wovenstarlight



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    Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet, smiling at them in that way of his, like he knew something you didn't and he was proud of you for it. "Friends," he began.

    The door thudded open and the Marauders burst in, late and pink-cheeked with cold. The headmaster smiled at them, too, and Sirius gave a cheery little salute back.

    Severus sunk lower in his chair, staring witheringly over his butterbeer. "You told Potter about it, too?"

    "He might as well put all that energy to good use," said Lily. "And, to be accurate, I told Remus."

    "But Potter, really?" said Severus.

    "He and Black cooked up a jinx that gives you a boil every time you say a slur to a Muggleborn," said Lily. "It was either invite them to Alice's war club or bake them cookies, and I know where my skills lie."

    Severus sniffed. "Don't come crying to me if he tugs your pigtails."

    "Come crying to me if he pulls yours, and I'll deck him," said Lily.

    (Slight AU in which Severus apologizes, tries harder, and stays friends with Lily)

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    16 Oct 2019

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Harry Potter spent his eleventh birthday in a cabin on a tiny rock in the middle of the sea, listening to his cousin snore on the couch.

    When a knock sounded on the wind-swept, rain-drenched door, it was not a giant fist (or a half-giant's fist). It was a short sharp rap that sounded once, twice, three times before Minerva McGonagall simply charmed the lock open and stepped inside.

    "Apologies," Minerva said crisply, as Vernon raced out brandishing his rifle and Petunia pulled Dudley up off the couch and behind her. "I wasn't sure you could hear me over the weather.” The rain fell down behind the professor in a roar. She was perfectly dry.

    Minerva fished in her pocket without looking, because the only things allowed in her pockets were only ever exactly what she needed. “I've come to deliver this," she said, pulling out a letter and handing it to Harry, who was cross-legged on the floor, "because our owl post seems to have been unable to get through.”

    “And I've come to deliver this," she added, pulling out a second letter, "because Hogwarts by-laws require a professor to hand-deliver acceptance letters to Muggleborn families for their explanation and comfort."

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    16 Oct 2019

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

    She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

    Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE-- the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

    She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

    When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn't. He didn't accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

    Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

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    16 Oct 2019

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    When Hermione Jean Granger was one year old her parents died in a car crash. She knew all about it because she asked a lot of questions and her aunt and uncle believed in answering them.

    Why is the sky blue, auntie? Why are b's and d's like in the mirror? Where do songs come from? Why did Jenny Hopkins call me a--?

    Her father had accelerated into a green light, like you were supposed to. (By the time she was eight, Hermione had the driver's rulebook memorized). A truck driver, going the opposite way, hadn't stopped at a red.

    Hermione had been strapped in a car seat in the back, her aunt and uncle told her. She hadn't been hurt at all except for the scar that stood out, jagged, on her forehead.

    As Hermione grew up into a gangly, bushy-haired, buck-toothed wonder, she thought she could remember it-- a glaring green light, a rush of cold air.

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    15 Oct 2019

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Molly tried her best. When Harry had told them, Arthur had asked excitedly, "is this a Muggle thing?" Hermione had hurried out a "no!" and a frantic history of gender diversity in the wizarding world.

    "It's just that I'm a girl," Harry had said, and Arthur had nodded and asked her about how telephone booths worked. He would call her by the right pronouns until the day he died at the respectable old age of one hundred and thirty three, and he would make it seem easy.

    But Molly had to try. Hermione explained things faster and higher-pitched every time Molly messed up a pronoun. Molly frowned and muttered and put extra potatoes on Harry's plate at breakfast. Harry slept in Ron's room, which didn't bother either of them but which made Hermione scowl.

    Harry got boxes of sweets and warm hugs, as Molly chewed things over. For her fifteenth Christmas, the Weasley sweater she would receive would be a bright, friendly, terrible pink.

    The next time Harry visited, Molly put her on Ginny's floor to sleep-- for some definition of sleep that involved Hermione hissing threats at three in the morning if Harry and Ginny didn't "shut up about Wronski feints, do you know what time it is."

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    15 Oct 2019