harry potter

i’m eight years old. i tilt my book toward the window of my mom’s car, thin strips of streetlight filtering through the window. i catch glimpses of words as my head vibrates on the glass. my eyes drift shut, and i wake to my dad’s arms tucking me into my bed. i go to sleep, stories filling my dreams. i’m eight years old. this moment is fleeting.

honestly my favorite headcanon is that even in the middle of the war, the marauders era teens still acted like teens. like mulciber being dared to ask out a gryffindor and rolling his eyes but doing it anyway. or james being dragged to a slytherin party and only pretending to not want to go (cuz we know they throw the best parties). or a game of spin the bottle with the whole year group where avery has to kiss mary macdonald and pretends he hasn’t been crushing on her for a year. sirius reluctantly smoking in the astronomy tower with severus at 12 am. remus making some sarcastic comment and some slytherins coughing to hide their laughs. peter feeling bad for regulus and secretly playing quidditch with him without sirius knowing. i feel like we forget that these kids are still teens. and that just makes it so much worse that they had to fight and kill each other.