#mandmstarter

                “ supposedly, i have uh ... ‘a n g e r’ issues. whatever the hell that means. ”

James flopped down onto the hard wooden seat, exhaling sharply, as he waved his team a goodnight. It had been one, hard, long afternoon practise. Well, evening now, really. His hand went automatically up his hair, scratching and ruffling it’s shaggy contents, thinking deeply. His mind was abuzz with Quidditch, racing through potential plays, different tactics he wanted to explore next time. He sighed, looking down at his flecked, muddy robes, then riffling through his trouser pockets he found his wand. He breathed in the cool air, inhaling so deeply that his eyes closed of their own accord, breathing in the sudden relief his lungs had been aching for. However, when he suddenly heard footfalls moving steadily towards him, his eyes opened in shock. He stood up, casting a quick non-verbal “Lumos” towards where the footfalls were coming. He grinned, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw who the person walking towards him was.

Mary didn't know why she had offered to clear out the storage boxes littered throughout the Transfiguration classroom on her first free Saturday back at school. Perhaps it was the fact that she sat at the at the front of the room and knew that even the shrillness of McGonagall's voice was not going to convince James or Sirius to volunteer, and that Lily was completely bogged up with prefect and club committments, but either way it was a nice outlet for clearing her head. So far, her afternoon had consisted of sorting through spare goblets (used for inanimate-to-animate object transfiguration, if she recalled correctly), a surprisingly large stash of sugar quills, and some assorted Defense Against the Dark Arts supplies that had spilled over from alternate storage years ago. Just as the brunette was levitating a crate of porcupine quills into a neatly stacked pile, she heard a rattling of wood and promptly rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was a precarious stack of supplies toppling over, lest she have to mop up bubotuber pus or some other indeterminable substance. Mary turned on her heel and, much to her surprise, everything was more or less in the same place. But still, the rattling persisted, causing the skin on the back of her neck to prick up and her breath to be suddenly caught in her throat. She didn't sign up for dealing with mysterious, sentient beings today. She stepped slowly over to the pile again, stashing her wand in her robe pocket hoping she wouldn't have a reason to extract it once again. The rattling became louder as she approached, sounding like muffled marbles being tossed about. With trembling fingers, Mary reached up to remove another box from the pile, fingers gripping around the roughly hewn edges as she wrenched it away from the pile. But the heavy crate clipped the rest of the stacked boxes, and almost instantaneously, the boxes began to topple over, crashing down as Mary staggered backwards, dropping in the box she had held in her hands. A sturdy trunk from the back of the storage boxes came hurling forward, it's large aged padlock colliding with the ground and snapping open with a deafening crack. Mary froze, and like a tidal force drenching her she was suddenly overcome with realization as to what must have been in the box and why exactly it was trapped under lock and key. Her hand flew to the pocket of her robes, shaking fingers wrapping tightly around her wand handle and stepping backward slowly as a figure with cascading dark hair emerged from the trunk. It was her mother...but, then again, it wasn't. There was something off, something inhuman. The dark eyes Mary shared with her were clouded, unseeing. Her normally flushed cheeks were pale, lifeless, and her features were gaunt, skin pulled tightly around her high cheekbones. She was dressed in a stark white gown, only differing slightly to the tone of her skin, like translucent paper. Her cracked lips part as she falls to the ground like a rag doll and clutches her side. With her feet rooted to the ground, Mary stares on in horror as her mother's hands briefly come away from her body, revealing a scarlet liquid permeating the white dress. Her mother screams for Mary but her voice is strained and shrill like that of a banshee. Mary, her hands thrown over her ears, knows she can't do anything, can't help the bleeding creature for if she were to run to it, she would be separated by some invisible wall, held back against her will as her mother repeatedly screamed her name. She's seen it before, faced a boggart many times, but tears still come to her eyes as she remembered the wand clasped between her fingers. Knuckles white , she pointed her wand at thee creature, now writhing on the ground and eyes rolling back into her head. Through her blurred vision as tears began to spill from her eyes, Mary shouted, "ridikulus!" She heard someone burst through the door just as the boggart rose into the air, spinning in tight circles like a sickly ballerina. The billowing bloodstained gown turned into magnificent scarlet robes with gold trim, and as her mother touched daintily back down, her features were full of color again, a smile across her lips. Then, as quickly as the transformation had happened, the figure disintegrated into dust, whirling in a cloud back into the broken trunk. Mary dropped her wand to the ground

Straightening his red and gold Gryffindor tie, James Potter pushed past the other students who were walking idly or stopped altogether crowding the hallways. As he was reminded of one of the main reasons he did not choose to frequent the library, James reflected inwardly.‘Maybe Snape isnt worth the hassle.’He shook his head, he had committed to this, he was going to be civil with Severus Snape, and this secluded library meeting was the first step.  James had spent the last few nights conflicted. Remus had been telling him that he should be civil towards Severus for several years now, but it was incredibly important that James implement Remus’ ideas now, while he still had a chance with Lily Evans, however small. He knew Snape had suffered from their rivalry as much as he had, if not more… And it was about time they acted civil. Either out of respect, or some sort of odd bond they had, Snape hadn’t attempted to ruin James’ year yet. Though that was largely due to the fact James had avoided him like the plague, he thought he’d better reach out to keep it that way. But after three days of essentially isolating himself from his best friends and no pranking what so ever, James had finally decided to speak with Snape. His chest heavy he inhaled deeply from his nose and pulled out his wand. He straightened out the end of a parchment, and pressed the tip of his wand onto the scroll, writing out a into a simple message: Library, after potions Tuesday, please come. No funny business. He could feel his face lined with these thoughts and this awful feeling tugging at his insides as he climbed up the last staircase before he would reach the library doors. Upon reaching the top, he rested against the door breathing for a moment before entering the quiet room. James let out a heavy sigh and tugged at his tie again, it had become something of a nervous habit. His eyes looked down at his wand in his hand, almost as if out fear, he pocketed it, in the right pocket instead of the left so he would be less apt to grab for it...  Another sigh and he bit down on his bottom lip. The back of his neck suddenly went cold—freezing cold and the hairs on the back of his neck, all the way down to his arms stood on end. His whole body squirmed as he shivered from his natural reaction to seeing Severus Snape.