folklorian

rubeus

remus

regulus

bilius

fleamont

elvendork

pigwidgeon

jimothy

zoosmell

tarquin florean von bigmac iii

trashbag

I’m late to the Fantastic Beasts party but I arrived on time to crank out a comic for Valentine’s Day. Queenie drags Tina to a certain bakery to court a certain baker and give her sister a special surprise…

I kept thinking about the last shred of Credence escaping and materializing elsewhere in NY, without his memory and into the arms of people who love him and would never take advantage of him. I also really need for Tina to know that Credence is okay.

I am not confident about my looks at all, I was bullied about them in primary school and high school even though I really didn’t look any different. They told me my lips were very big, my mum would show me newspaper clippings of famous people getting lip injections to have fuller lips to keep me from crying. I was bullied for not being a girly girl, now I’m kinda proud of it really. I tried to be a girly girl like the others, stopping swearing, stopping loving football, walking like a girl, not putting my hair in a bun every five minutes. Then one day I just went well fuck all of you. When boys (oh my god especially boys) tell me to stop swearing because it’s unattractive, I swear more. When they tell me I have a good body but a bad mouth, I give them the finger served alongside a long lecture about why they are wrong.

Harry lived all his life with scars. He had even been famous for a particular one, the lightning shaped scar on his forehead even his mess of a hair couldn’t cover up. Harry liked that scar, it was important and it represented something very dear to him: the sacrifice of his mother. However, he hated that that scar was the main reason of all the scars on his body. Well except for the little white skin on his knee which was Dudley’s fault.

He despised the one on his right hand the most. It was an awful reminder of his fifth year at Hogwarts, the year he lost Sirius. I must not tell lies. He shared that scar with many of his friends at the time but his was the one that lingered because he had done it so many times whereas the others wrote those lines once and were done with it. I must not tell lies. Harry sat on his hand to push away the memories that scar brought. 

He had a cut on his forearm, the cut that revived Voldemort, the cut for which Cedric Diggory died. Just where a Death Eater would carry their Dark Mark. Harry could remember clearly when Madame Pomfrey said that she couldn’t do anything to it because it was too late when he came to the infirmary. Harry pulled the sleeve of his sweater down.

He slowly lifted his sweater up and looked at the small scratches here and there on his torso, all these small reminders of the war he was the leader of. Each one from a different battle, each one hurting more than the other even though they didn’t bleed anymore. He would get even worse scars if it meant saving the ones he lost along the way. He had some from the day Dumbledore died, he had many from the Battle of Hogwarts, he even had a small one from his first year, his skin didn’t heal as well as it should. 

Harry used to carry his scars proudly until the end of fourth year. He was proud of the small scratch on his shoulder that he got while battling the Hungarian Horntail and the pokes he received from the Grindylows until he got that cut on his forearm, that scar changed everything Harry had ever known.

Harry thought about Ron, the ginger boy  who had been with him all the way, whatever he did, he was there. Ron had scars reminding him of all the mess they went through together. He carried the place where Sirius bit him to get to Scabbers with pride, Harry reckoned Ron liked that one because it reminded him of Padfoot. He also had a barely visible scar from when he got splinched. He could have died and that would have been the last straw for Harry. Harry liked that scar because it was reminder of how Ron survived. Then, he thought about the marks of the brains that Ron tried to summon in the Department of Mysteries, the ones Healers could do nothing about because it was impossible to explain what happened and the Ministry wasn’t helping at all. He always wore long sleeved shirts, not that he was ashamed of them but he was just bored of explaining how he got them. Ron had freckles on his arms before like Ginny’s, they weren’t very visible now. Hermione still liked to draw star maps on Ron’s arms. 

Harry then thought about the girl with the bushy hair and slightly longer front teeth, he remembered how Ron’s eyes shined when he looked at her. Hermione wasn’t one to hide her scars, she had bite marks on her arms from Bellatrix Lestrange’s torture in Malfoy Manor. She was tortured, they had chosen her because she was everything they weren’t. It hurt Harry so much to know that Hermione still had nightmares about that and there was nothing he could do. The Mudblood writing on her neck never healed properly. Hermione never put her hair up before that scar. Now when she went to Ministry of Magic for her work, she deliberately but her hair up so it was visible. When she was busy with something if the scar was visible, Ron wouldn’t miss a chance to softly kiss her scar, it was his way of helping Hermione heal. Harry knew Hermione’s Mudblood scar was his I must not tell lies scar, Hermione was braver about hers.

“Harry!” shouted Ginny from downstairs and Harry got up slowly pulling his sleeve over his right hand and walked out of the bedroom.