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@boylived
boylived.tumblr.com PRIVATE HARRY POTTER, THE BOY WHO LIVED & DIED (AND LIVED AGAIN) OF THE HARRY POTTER BOOK SERIES. ⚡︎ DONATE TO A U.K. TRANS ORGANISATION.

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harry in his later years ... grown from the boy who lived. the unruly mess that used to cover his forehead has become windswept hair, but the glasses frames he can't quite let go of after seeing them on his face his entire life.
of course i'm angry. do you have any idea how many times someone should have helped me?
rhaegar finds little comfort in the lythic hallways he once called his home; much has changed, more has remained the same, the same busy sounds of students rushing to and from their classes a meagre background noise to him now. gaunt tries hard, so very hard, to be the exchange student —– to play along with dumbledore's damage control. how else to explain a stranger to show up from the labyrinth together with harry potter and cedric diggory's corpse. and soon after the arrival of a dragon. a gargantuan beast believed to have gone extinct well over a century ago.
he freezes, coming face to face with harry —– private moments together had been few. but the pale visage haunts rhaegar still, certainly the other shares these feelings, eyes slitted and red, filled with hatred that'd make the devil shake in his boots. and if it weren't for nagini's thunderous roar overshadowing all else, gaunt was certain lord voldemort's enraged yell would haunt him still. ❝ you —– ❞ how dry his throat was all of a sudden. faced with the boy who lived an old scorn gripped his heart, entirely alien to him.
❝ how do you fare? is your recovery going smoothly? ❞
@boylived plotted.
cobblestones scuff under the sluggish step of harry's dirty trainers, round-framed eyes (there's a deep purple beneath them) averted to the corridor's floor and the swish of his robes flapping against his legs. apprehension and the grit of his teeth mark each footfall, the slight locking of a knee in his listless stride. though it hadn't hurt even a bit since fawkes had shed his phoenix tears on the gash the spider had given him, he can’t help half-expecting it to with every step (are you still in the graveyard? you can see your blood on the grass. are you still in the graveyard? you left something there). why shouldn’t it be unchanged, a proper mess, like the rest? cedric was still dead. voldemort was still risen again. his leg should hurt. but it didn't — and that hardly seemed fair when ... harry blinked down as the tip of his shoe tripped slightly on a fold of the rug as stone turned into well-trodden fabric. maybe it'd be easier if it still hurt. if i had that to think about instead. he didn’t want to think about —
" — ! " unruly dark head lifted with a jerk, stilling mid-step. people had been giving him such a wide berth the past few days that he’s startled at being spoken to, and — recognition shines through the thick fog within his head. harry had to resist the urge to ball up his hands and rub them over his eyes as if this was some magicked apparition or something that would go away if scrubbed his lids hard enough. it wouldn’t. he knew. it would be just as solid and real as when he had grasped the arm ... " — you, " harry repeated stupidly, rooted on the spot as if he'd been petrified. aha. harry could only keep his fingers crossed that this one wouldn’t have a go at finding another castle basilisk.
what was it professor dumbledore had said? (different paths, harry. i do not think he is quite the same as our tom riddle.) the sleeve of his robe bunched at the elbow as harry’s arm raised without a thought, fingertips brushing the bangs over his scar, expecting the agonizing throb as his next inhale hitched — but it didn’t come. could he really be different? was dumbledore right? (it felt like being in the lake again, kicking about in pitch-dark waters, not knowing which way was up and which was down.) harry hadn’t been keen to think about rhaegar either. he’d done his best to avoid him so far, but … yeah.
" er — me? i — i’m fine. " there’s still a hoarseness to his fumbling speech (he supposed it's from all the screaming he did). the hand had dropped away and back down at his side, where it clutched the hem of the sleeve in a loose fist. green eyes couldn’t keep from staring rather intently at rhaegar’s face (what was he looking for?) as harry struggled to find a few more words, " how are you — … you know. faring. dumbledore told me you’d be visiting a few classes. " he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t just shut himself up and pass the other by. he wanted to. really did. ron and hermione would be waiting for him. harry's fingers squeezed the robe's sleeve, knuckles whitening. only, he couldn't quite ignore the thought that the other had no one waiting for him at all ... but we were in that graveyard together. " i don’t ... have class right now. " it was difficult to have a class when it had turned out the teacher had been a death eater chugging polyjuice potion all term-long. harry’s stance shuffled. " h-has the castle changed much? for you, since … then, i mean. "

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@boylived liked for a starter!
"harry, my boy, what is that small moving picture frame I see muggles staring at walking down the street? surely that is a walking hazard."
" the what? " round-rimmed eyes glanced up from the piece of parchment he had been reading, an uncomprehending expression accompanied by a rather befuddled blink. " moving picture frame, mister weasley? " messy-haired head turned to see what the other had been looking at, brows lifting. mister weasley had been asking a steady stream of questions ever since they’d strode into the supermarket — a decidedly muggle one (the man’s idea of a fun outing, and harry liked him too much to say he’d seen them loads as his aunt's trolley-on-legs as a kid) — while harry had looked over mrs. weasley’s list again and again, scratching the nape of his neck and thinking rather resignedly to himself, well, i don’t think any muggle store is carrying this … or that … but the mention of the muggle shoppers doing something hazardous (really?) had jostled harry out of his usual hmms and muggles like a lot of differently flavored crisps, mister weasley.
harry’s gaze jumped from muggle to muggle, eyes pinching. " oh, those — they’re, er, telephones, i suppose. little box … telephones. hermione had explained it to me, i think. " the most harry had kept up with muggle gadgets was owning a landline. sort of. come to think of it, it might still be in the same box harry had bought it in twelve … fifteen years ago. " she said they have moving pictures on them now after they went and flattened them. " then, as an afterthought, and suppressing a grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth, " they don’t have those curly wires you like to collect anymore. "
my blog's face for lily potter and her with little baby harry:
harry's amortentia scents, that is the smells that the brewer or passerby might get a whiff of from the love potion if they had romantic feelings for him, are graveyard flowers (the sickly sweetness of rotting lilies, several days old and fading), the smell of the wind as it blows a storm in, and broom polish.
harry potter & the goblet of fire. and as he heard voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: he was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at voldemort's feet ... he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible ...
harry potter & the goblet of fire. he saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly colored dream. there were hundrds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from stands that had been magicked there since he'd last stood on this spot. and there was the horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. the crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, harry didn't know or care. it was time to do what he had to do ... to focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only chance ...

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they had discovered that survival is no more than putting off the moment of death.
jacqueline harpman, i who have never known men (trans. by ros schwartz) (orig.)
CONTINUED FROM HERE. @dorkleads
lights flashed, winking red and white colors that danced across the pavement. he’s trying not to let it remind him of anything (smoke in the air, dust from tumbled stone and the bursts of light from hexes illuminating dead faces — could it really have been a year ago?). features soot-streaked and a cut budding scarlet at the crest of a cheek, half-lidded eyes behind round-rimmed glasses stared absently at his dirt-scuffed trainers, dangling from where he sat beside the other at the back of the ambulance. the words had been perfunctory, engraven on his tongue. would you believe it’s what i do?
muggle officers were all over starcourt’s car park. a hand raised to slip behind his glasses (one lense is cracked, splintered like a spider-web made of glass) and rub his fingers into his eyes as he squeezed them shut. brilliant. what was he going to tell shacklebolt about all this? my report, minister? we tracked down the death eater to indiana, but then a bloody big monster turned him into goo to makes its body, you see, so no, i don’t have him with me, as he is very, very dead. did you want some scooped into a jar? i’ll have to ask the gun-wielding american muggle army that showed up. it's fine, i’ll just ask especially nicely …
the hand fell back to his denim-clad lap, round frames askew. so many people dead. again. (his life feels like one big funeral, a graveyard in never-ending upheaval.) messy-haired head turned to steve hesitantly, blinking at him as what felt like wings swooped in his stomach at the praise, whirling. oh. " well — you were all doing a pretty fantastic job of it without me already, " he croaked, mouth forming a slight smile. he’d had to shout arresto momentum!, wand pointed, to keep pieces from the shopping center’s ceiling from crashing down on them as they’d run out. not really the sort of spell he could keep them from noticing, but what was he supposed to do? let him — them — die too? no. harry’s throat bobbed. " reckoned i ought to pull my weight if i’m going to join the, er — party. " he had never heard of dungeons and dragons once before all this, though harry reasoned wryly to himself that it didn’t exactly sound like the sort of thing his aunt and uncle would have let even a piece of in the house.
brows furrowed. " how’s your … " steve’s face was such an array of mottled purple that harry faltered, then, " — eye? " he decided on quickly. at least he had been able to spell steve’s nose back into its proper place.
❝ no . ❞ the response was firm but cheery nonetheless as he shot a glance at the trunk -- the boggart inside KNOCKED against the hardwood angrily , clearly annoyed that it had been subjected to more practise . holding the young teen carefully , remus gave a small smile . ❝ no . ❞ he repeated . ❝ we've been doing this a little while now . we're going to take twenty to thirty minutes break , THEN we can try again if you feel ready . ❞
" i'm fine, professor. " that hardly sounded anymore convincing than his first try (he's going to need to practice this, too). a cold bead of sweat trickled down his nose, catching on the bridge of his glasses. " twenty minutes, " harry repeated determinedly. he would definitely be all right by then and they had to keep going — wasn't the silvery mist getting larger, or were his glasses smudged? it wasn't about to charge down any dementors, but he hoped it might at least befuddle like a foggy morning. a damp hand reached out, fingers gripping the edge of the table. don't ask. harry's mouth formed a thin line. don't ask, it'll only make it harder to not want to hear them ... " what — " and instead of saying nevermind again like he ought to, what tumbles out instead is, " d'you ... remember what my dad sounded like? " green eyes stared at the wood-grooves of the table. " when he wasn't ... afraid. " when he wasn't about to be murdered. " i know i look like him and all, but — do i ... do i sound like him? "
how did harry get his glasses? they're a free pair provided by britain's n.h.s. (national health service) through the conducted vision screening test when he began primary school in 1984 at the age of four years old. and just in time as well, for the fact that they were free was a big reason that he got the glasses he really needed at all. just one year later, the n.h.s. ended its free glasses in favor of a voucher program which the dursleys would have been reluctant to use. uncle vernon made enough money that he wouldn't have necessarily needed to use the voucher program, but the offense of having to spend any sort of money on harry at all (and not wanting to give their friends and neighbors the impression that they needed this voucher) would have made vernon and petunia put it off.
you can actually see harry's frames among these n.h.s. glasses here. uncle vernon had him pick from the adult range (and the rather outdated selection) so that he could "grow into them" without much further hassle. harry, being a child, didn't have much sense for whether a frame may be fashionable or not (nor did he very much care) and simply picked a round-rimmed pair. since the free glasses ended, this is why harry had to keep his pair in the best shape he could with scotch tape around the bridge whenever they broke from dudley and his friends punching him. the dursleys certainly weren't going to get him another pair.
at hogwarts, harry had his prescription, which hadn't been fixed in seven years, righted by madam pomfrey when he was put on gryffindor's quidditch team thanks to oliver wood's insistence that harry be in "top form".
❝ okay , here we go . up up , COME ON . you're okay . ❞
@boylived 🩷'd
bangs sticking sweatily to his forehead, harry blinked blearily up at lupin's face. " m'fine, " he mumbled. it didn't sound nearly as convincing as he intended it to (much to his chagrin), but his hand grasped the professor's forearm, fingers splayed, grunting as he's pulled to his feet with a slight wobble. (lily, take harry —) harry pushed out a breath. his shirt clung to his back beneath his robes. " sorry. i-i — ... nevermind. can we go again? "

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if harry became an animagus, he would turn into a long-eared owl.
died and came back right. there was definitely something wrong with me before? resurrection fixed me i think