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I'm sorry. I'm tired. I'm scared. I'm sad. I'm not okay. I'm depressed. I'm bothersome. I'm a failure. I'm fat. I'm hurting myself. I'm pissed off. I hate life. I hate people. I hate myself. I hate my thighs. I hate my stomach. I hate my stretch marks. I hate my acne. I hate my waist. I hate my handwriting. I hate my parents. I hate my brother. I hate the people at my school. I wanna be smart. I wanna be pretty. I wanna be better. I wanna be worthy. I wanna be fucking thin. I wanna be dead.
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no one knows how much freaky evan like barty does and barty is persistent abt how much evan is freakier than him but rosier twins are gaslighting everybody into thinking barty is the real freak
@sc11vb @we-were-born-to-be-free @xin241 @myhyperfixationisbooks @sheisntyouspam @crenna @jackssprincess and all of my other moots here! Try this out! 🌹❤
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Euphemia Potter - @into-the-jeggyverse - words: 660
He tries to make himself small so he doesn’t take up space. So he can’t be seen, perceived, heard. She’s sure that he would fit himself into the nooks and crannies of the two-storey house if he could. Vanish himself entirely into the aether if they let him.
He minds his pleases and thank-yous more than her own child does.
Calls them “sir” and “ma’am”.
Keeps his elbows off the tables.
Ensures he’s freshly washed for meals.
Waits patiently to be excused.
Euphemia had heard bits and pieces from James over the years. At twelve-years-old, James had written home about the boy who had arrived at the school and was, disappointingly, “nothing like Sirius at all”. At thirteen-years-old, he’d written home to inform them that “Baby Black” had become the Slytherin Seeker and had described in incredibly lengthy detail how he appears out of “literally nowhere like some sort of apparition on a broom”.
At fourteen-years-old, James had written home to inform her that “Baby Black and his two Slytherin thug friends” were, quite ominously, “causing problems” for them. And had left it at that, no other form of explanation given.
At fifteen-years-old, Euphemia had been informed quite stiffly by both James and Sirius that “that traitorous wretch who shall not be named” was strictly out of conversational bounds. Now, Euphemia tries not to pry. She likes to think of herself as reasonable. Understanding. A hip, cool kind of mum. Yet, although she’d had her hands full with one Black son, she’d found that she couldn’t help but worry. Nor could she suppress the overwhelming urge to storm Grimmauld Place so she might keep both sons of the House of Black in her sanctuary. “The Potter Home for Wayward Runaway Boys”, Fleamont likes to call it.
At sixteen-years-old, James had been shook when this quiet, scowl-y boy had turned up on their doorstep with a trunk trailing after him and such presumptuous audacity that he couldn’t be anyone other than Sirius Black’s little brother. He’d deposited himself in their lounge, eaten their food, slept in their spare bed, and quite literally moved himself into their lives. And it was when she’d caught her son peering curiously around corners to watch the scowl-y boy read, pestering the boy with thinly-veiled invasive questions, that Euphemia had quickly figured out exactly what was happening.
Now that he is seventeen-years-old, Euphemia Potter is watching her son fall in love for the first time. James doesn’t know this yet. He hasn’t yet figured it out. And thank goodness for all of them that neither has Sirius, who is certain that James is trying to be hospitable.
James is building (mending, even) bridges, according to Sirius.
It’s surprising, honestly, because James is really quite ridiculously obvious about it. He follows Regulus into the living room to sit with him while he reads (“I’m just doing my summer homework, Mum!” he'll claim, though James has never done summer homework in his life). He’ll read the same books as Regulus so they can talk about it afterwards (“He’s just so quiet, Mum, but if you get him talking about books, he could go on all day!”). He’ll invite Regulus to help him cook, offer to make his famous Chai for Regulus, invite Regulus to take a peek around Flea’s potions lab, offer to give Regulus a tour of Flea’s garden of potions ingredients, though he’s never shown much of any interest in his father’s work before.
And sometimes, when James doesn’t think anyone is watching, she’ll catch James staring, looking so desperately besotted that he might very well float off into the aether at any moment.
James doesn’t realise it yet, but Regulus, bless his soul, is worryingly perceptive. And though he might not yet quite realise the extent of James’s affections, he’s well aware of the attention.
And Euphemia thinks, Regulus is Slytherin enough that he might very well have something up his sleeve.
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