in and watched the residue charcoal disappear under amber flames.

prompt list next day ->

When I was seven I spilled glitter all over my bedroom floor. It was a glorious, sparkling chaos, and even as I got yelled at, I thought how beautiful it was, golden glimmers winking at me in the sun.

Despite multiple attempts to clean it up, every now and then I’d still catch a glint, now and again, in between the cracks in the floorboard, the bottom of a drawer or caught in the tread of my slippers. I am three decades older and have moved house six times since then, and the other day I opened a box containing bits and pieces from my childhood (old toys, diaries) and a small shower of glitter fell once more to the floor.

All these years later, and my beautiful mistake is still ingrained into my universe, impossible to extricate or forget.

Remember me, the glitter says, bright and bold and irrepressible. Remember how happy I made you for one brief moment before you spent your life trying to get rid of me.

[day 10 of Microfic May: scene]

Inevitably, they return to the scene of the crime. It's their fucking locker room adjacent to their home pitch exclusive to their Quidditch team.

And now, every single morning, as Morrison drones on about warm-ups and tactics and offensive manoeuvres, Harry's traitorous mind wanders: to the showers (echoing with Draco's choked moans), to the David's locker (its coldness the only thing keeping him cognisant as Draco licks him open), to the bench Draco is sitting on (and the scuff marks it left on the floor from being… pushed).

Catching Draco's eyes is an accident, but it seals Harry's fate either way.

He's doomed: a future repeat offender.

other days: tumblr / ao3

animagus 🐾

night out 💫

Girls practice chinese lion dance

Listen, if a Bad President can come in and take away our rights and we're dependent on a Good President replacing them in four years to give us back our rights, then we do not have any rights.

If politicians can take or distribute them, then they're not "inalienable" and they're not "rights."

We don't have inalienable rights we have conditional privileges, divvied out according to the whims of whoever currently holds the reins.

And if we want to have actual rights, then we must build a system in which no one has the power to take them away to begin with.