ignite this angel

lawl bbcode still here because lawl don’t care. WHEN HE THOUGHT about how little time he...

Thu, 16 May 2013 00:07:00 -0400

lawl bbcode still here because lawl don’t care.

WHEN HE THOUGHT about how little time he spent between the dinner and the date, Lucas had to admit that he spent a gross amount of time deciding where the two would go. It wasn’t as though he was deciding between a thousand grand ideas — he was having a detailed debate over a handful of entirely mediocre plans. His mental ramblings were disoriented and punctuated by a chorus of ‘This is stupid.’

For a long while he considered taking her to a restaurant — hey, wouldn’t it be just [i]adorable[/i] if he took her to Mark Spedding’s place? — but he ultimately decided that it was a pitiful idea. In any case, he thought it would feel off with her out of uniform.

His next plan was a movie, the date to end all dates. And perhaps he would have gone for it if the two had been dating for a while. But they were just starting out, and for that reason, he thought that talking to her might be important. He decided that he would save it for a later date — then the two could ignore the screen and have a heated make out session — failing that, he might at least cop a feel.

He would settle for feeling her up.

But those ideas had been his fall back plans, and once they were gone, he had no first nor second choices. He was ready to ask his little brother for dating advice, in all honesty. He had a shot with this girl, and he would like to keep it. For the first time in ages, he wanted to keep it.

Lucas was almost ready to give up. He almost decided that he would just wing it — even though he knew it would end badly. But finally, his brain stopped playing mind games with him. He landed on what was, at the very least, an acceptable plan.

He would take her to the forest he had walked through the very day before. He would bring a set of binoculars (and possibly a little snack — would a picnic be too much?) and the two would go bird watching. Yes, that’s what their first date would be. It wouldn’t be legendary — he doubted it would be memorable, actually — but it was good enough. At least it wasn’t a movie.

He acted like it was a big secret when he picked her up. She asked what they would be doing and he barely glanced at her. She asked with a touch more enthusiasm and he simply smiled. She posed the question with undeniable zeal and he shook his head a little. “You’ll know soon enough.” He knew he was being a douche bag, but he wasn’t going to drop it any time soon. It was oddly fun.

Vanessa looked a little disappointed when they reached the little forest. He could understand why — it wasn’t they absolute greatest place to be (and certainly not the greatest for a first date) — but she cheered up quite a bit when he pulled out the binoculars.

“I thought I’d pull away from the hum-drum of first dates and take you bird watching.”

She smiled appreciatively. “Thank you for that. For a while there I was afraid you were going to take me to a restaurant.”

They took their places on the narrow dirt path. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye: she was looking straight ahead and, from what he could tell, she was rather happy to be there. (Though he did hope that she was simply happy to be with him.)

“Is it bad that I seriously considered a restaurant?” He squinted and leaned away from her, as if he was afraid of her reaction.

She laughed quietly. He hadn’t looked at her while she did it, so he liked to think that she had covered her mouth while the laugh sounded. She seemed like the type of person to cover her mouth during a laugh. “As long as it wasn’t Mark’s place, I suppose it’s fine.”

Lucas never did say that the Spedding place was one of his early plans, but she understood that it was anyway. Silence is a funny, fickle mistress.

He was quite thankful that all she did was grin and shake her head. The last girl he had dated — Misty Something-or-Other — would have gone off on a tirade at the realisation.

The two walked aimlessly, Vanessa occasionally pulling the binoculars to her face (whether she had spotted something or was just having a laugh, he never did know). She would sometimes point to something far off in the distance, sometimes adding a mumbled comment, but he rarely paid much attention. He found — as horribly cliché as it was — that her profile was far more interesting than the little forest.

He later told himself that he only felt that was because he had already explored the forest.

But in all honesty, he was quite content with simply studying her face. He did enjoy thinking of her — who she could be. He liked to think that there was a secret. He saw her as a sort of mystery, as something to unravel. And he looked forward to spending more time with her — to doctoring the puzzle.

He watched as she pointed off to the distance once more, watched as her smile grew ever larger, watched as her face lit up. He didn’t register the words she had said, but smiled and nodded when she turned to face him. And in just a moment, she had run off.

Lucas looked after her, for just a second wondering what was happening. For another second, he admired how fast she could run. And then he tore off after her, trying his hardest to keep up. Once again, his mind turned to her speed.

She finally slowed after what felt to him like a solid five minutes. She turned momentarily: exhilarated, radiant. He saw a few old planks of wood leading to the treetop.

She turned to him and smiled. (He did like her smile.) “Oh my god, this is fantastic!”

He eyed the planks suspiciously. He wasn’t fond of loose stairs and rickety floors. Once again, he didn’t need to say a word. She simply understood.

“You don’t like it.” He had to admit, she did a fantastic job of covering her disappointment — he could hardly tell it was there.

“I — well, it’s just that it doesn’t look particularly safe.”

She surveyed the tree house. “I think it looks fine.”

He [i]almost[/i] resisted. But then it hit him. [i]“There was this tree house. It wasn’t fancy or anything, but my brother and I loved it.”[/i] Although it probably wasn’t the most ‘romantic’ place he could have chosen, it did seem to do the trick. She liked it. And if she liked it — and they spent some time there — wouldn’t the date be a success? Why wouldn’t she like him?

He paused ever so slightly, noting how quickly her face fell. “Well…” He dragged the word out, watching her eyes sparkle a little more. “You are the expert on tree houses.”

Her smile returned in full measure. He hoped for a hug or a peck on the cheek, or something of the likes, but she simply clambered up the old wood steps. He wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t like they knew each other too well, but he did wish for it. He wanted intimacy, and he wanted it quickly.

He traipsed up after her, looking curiously around the old house. It was small and, to his surprise, fairly clean. It almost looked like something that he’d find in someone’s yard. It’d probably be in a neglected yard, but in a yard nonetheless. Vanessa had taken a seat in the corner. A window was just a few inches away from her, and she appeared to be staring out of it.

Quickly, he walked over to her, sitting beside her silently. He watched her smile for a while, not noticing how the happiness seemed to fade. He never noticed happiness’ decline.

“Oh, this is just fantastic,” she said, looking over the little wooden room. He didn’t see much in the place — there was just a small block of wood, which he thought to be a bench, and an old poster on the wall, whose ink had run from the rain. A few toys lay in the far corner of the tree house, and he thought they looked a little pitiful. But she seemed to see a whole world in the place.

“It is, isn’t it?”

She smiled a little brighter and put her head on his shoulder. And right then, he decided that the date was a success.

Lucas thought about kissing her at [i]some[/i] point — he had planned on doing it anyway, no matter what sort of date he took her on. But she started talking about the tree house she had in her yard way back when and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d never seen her so enthusiastic, and to be perfectly honest, he didn’t want to bring her down.

He had seen her smile plenty — what sort of waitress never smiled? — but he’d never seen her do it quite like that. Later that evening he supposed there were a few chances for him to go in for the kill, but he didn’t think it was necessarily appropriate.

Besides, he had already set another date with her. He would get his chance.

I think I might start using this to preview my Mibba chapters. maybe not all the time because...

Thu, 16 May 2013 00:00:18 -0400

I think I might start using this to preview my Mibba chapters. maybe not all the time because lolnope no work pls but if I feel like a chapter sucks but it’s done, I might ask for your opinion.

yep.

ignitethisangel: I suddenly want to write a story from Fang’s point of view when he first sees...

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 17:37:27 -0400

ignitethisangel:

I suddenly want to write a story from Fang’s point of view when he first sees Harry and thinks that James has come back.

yep.

UGH OMFG I JUST THOUGHT OF A GREAT IDEA FOR IT AND IT’S ALL SERIOUS AND WTF GUUUURL

Wed, 20 Mar 2013 00:59:20 -0400

8 girl avas.

Sat, 09 Mar 2013 18:58:00 -0500

(via 43 365 Books do furnish a room | Flickr - Photo...

Sun, 03 Mar 2013 14:29:00 -0500

(via 43 365 Books do furnish a room | Flickr - Photo Sharing!)

blood traitor.

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 05:02:51 -0500

General family angst from both Sirius’ and Regulus’ viewpoints. 2 883 words.

It was one of those days. The rest of the family had come over for dinner. Narcissa was as haughty as usual, Bellatrix as gloating. Each seemed to peer down their noses at their cousins, scrutinising their every move. Andromeda sat sandwiched between them, pretending that she, too, was interested in the pureblood talk. Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella praised their eldest and youngest daughters, and shot furtive glances at Andromeda - they seemed to realise that she was longing to be anywhere else.

Their mother and father chatted happily with the others. Sirius sat in the limelight – he appeared to be the most promising of the Black sons. He was daring and handsome, and he certainly was smart. Regulus stole some of his glory, but still, he remained hidden in his brother’s shadow.

And so, he sat and listened. When the topic of Bellatrix’s NEWT marks had been exhausted, and Sirius’ Sorting in the year to come had dried up, they moved on to the old standby topic – Purebloods and Mudbloods.

“I still can’t see why they let them in,” said Bellatrix coldly. “If they have an ounce of magic in them, I’ll eat Doxy droppings.”

“Blood traitors must insist on ‘fairness’ and ‘equality’,” answered Aunt Druella. “But don’t worry, my sweet, the Mudbloods will be taken care of in due course.”

“And perhaps this will happen sooner than you think,” Uncle Cygnus said, a small smile playing at his lips. “It seems that more and more are realising which way is right and which way is wrong. Wizards will have supreme power in no time at all.”

Bellatrix smiled widely. “Too true,” she said quietly, beaming down at her dinner plate. Regulus thought, if only for a moment, that she was in love. But he thought better of it in a moment. Bellatrix Black was possibly the coldest person he had ever met – there was no doubt in his mind that she had a heart of stone, a heart incapable of love.

“Rabastan had been saying that all last year,” said Narcissa, looking up to her father.

“Yes, he and Rodolphus understand the importance of blood,” said Uncle Cygnus. “They have been raised well.”

Narcissa looked over to her eldest sister. Bellatrix seemed not to notice.

“I imagine they will have high ranks in the new order.”

Regulus, who hadn’t heard much of this new order, wasn’t so sure that it was desirable. He thought it seemed cruel and unnecessary. He looked over to his brother, trying to decipher his thoughts.

Sirius, who always became much quieter during these talks, was staring pointedly at his potatoes. But for once, he wasn’t alone in his silence. Andromeda seemed to be mirroring his actions. Regulus looked from one to the other, then back to his food again. It appeared that he wasn’t alone – there were others in his family who didn’t care about blood.

“But they’ll disown us if we tell them, Sirius!” he said, later that night. “Don’t you remember them talking about Phineas? Mum said that everyone acted as though he was dead until they didn’t have to pretend anymore!”

“That doesn’t matter, though, Reg,” he said. He was acting more relaxed than Regulus had ever seen him before. Maybe it was because they were alone, away from their parents’ prying eyes and stinging disapproval. Maybe it was because there were no visitors to criticise their every move. Maybe it was because Sirius had never held the same belief as the others, and he finally had someone to confide in. No matter what it was, it changed him.

“Yes it does! I don’t want my whole family to hate me! We can’t just – just pretend they don’t exist and live our lives without them!”

“Who said our whole family would hate us?” he asked immediately. “Do you think everyone here is rotten to the core? There are bound to be some good apples on the withering Black Family Tree.

“And besides,” he said, his voice somewhat strained, “you’ll always have me.”

“But what about everyone else, Sirius? What if they hate us? And – and what if something happens to you? What if something happens to me? Then we’d be completely alone.”

Sirius seemed to notice the tone he spoke with. He must have sounded pathetic, whining about how bleak and hopeless things would be without the rest of the family. In the half-light, though, his features were covered by shade. Regulus couldn’t read his older brother’s mind, nor could he see his expression.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said simply. “Nothing can tear the two of us apart, even if it means turning our backs on everyone else. It can just be you and me – Sirius and Regulus, us against the world. No matter what happens, you will always be my little brother.”

He seemed so sure of it, that Regulus couldn’t help but believe him. “No matter what happens?” he asked hopefully.

“No matter what.”

Regulus smiled to himself, allowing the words to sink in. Sirius and Regulus, us against the world. No matter what. He was sure that having his older brother by his side would help him through the darkest of times.

It was just a few months later when everything changed.

“Orion,” Regulus heard his mother call. “Narcissa wrote us.”

“Already? They’re barely a day into school,” he answered, evidently shocked to receive news so soon.

Interested, Regulus poked his head out of his bedroom door. He saw his mother and father’s shadows dominating the hall. He walked slowly to his parents’ looming figures, and listened carefully as his father read aloud.

“‘I am sorry to bother you so soon, and even more so to be the bearer of bad news, but a problem has arisen. It seems that Sirius, though perfectly well behaved under your supervision, has already wandered astray.

The Sorting Hat had barely been on his head for ten seconds when it declared him a Gryffindor…’”

Even through the darkness, Regulus could see the look of disgust on his father’s face. His mother looked like she was ready to faint.

“A Gryffindor,” repeated Orion Black, hatred laced in his voice. “My son, the Gryffindor.”

He held the letter loosely in his hands, his eyes averted from it. It seemed that he couldn’t bear to read any more of it.

Walburga waited a moment before tugging it out of his hands. ”’…He has already made friends with this Potter fellow, who looks to have all the wrong ideas about blood purity. He and the other Gryffindors may poison young Sirius’ mind. I’ll be paying him a visit in due course, in the hopes of returning some sense to him.

If you wish me to keep an eye on him, or pass on any messages, please feel free to tell me. It seems that young Sirius may be in need of more guidance than any of us originally thought.

Regards,

Narcissa,’” his mother continued, stricken by the news.

“My son,” Regulus’ father began slowly, worry lines appearing on his face, “is a blood traitor.”

“Orion, please,” said Walburga, her voice barely audible. “He might not be–”

“He has become all I hate in the world,” he continued, as though he hadn’t heard his wife. “He is an abomination, a shame.”

“There must be some sort of mistake,” she continued, raising her voice.

“My son is–”

“Orion–”

“–worthless and useless–”

“Please, just–”

“–a shame to all of us. My son–”

“You have another son,” Walburga interjected.

And so their attention was returned to Regulus. For the first time in years, they had noticed the fly on the wall. They looked to the overlooked. They noticed the insignificant. And it seemed that they liked what they saw. They saw a much more promising boy. They saw a boy with potential - a boy with value.

Regulus had stolen the spotlight.

Walburga reached out and ran her hand through her youngest son’s hair. “You won’t disgrace the Black family, will you, sweetheart?”

Regulus looked to his mother and father, so hopeful for the boy they saw before them. His thoughts strayed to his brother, and how much fun he must be having, the weight of his family lifted off his shoulders. For a moment, he felt defiant. He felt daring, just as Sirius always did. But the feeling evaporated in a moment’s time. He wasn’t defiant. He wasn’t daring. He wasn’t Sirius.

He opened his mouth, ready to reply. But his options kept pressing in closer, wishing the be the one he chose. How could he decide between his parents and his brother? How could a ten year old decide who to love and who to ignore?

“You won’t put us to shame, will you, Regulus?” his mother asked.

His eyes met hers, and immediately, he knew what he must say. “Of course not.”

It was only when he returned to his room that he felt as though he had made a mistake. An owl had appeared by his window, a letter tied to its leg. He ushered the creature in, and took the scroll off.

He was sure it had come from Sirius – he must have felt the need to explain himself. But Regulus had made his choice. Sirius was not to be taken into account. His opinion didn’t matter, his voice didn’t matter, hedidn’t matter. Sirius was nothing.

Sirius, once a king sitting high above the rest, had fallen from his pedestal. Sirius was the king without a crown.

He shooed the owl away; Sirius deserved no reply. And once the window was closed, the letter was crumpled up and thrown into the corner of Regulus’ room.

Narcissa’s prediction had proven true over the years: Sirius was in need of more guidance than they originally thought. Though, with the help of his friends, he had resisted it every time they offered. Time and time again, Sirius had proven that he had so much more backbone than little Regulus.

It was widely known - many suspected that Regulus had, at one point, felt the same as his brother. But Sirius had acted on it. Brave young Sirius became a Gryffindor; brave young Sirius became admirable. Little Regulus had never grown a spine. He would forever be his parents’ puppet, doomed to make his decisions based on his family’s beliefs.

One summer, years after his Sorting, Sirius had shown his family just how much his backbone had strengthened.

He didn’t say a single word to his mother. He thoroughly ignored his father. He glared at his brother every time he saw him. Though this wasn’t unusual for Sirius, Regulus couldn’t help but feel that something was different today.

And he was right.

The door to Sirius’ room was left ajar. Feeling a surge of reckless abandon - feeling, he told himself, like his older brother - Regulus walked in. His trunk lay on his bed, packed full of clothes. The dresser drawers were hanging out, emptied. Most of his belongings were packed away.

Undoubtedly the rest would be taken down before dinner.

Regulus walked out, feeling rather emptier than he thought he would (for he knew as well as Sirius that he would soon be leaving home), and waited for the explosion to come.

He waited for nothing, though.

Sirius acted as he always did at dinner. He ate quickly and quietly, and left as soon as he could. Regulus watched him closely as he stood up. He expected him to announce it now. Surely he would say that he was leaving. Surely he would throw it in his mother and father’s faces.

He watched for nothing, though.

Sirius walked away hastily, a slamming door sounding in the distance. Walburga and Orion continued on with their conversation, as though nothing had happened. Perhaps they felt that nothing had.

Regulus’ stomach churned at the thought of what his brother was planning, though. Sirius was bound to break his mother’s heart, he was going to harden his father’s. But Walburga’s heart was torn up enough, and Orion’s was already hard as stone. Sirius had no reason to add on to it.

And though Regulus used this as his excuse to feel worried, he knew that there was another. He missed the brother he once knew. He wished that he could be following. The Black family was cold and unrelenting. He would give anything to escape their grasp.

Feeling rather sick, he excused himself from the table. He told himself that he would talk some sense into his brother, but he felt that when the moment came, he would beg Sirius to let him tag along.

But when he reached Sirius’ room, he found it abandoned. It looked so much emptier, though the only thing missing was the trunk engraved with the letters ‘S.B.’

Maybe it seemed so cold simply because he knew his brother would never return. Maybe it looked so empty because Sirius hadn’t cared enough to tell Regulus. Maybe it hurt so much because he had never given his courageous older brother a reason to trust him.

Feeling emptier than ever before, Regulus dragged his feet to his bedroom, leaving Sirius’ as it was: disheveled and abandoned, ready to be found.

Sirius Black was dead to him.

Regulus, though he wore his family’s beliefs like a crown, had another change of heart. Though these came and went as time wore on, he knew that this time was different.

He and the Dark Lord disagreed on many counts, and he could no longer serve the monster tearing apart his world. He looked to the Mark etched in his skin – a constant reminder of who he was now, and of what he sacrificed for his change.

It was only then that he knew what to do. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He arranged for a dinner with his parents. He told his fellow Death Eaters that he must see them, as they were so anxious to hear news from the front lines of the war against Muggles. It was an excuse they all accepted.

He faked joy all throughout the meal, giving his family tidbits on the movements on Lord Voldemort. ‘Oh, yes, we’re making a great deal of headway.’ ‘We suspect that we will win the war in no time at all.’ ‘The Muggle-borns and blood traitors won’t have a clue what hit them.’

His parents smiled at him affectionately. In their eyes, he was the best son for miles. And Regulus simply pretended that he felt the same.

It was only when he reached the solitude of his room that he dropped the act. He searched quickly, and found what he came for within moments. It was a little black box, with his most prized possessions inside.

He opened it up and shoved it all into his pockets, and headed back downstairs. He bade goodnight to his parents, and walked out the door.

Moments later, he stood before a Muggle motel, and paid for a run-down room with Muggle money. If his father could see him now, the killing curse would hit him in the blink of an eye.

In the poorly-lit room, he pulled out a letter, yellowed with age. The faded ink had never been read.

‘Regulus,

With the sharp eyes of Narcissa on me all night, I’m sure you’ve already heard about my Sorting. No doubt you’ve received a letter from her, with explanations my wrong-doings and promises to set me straight.

I promise you, though, that everything will be fine. You and me, together forever, right? Us against the world, just as it should be. You and I can make it through this. Just have faith, little brother.

Keep to the family line around mum and dad, they would never let you come here if you didn’t. But next year, do as you please. You and I can have the best times, learning to be proper wizards – learning to be decent human beings.

Together we can escape the suffocating Black family.

Good luck, Reg. I’ll see you next year, and in the time being, just remember: nothing can tear us apart.

Sirius.’

Regulus stared at the parchment for a moment. ‘Sirius and Regulus, us against the world,’ rang throughout his mind. If only it had happened that way. If only he could change history.

Regulus dipped a quill into some ink, and pulled out a new piece of parchment. At long last, Sirius would get an answer.

In 1979, Sirius received a letter. An owl appeared at his window, a torn piece of parchment tied to its leg. He opened the window and let the bird fly in.

His little brother had written to him. For a moment, he wondered why the little Death Eater would want to speak to his useless blood traitor of a brother. For a moment, he was tempted to open it up, to read the letter greedily, as if the words were food and he was starving. But he thought better of it. Regulus was not his brother. Regulus was nothing – nothing – to him.

He shooed the owl away; Regulus deserved no reply. And once the window was closed, the letter was crumpled up and thrown into the corner of Sirius’ room.

I suddenly want to write a story from Fang’s point of view when he first sees Harry and thinks that...

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 04:00:51 -0500

I suddenly want to write a story from Fang’s point of view when he first sees Harry and thinks that James has come back.

yep.

the shift in time.

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 03:53:00 -0500

As It Was, chapter one. 4 199 words.

Remus Lupin had long ago realised that he really had no control of his friends, and as such, he refrained from telling them what to do. But even for Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, this was a bit much. They had decided that a trip down to the kitchens was necessary; their dear Head Boy hadn’t had any significant messes to clean up in for quite some time. Remus was decidedly on the fence about this idea: Frank Longbottom was possibly the greatest Head Boy the school had seen in years, and was quite a good friend. While his reactions were superb — he had the best expression of exasperation mingled ever so slightly with amusement — Remus wasn’t sure how he felt about causing such trouble so close to his NEWT exams. But alas, his position didn’t matter, as Sirius was determined, and Moony, human or otherwise, had to accompany him on every night time stroll.

Still, as the dreary morning sky lightened, he found that he would much rather be in his four poster.

“So we’re just going to have his breakfast explode on him?” Peter asked curiously.

“Gets the job done, doesn’t it?” was Sirius’ only reply.

Remus found himself quite disappointed in his fellow Marauder. He certainly had lost his flair. Exploding breakfast. He rolled his eyes automatically. They had done much better in their first year. In fact, Filch’s punishments were more creative in their first year.

And then there was a sudden whoosh behind the three of them, as if someone had just ripped off a cloak. Remus was the first to turn around.

“Exploding breakfast?” Frank said, a smirk playing across his lips. “Out after curfew? Tut tut, boys, I expected better of you. It looks like I’ll have to wake Professor McGonagall at this unseemly hour.”

Sirius simply stared at him, apparently in awe. Frank Longbottom, a tall and rather clever boy of eighteen, smiled all the wider.

He tossed the thin Cloak over to Peter and said, “Thank James for me, would you?”

Remus could have sworn he heard Sirius mutter, “That git.” He couldn’t quite figure out if he was referring to James or Frank. Catching Sirius’ eye, he decided that he most certainly meant both.

Still, Remus said in a calm, measured voice, “I’m sure McGonagall would be none too pleased by the wake up call—” he saw Peter nod fervently at his side “—and that such measures are unnecessary.”

“What do you suppose I should do with you lot, then?” He continued to smile. Frank seemed to be enjoying this little encounter.

“Let us carry on, of course,” Sirius said quickly, moving closer to the Head Boy. “Just look the other way.”

“’Fraid I can’t do that, Sirius,” he said, only enjoying the scene more for the suggestion.

“Of course you can. It’s really quite simple,” he said, placing a hand delicately on Frank’s shoulder. The Head Boy looked ready to burst out laughing. “You simply have to turn around and go to bed. Pretend one of those wrackspurts good old Xenophilius kept blabbering on about caught your attention.” Frank had to work twice as hard to keep himself held together at this point. “Just let the three of us take care of the rest, and I assure you, the Slytherins will be putting on quite a show tomorrow morning.”

Frank stared at them, clearly considering Sirius’ offer. Remus, though he never wanted to join in on the prank, was hoping that he would take the offer in spite of himself.

And then Frank said, “I’m going to need your help on something, Remus.”

“Some sort of prefect thing?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, sure.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You two can carry on with it, I suppose. Get me a couple of eclairs from the kitchens though, would you?”

“Always knew you were the best Head Boy this school’s ever seen,” said Sirius, clapping Frank on the back. “Just make sure you bring our Moony back to the common room alive and well, okay?”

And so Sirius and Peter walked off, heading down to the kitchens once more. Remus waited until the two were out of earshot and said, “This is about Alice, isn’t it?”

Frank nodded mutely and gestured for him to follow. “I figured the best place to talk it over would be the Heads’ office.”

Remus smiled. “There’s a slight hitch in that plan: Alice is Head Girl.”

“Yeah, but she’s not going to be fretting over Head duties so early in the morning, is she? She’s got some sense, you know, Remus.”

“I suppose she does.”

And that was all the two said on the matter until they were up in the office.

James, meanwhile, sat, up in his four poster, slightly disappointed by the proceedings. He had been watching the dots labeled ‘Sirius Black,’ ‘Remus Lupin,’ and ‘Peter Pettigrew’ collide with the one that read ‘Frank Longbottom’. He really did hope that Frank had, at the very least, taken the mickey out of Sirius. Considering how quick the encounter was, though, that seemed very unlikely.

A part of him had also been hoping that the Head Boy would take the three to Dumbledore — that would have been a laugh — but he knew that it would never happen that way.

Of course, what he didn’t know — what he couldn’t know — was that Dumbledore already had company that morning. And what strange company it was. If James had only looked towards the Headmaster’s study, he would have been shocked by what he found. For just as Remus and Frank moved away from Sirius and Peter, three new names materialised on the map. He could not have known who showed up that night, for he never thought to search the map for the names ‘Ronald Weasley,’ ‘Hermione Granger,’ or ‘Harry Potter’ at a little past four in the morning.

Harry had just had the longest day of his life, and had decided — despite how his eyelids drooped and how his stomach growled — that ending it here would hardly be fair to his closest friends. Almost wordlessly, he collected Ron and Hermione from the Great Hall and walked quietly to the Headmaster’s office. He figured that this was one of the few places in which he wouldn’t be bothered. Even more, he had just a few things to say to Dumbledore and was confident that he would be in his portrait at the moment.

And so he and his two best friends stepped over the gargoyle that usually guarded the study and stepped onto the spiral staircase.

But as the door to the Headmaster’s study opened, the air around Harry compressed. He felt as though he was being pushed forcibly through a rather small tube and was reminded of Apparition. There was no way he could possibly be Apparating, though; he had not turned on the spot, first of all. Even more, he had not been concentrating on any destination in particular. If anything, he had been thinking of sleep, but that could hardly have helped him with the process (unless, he hoped feebly, he was being transported to a bed).

As soon as the feeling came on though, it relented. He spent just a moment wondering what had just happened to him, a moment imagining the look on Ron’s face, and then brought himself to the matter at hand. He tore the Cloak off of himself, though a moment later, he thought that that may have been against his better judgment. His first thought was that of a plan a Death Eater had cooked up after Voldemort fell to the floor of the Great Hall.

He cast his eyes at the room he found himself in. He was in the Headmaster’s study, and he was almost certain that Dumbledore currently lived here. The room was host to a collection of spindly tables with all of the silver instruments he had seen just last year. Fawkes the phoenix was perched on the desk, and he could clearly see the cupboard that Dumbledore stored his Pensieve in. He noted, to his greatest confusion, that Gryffindor’s sword was not present.

“Harry, do you think—” Hermione began, her eyes darting around the room. Evidently, she was not taking this change of events any better than he was.

“That some Death Eater is out to get us?” he supplied. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

She only continued to stare around the room nervously.

The three of them remained in such a position, each of them undoubtedly wondering how on earth they were transported to an office in a Hogwarts that seems to have avoided the conflict that ended under an hour ago. But after just a minute or so of questioning, it became apparent that standing awkwardly at the entrance of the study — one that they were unlikely to have had access to under normal circumstances — was not something they ought to be doing.

“Harry,” Ron croaked, sounding only slightly frightened by this turn of events, “maybe we should go. To the Great Hall, or to the common room.”

Harry turned his eyes away from Fawkes. He really had no inkling to leave. Despite the fact that Voldemort was finally gone, and the fact that he seemed to be in no immediate danger, he felt safest in a Hogwarts run by Albus Dumbledore. He was just about to say so — and also possibly say that he was looking forward to seeing Dumbledore alive and well once more — when someone else spoke for him.

“Excuse me if this sounds rather rude, but may I ask who you are? And, more importantly, how you managed to enter this office completely undetected?”

Harry felt a great wave of relief wash over him. They were most certainly in Dumbledore’s office. It was Dumbledore who stood at the other end of the room; it was Dumbledore who asked the question. No Death Eater would be stupid enough to send Harry to the greatest wizard that any of them could ever meet.

But in a second, he came to realise that his hands had become rather cold. This certainly looked like the Dumbledore he knew, but apparently, this Dumbledore did not know him.

“Um,” he began, unsure of where to start. How do you tell someone that you think you’ve been thrown back in time? “Well, sir, we’re not entirely sure how we got here.”

Dumbledore merely stared at him for a moment or two. He could almost feel those eyes cutting through him.

“Sir, my name is Hermione Granger,” said Hermione. Harry noted that her voice sounded rather high. “This is Ron Weasley,” she continued, indicating Ron, “and that’s Harry Potter.”

He nodded, though he took his eyes off Harry for only a moment.

An idea suddenly struck him. “Er, sir? Could you tell us what year it is?”

“Of course, Harry,” he said kindly, if rather confusedly. “It is 1977. The second of May, to be exact.”

Harry quickly glanced behind him. Ron looked as though Dobby had run up to him and hit him on top of the head. Hermione looked somewhat horrified.

He himself felt somewhat giddy. If it truly was 1977, then his parents would be here. They would be up in the Gryffindor common room at this very moment. He would be able to talk to them, to get to know them. He would, for the first time in his memory, meet James Potter and Lily Evans. And then an even more exciting truth came to light. He would also have the chance to meet Remus and Sirius, as they were when they were his age. He could almost feel his stomach implode at the thought of meeting the four of them. He could certainly feel his brain lag behind, trying to comprehend how he had ended up older than the Marauders.

“I take it that was not the answer you were expecting.” Dumbledore smiled at the trio. Harry snapped back to reality. Yes, there was more at play than his parents’ school life.

“No, sir, it isn’t,” Hermione said. Though Harry had already turned to face Dumbledore once again, he doubted that her expression had changed. “We — well, we were at Hogwarts in 1998 just minutes ago, Professor.”

He looked to her at that point. Something must have clicked in his mind, for the look on his face had changed from bewildered to alert (and though Harry hated to think what this meant, also somewhat — for lack of a better word — angered).

“Please, sit down,” he said, indicating the chairs immediately across from his desk. The three of them moved slowly towards the chairs allotted for them as Dumbledore sat down in his seat.

“If what you say is correct, then I must warn you: do not tell me, nor anyone else, something that can greatly affect the future — or for you, the past. Do not give details of the future to anyone you meet, no matter how insignificant you believe these details to be. Every detail of your past is on a need to know basis. A paradox is an almighty beast, and I for one have no interest in awakening it.”

Harry looked to Ron nervously. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of creating a paradox. Meeting the Marauders suddenly seemed like an onerous task.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but the three of you seem to have fought in a battle.”

“Yes, sir.” Hermione paused for a moment, clearly hesitating. “Here, actually.”

“At Hogwarts?”

She nodded mutely.

“For how long?”

She looked to Harry and Ron.

“Through the night,” Harry said, looking over at her, feeling just as unsure. “We must have gotten into Hogsmeade at around eleven o’clock.”

“And this battle was fought against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, I presume.”

“Yes,” said all three of them at once.

“Of course, of course.” Dumbledore stood and paced behind his desk for a minute or two. The three teens seemed unwilling to interrupt him.

“That is all I will ask about the matter for tonight. You all seem very tired — and though I hope you don’t take any offense to this, are rather smelly as well — and must be very ready for a good night’s sleep.”

Harry’s thoughts returned, momentarily, to his four poster upstairs. How he would love to just fall into the soft covers and sleep for the next few days. But then a small, entirely unwanted voice crept out from the dark corners of his mind, reminding him that he would not attend this school for over a decade, and it would not be ‘his four poster’ for at least fourteen years.

“Professor,” said Ron, whose voice was rather hoarse, “where will we be sleeping?”

“Ah, well that leads me to my next round of questions. Do not fret, they will be short. I will first say, however, that I think it best if you spend at least one night with Madam Pomfrey.

“First and foremost, I must ask whether or not you have finished your schooling. Only then will we be able to find you a more permanent solution.”

“This year would have been our seventh,” Hermione began, “but we, er—” She seemed to struggle to put their situation to words.

“—we took a year off,” said Ron, finding the correct words.

“That works out nicely, then. I have at least one reason to ask that you return to Hogwarts next year. We will have to give you three a nice back story for your sudden arrival. I hope that you will consider this after you have rested.

“For the time being, however, I would like to know which houses you were sorted into.”

“Gryffindor,” Harry supplied. He had to bite his tongue to refrain from saying, ‘Like my dad.’

“Should the need arise, I will alert the sixth years in Gryffindor house.

“And now, we come to the final thing I have to say for now, and it is not a question, but more of a suggestion. It would be unwise to use your real names. I’m sure that James Potter would be quite alarmed if he was to walk into his dormitory and find his double standing before him, claiming to also be a Potter.” Dumbledore smiled indulgently at the thought. “As for you, Ron and Hermione, you may be more safe. I do not think that too many Grangers have passed through these halls, and therefore, you would be unlikely to arouse suspicion. The Weasleys have many relatives, and you could simply claim to be a distant relative of Arthur Weasley — although this story could fall apart at any given moment, should someone investigate.

“But I shall let you figure all of this out when you decide what should have happened in your past — the past that you will relating to those who ask, that is. The sun is coming up and you all look dead on your feet. I will not keep you from sleep any longer.”

As the sun rose steadily into the sky in the early hours of the second of May 1977, the Headmaster led the three confused young time travelers to the Hospital Wing, where they would sleep peacefully for a few short hours.

Harry awoke with a start at just half past eight o’clock that morning. Though he had decided to be called Harry Polkiss (as he was more likely to remember this than anything else) he realised that this story would come crashing down around him within a second.

He would be seen as Harry Potter on the Marauder’s Map. He thought of how easily Pettigrew had been discovered with the Map in Professor Lupin’s hands. He did not fancy telling the Marauders that he was not only James’ seventeen year old son, but also that he was the one who was ultimately responsible for Voldemort’s downfall.

“Oh Harry, you’re blowing this way out of proportion,” Hermione said at last.

“You may think that, Hermione,” said Ron grimly, coming to Harry’s aid, “but I agree with him. They’re most likely going to laugh themselves half to death at the thought and hex him. They’ll probably think that they’re teaching him a lesson.”

“A lesson for what, exactly?” Hermione asked scathingly.

“For acting like Xenophilius Lovegood, I imagine.”

“Oh please, Ron. Even you can’t believe that they would do something so ludicrous.”

“C’mon Hermione,” Ron said, “Harry says that they hexed people for fun when they were here. What makes you think that they’re above jinxing Harry in the halls after they see his name on the Map?”

Hermione sighed, clearly exasperated. “You two need to quit worrying about this. It’s not a big deal.”

“Dumbledore himself told us not to tell people more than they need to know!” Ron said, his voice slowly rising.

Harry automatically checked to make sure that the Muffliato spell was still working. Madam Pomfrey seemed not to notice them.

“And we won’t tell them anything they don’t need to know!” Hermione countered. “We’ll just tell them—”

“What exactly? There is no version of the truth that we can tell Harry’s parents, Hermione!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Harry, don’t blow this out of proportion. Just—”

“—Hermione, do you understand what—”

“Oh shut up,” said Harry. “The last thing we need to do right now is bicker over whether or not my dad and Sirius will hex me when they catch me in a lie.”

“What do we do then, mate?” Ron asked, cutting off Hermione.

Harry hesitated for a moment. Hermione seemed ready to interject, but she held her tongue. It was now or never.

“I think we should make sure all of our identities remain a secret until Dumbledore gives us more instruction.” He took a steadying breath. “And the only way we can do that is to steal the Map.”

Hermione made an impatient noise. “Harry, don’t think for a minute that—”

“What are you thinking of doing? Just sneaking up on them, one by one, and seeing if you can slip it away from them?”

“That’s the only plan I’ve got,” Harry said, pulling the Invisibility Cloak out from under his shirt. “Unless you have a better idea,” he added, turning to Hermione.

“If you think I’m going to help you with this idiotic and completely pointless—”

“I don’t reckon both of us could get around easily under that anymore,” said Ron, eying the Cloak.

“Not quickly or comfortably,” Harry said.

He snatched the beaded bag, which Hermione had left on the table beside her bed, and retrieved his Map from it. And before Hermione could really start berating him, he swung the Cloak over his head and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”

He walked out of the Hospital Wing as he muttered, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,’ and paused across the hall. Careful not to let his feet show, he began searching the Map for either ‘James Potter’ or ‘Sirius Black.’ He wasn’t sure why, but he simply had the feeling that they would most likely have the Map on them.

Having located them, he headed up one floor. It was nearing nine o’clock, and he spotted Sirius, Peter, and James walking down the Charms Corridor.

He slowed down as he neared Professor Flitwick’s classroom, making as little noise as possible. He could see his father laughing at Sirius and Peter, as though he had pulled something over on them. Harry reminded himself that he probably had.

And that was when he decided that check his dad’s bag first. Maybe it was because they were heading into Charms, which was more than enough cover for him to do a thorough search, or maybe it was just because he wanted to see what his dad kept in his schoolbag while at Hogwarts. Either way, once the spells started flying, Harry would begin to check James’ things.

Flitwick called the class in, Harry darting in as soon as he thought it was safe. He allowed himself a moment to marvel at how little the room had changed in over a decade before focusing on his father once again.

He barely registered Flitwick’s quick little monologue about the spell they would be tackling today, and therefore received quite a shock when one girl across the room was doused with water.

“Try to focus just a little more, Jeremiah!” Flitwick called from across the room.

Sirius gave his usual bark of laughter, still staring at the soaked brunette.

Despite his best efforts, Harry found himself smiling, the Map far from his mind. He watched as the girl dried herself off and resumed practicing. He only came back to reality when he heard Sirius mutter, “So what is it you’ve got?”

Harry turned back to the Marauders. Sirius was pretending to look up something in his textbook, though he kept looking to James out of the corner of his eye. Peter was gazing unabashedly at James. Remus was determinedly working on the spell, as though he disapproved of what his friends were doing. Harry couldn’t help but draw parallels between Remus and Hermione.

James, meanwhile, lazily filled his goblet with water wordlessly and muttered, “I can get us into the Slytherin common room.” Harry could have sworn that he saw James smirk as he spoke.

Sirius clapped him on the back at his words. Peter and Remus simply gaped at him, though Peter did so with much more admiration.

Harry stepped closer to the group. Keeping his eye on the four of them and his ears strained for whatever else his father had to say. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t hear anything more than a strange buzzing in his ears.

He cursed Snape for letting others catch wind of his spells and instead focused on the Map. As carefully as he could, he pulled it under the Cloak and backed away from the rest of the class.

Upon inspection, he found that his father really didn’t carry anything interesting with him. He supposed that the good stuff was locked away in Gryffindor Tower. The most interesting thing Harry found in there was a Care of Magical Creatures textbook. After contemplating why his dad would need a NEWT in that class, he continued rifling through the parchment and quills.

He tossed most of the papers aside, thinking that because they looked much newer than his Map, they couldn’t possibly be the original. He had searched through the entire bag before realising that the Marauders’ copy of the Map would not be as old, nor as old looking, as his was.

He sighed and began his search anew, tapping each paper he came across and whispering, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’ And, at long last, he found the very piece of parchment he was looking for.

Feeling immensely relieved, he stuffed everything else neatly into the bag and sneaked back over to his father’s chair. Harry carefully replaced the bag and merely hoped that he would be able to get out of the class before the bell.