#goldensaviour

❝ SEVEN, ACTUALLY. ❞  Airy tone filters from four, five, six shelves above the floor, a sequined sneaker all that’s truly visible with how she’s levered herself up one - footed to reach the uppermost row of books.  ( Summoning them is RUDE, you see ; knowledge takes umbrage with being bossed around. )  ❝ --- --- Impossible is a poor description.  Difficult is better. ❞

IMPOSSIBLE IS JUST POSSIBLE WITH A STUMBLE AT THE BEGINNING.  Only people afraid of stubbed toes stop short.  And Harry Potter is not afraid of anything except perhaps dementors and that is simply because they are, along with being kind and intelligent, also sensible.

( It is also, of course, none of her business. )

❝ Perhaps eight, if I don’t stop for lunch. ❞  A second sneaker, this one mis - matched canary yellow, announces her descent, three texts as large as paving stones clutched beneath a bird - boned arm.  ❝ --- --- Professor Babbling didn’t believe me that Spellman’s Syllabary is WOEFULLY incomplete, so I’ve set out to translate from the primary sources instead. ❞  

Robes whoosh with a final hop to the floor, silver eyes shining with an amusement tethered by her otherwise neutral expression as Luna raises her free hand to begin ticking off :  ❝ The Akashic Chronicle is in the Restricted Section, first of all. ❞

❝ TRUE. ❞  Neville watches the surface re - settle slowly, his own strained expression finally reflected back to him about as weakly as the brew itself.  STILL, he tries.  ( STILL, he doesn’t know any other way. )  A half smile tugs tightly against the imagined tie of the scar tacking the corner of his mouth in place.  ❝ --- --- You were nev- never as handsome. ❞ 

The outsize frills hanging from his seat seem to FLOURISH INDEPENDENTLY of the shift of his weight backward, the whole of the tea shop’s interior garishly flesh - pink and blood - red in a way that only underlines the constraints of this particular conversation.  Like a sapling left bound between stakes too long, perhaps their own reach is now diminished by time spent hoping it wouldn’t be.  But there is something to be gained from the understanding that even now, Harry is willing to meet HALFWAY ––––––– quite literally, this time, and double for the irritation involved with the realization that this is the only place for a DECENT CUP OF TEA in the entire bloody village, anymore.

( And still, to hear it, to know : Neville understands this particular revelation’s timing to be perfect.  Or as nearly perfect as a thing could be, with its weight made evident on Harry’s shoulders only by its absence. )

He wants to reject the apology he didn’t ask for, mouth hinging open to make the point but only finding the GRAVEL of incomplete syllables just out of reach.  Neville’s eyes drop to his teacup again ; sometimes, disengaging from an audience is necessary to knit them back together.  The length of the pause betrays even that usual trick.  ❝ --- --- D’you wish it HAD BEEN ? ❞

           “ oh harry. ”   an ancient type of deep sadness layers the words, albus’s eyes closing for a moment.   “ my dear boy, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. ”  eyes reopen, almost beseeching harry to believe him.  “ you are a brave, resilient, and compassionate young man who has seen horrible things and has had unspeakable acts done to him. ”  the soft, hoarse voice turns hard, firm, as marble.   “ none of that was ever your fault. ” 

                                                   if  fred  were  here        

         BUT  HE’S  NOT.   there’s  naught  beside  but  shadow  &  dust,  echoes  of  a  life  before  war  stripped  him  of  laughter.   it’s  sudden,  how  heart  seems  to  stop  at  the  acknowledgement  of  the  masses  thronging  diagon’s  cobbled  pavement,  at  the  numerous  faces  turning,  expectant,  towards  the  sole  owner  of  weasley’s  wizard  wheezes.   subconscious  step  is  almost  taken  backwards,  but  a  hand  finds  his  free  one,  momentary  glance  confirming  ginny’s  presence.

         NEVER  ALONE.   sea  of  red,  all  weasley  members  accounted  for  in  line  unbroken   ;   BLOOD  TRAITORS  or  otherwise,  there’s  no  denying  family  comes  before  all  else.   they  stand  behind,  pillars  of  strength  when  he  feels  his  failing,  confidence  bolstered  by  unwavering  support.   a  squeeze  of  hand   —   you  can  do  this   —   unspoken  message  gratefully  received.   barely  ten  seconds  have  passed  since  his  appearance,  &  he  forces  a  smile  to  cover  up  the  silence,  a  whispered  sonorus  magnifying  voice  before  he  can  overthink  the  situation.

         (   don’t  dwell  on  time  previous,  twin  voices  raising  above  the  hubbub  of  shoppers  to  announce  the  opening  of  a  brand  new  joke  shop   —   bright,  vibrant  memories  alive  with  a  colour  so  much  harder  to  reach.   don’t  think.   just  speak.    )

         ❛   thank  you               ❜   stuck  syllables,  voice  cleared,   ❛   uh,  thanks  for  being  here  when  i’m  sure  most  of  you  would  prefer  to  be  in  the  leaky  cauldron  nursing  a  pint  of  gamp’s  old  gregarious             ❜   fleeting  smile,  crowd’s  laughter  buoying  fragile  emotions,   ❛   i’ll  keep  this  short  because  there’s  not  much  else  to  say.   your  support  means  everything  to  me,  to  my  family   ;   it’s  been  the  toughest  two  years  of  my  life  but  there  wasn’t  a  moment  i  truly  thought  about  letting  this  venture  go   —   fred  wouldn’t  stand  for  it.   ❜

          breathy  laugh  expelled  on  shaky  exhale,  fingers  entwined  with  his  a  comforting  pressure  that  grounds,  rapid  blinking  preceding  speech’s  continuation,   ❛   wheezes  was  never  meant  to  be  anything  more  than  the  dream  of  two  kids  who  wanted  to  make  people  happy.   what’s  that  muggle  saying   —   LAUGHTER  IS  THE  BEST  MEDICINE   ?   —  &  i’m  glad  we  proved  those  naysayers  wrong   (   love  you,  mum   ),  because  we  need  some  of  that  now  more  than  ever.   so,  without  further  ado             ❜   wand  hand  lifts,  pointing  towards  a  cloudless  sky,   ❛               HAPPY  BIRTHDAY,  FREDDIE  —  this  one’s  for  you.  ❜

         camera’s  flash  is  overtaken  by  an  explosion  of  colour,  wildfire  whizbangs  lighting  up  the  sky  above  in  signature  ‘W’,  multitude  of  fireworks  caterwauling  down  the  alley.   exclamations  at  display  are  an  excuse  to  wipe  at  the  corners  of  eyes,  before  family’s  arms  wrap  around  frame  &  prevent  him  from  moving  more,  a  group  hug  that  begins  a  round  of  applause,  his  own  arms  slung  haphazardly  around  the  waists  of  who  he  thinks  are  ron  &  bill.

                                            THIS  ONE’S  FOR  YOU.

         he’s  missed  the  bustle  of  the  shop,  the  buzz  accompanying  a  floor  packed  with  people  clamouring  for  self-invented  products.   it’s  BITTERSWEET  how  well-received  the  re-opening  has  been,  queue  snaking  down  diagon’s  length  a  testament  to  success   —   laughter  blossoms  wild  &  free  from  those  testing  shelved  goods,  &  the  sound  warms  insides,  despite  how  own  smile  feels  misshapen.

          fresh  air  sought,  nod  given  to  percy  who  catches  eye  first   ;   chest  tight,  back  of  neck  flushed,  it’s  all  he  can  do  not  to  force  frame  through  throng  towards  staff  exit.   perhaps  it’s  PARANOIA  at  unwitting  state,  perhaps  it’s  merely  a  keen  beater’s  eye,  but  a  hooded  figure  by  shelves’  end  gives  him  pause,  huff  of  breath  deflating  tense  posture.   steps  slow,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  beloved  friend  —  TRUE  SMILE  lifts  lip  corners,  hollow  beneath  ribs  full  with  an  emotion  almost  overwhelming.

          to  outsiders,  two  would  look  nothing  more  than  owner  &  customer  exchanging  light  conversation,  but  instead  words  falter  once  more,  joke  upon  tip  of  tongue  passed  over  in  favour  of  BURNING  HONESTY  as  presence  is  announced   :   ❛               it’s  really  good  to  see  you,  mate.   ❜

        percy tried sleeping, but sleep fails him yet again. it’s three, and he gets out of bed. the stairs creak as he goes down, and he is alone in the living room of the burrow. molly wants them all under one roof still -- even harry and hermione -- to keep the family whole and healing. percy would be lying if he said he’s happy with the current arrangements, but he REFUSES to make his mother cry again. 

he slips a cigarette between his lips and sits on the couch. with a flick of his hand, the cigarette is lit. percy inhales a drag and closes his eyes. he doesn’t mind the darkness. he minds the silence. that’s when the thoughts are loudest -- that’s when he can hear fred calling out to him. he brushes shaking fingers over his visible scar; it’s too late at night for him to care to cover it, and no one else should be awake anyway. what does it matter if they see the MONSTER lurking behind his tired face? 

                   ❛     i   know   i’m    not   alive   but   you  can   always   talk   to   me   harry,    ❜  most  of  all,   cho   did   and  the   entire   house  of  hufflepuff’s  treated   him   like  he  was.    the   other   portraits  had  taken  a  liking  to   him   and  he’s   spent   time  making   friends    with  them.  traveling  throughout  hogwarts   from  frame  to  frame,  he’s  accompanied  few   as   he  passed  through.  ❛     i   may   not  be  the  real  cedric  but  everything  about  him,  is  me  ---    so   if   you  need   someone  to  talk  to.   i’ll  be  here     ❜    empathetic,   he   just   displayed   soft   features.    

38. are they basically negative when facing new things ?  suspicious ?  hostile ? scared ?  enthusiastic ?

it really does depend !  he’s always taken intellectual challenges well and enthusiastically.  as a student, whenever a new spell or potion came up and he couldn’t perform it in the first try,  he’d read and practice until he got it right.  always with the sort of focus we got to see in his recollection of his O.W.L.s.  this is one of the few things that never changed about him  —-  from the scrawny, hopeful kid learning magic from his mother’s old school books before he even got a wand to the sorrowful, bitter man eagerly trying to absorb any piece of knowledge dumbledore or voldemort  ( which, to be honest, was the reason he joined the death eaters in first place, but that’s another subject ).  in fact,  anything that involves intellect and/or magical prowess is faced with his head held high,  as these are the only areas in which he truly feels confident.

now,  growing up in a financially unstable home taught him to be adaptable and specially to keep his feet on the ground.  he has a very realistic view on the world,  but always keeps in mind the ways things can go wrong in order to prepare himself and avoid them.  this sort of strategic thinking only works when his temper doesn’t get the best of him,  of course.  his anger is blinding, the kind that has been bottled up for too long and makes him do things he absolutely wouldn’t do with a clear head.  

when it comes to people,  he has never been optimistic.  to even approach lily,  it took him weeks of rehearsed dialogue and the brash confidence he displayed at first was all bravado.  his social anxiety began with his father and how he never bothered to conceal his disgust for having a wizard for a son and worsened with the bullying he faced at hogwarts.  slug parties were like torture sessions and until he caught mulciber’s eye,  he wouldn’t really spend too much time at the slytherin common room,  preferring to stay at the library.  he isn’t exactly keen on letting new people in.  teaching is a little easier because it feels like it belongs in the first category i rambled about. 

40. how is their sense of humor ? do they have one ?

i believe the prime example of snape’s sense of humor is that bit in the prince’s tale where he asks dumbledore whether he wants to be killed right then or he’d like a few moments to compose an epitaph.  it’s dark and one often can’t tell if he’s joking or not,  especially since everything is said with a deadpan expression.  minerva is probably one of the few people who are used to it at this point because she’s the one who usually has to endure his ironic commentary on the dada professors.

basically: