#svopen

so much had happened within the span of a year. even just within the months they’d spent in 1976. school let out, his birthday passed, as did holidays and the summer and soon enough, regulus found himself back at hogwarts, sitting at the slytherin table in the great hall during breakfast. as per usual, he was reading while he ate, well practiced at it after many years at home, ignoring whatever family drama may be going down because of whatever stupid thing his brother did. 

The pile of books was almost covering Rita’s face, her latest in books for studying, for entertainment, whatever else she found herself interested in. Only days into the school year and she’d already found herself in the library, with a stack so high she couldn’t see from behind it. One book fell and with a soft, whispered, “Merde,” the rest of the stack, already not particularly steady, fell as well. The only half decent thing about the situation was that her diary was put away in her bag, carefully hidden from everyone else. It was too early in the school year to start drama. Maybe next month. It would be her birthday present to herself. With a small sigh, she crouched down, picking up the fallen books.

Divination was one of the courses Hogwarts offered that many students dreaded. The subject itself still remained skeptical and out-dated, and Mulciber wasn’t particularly fond of having to take it his third year. But by the end of term, he was disappointed that there weren’t more courses for him to take until this year. Many of his friends found it odd that he indulged himself in a subject that seemed to focus on party-tricks and wild paranoia, but he thoroughly enjoyed it. And he remained the life of the party.

With Pixel on his shoulders, as she always was, Dirk wandered the halls idly. With nowhere to be, he was free to just let his feet take him wherever they wanted. He’d even snuck a flask in the pockets of his robes, filled up with reliable Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey. If it were anyone else on any other night, he’d have to confiscate that as a prefect. But for now, he was off duty. As he moved his head to avoid a cat tail in his face, he took a swig, eventually stopping to sit on the edge of the fountain in the quad. As someone approached, he said, preemptively, “If you’re going to get on me about the booze, save it for another night.”

“--don’t get upset with me...” she mused, sliding her cards back into a pile on the table. “the cards don’t lie. If you weren’t prepared for that answer, maybe you weren’t ready to ask that question.”

just when sirius had an ounce of hope that the world would become a better place with voldemort being dead, he was proven wrong once again. chaos emerged around him as the sky darkened and the chanting began. the dark lord will rise, they said. a party trick, sirius thought. they were all desperate to keep their control over everyone and their agenda alive. he refused to believe any of it. hell, if it depended on him, the black would make sure that none of it was true. 

James had been on his way out of the Three Broomsticks when it happened; the first sign of something being not quite right was the sound of shattering glass a little further up the village, and he had felt his heart all but stop dead in his chest. He had been torn then; he knew his options were rather limited, he could either charge head first into the danger zone (his instincts were telling him this was the right course of action), or he could wise up, and make sure the students in the pub remained there for the time being, and be of some reassurance; he was supposed to set an example now, he had to keep reminding himself, no matter how much he sometimes wished that sort of pressure hadn’t been put on him.

It was after hours, and Evan couldn’t sleep, so he snuck out of the dungeon (not like it was hard) and wandered around the castle. When he got to his usual spot, he hopped up to sit in the little alcove in front of a window, one leg hanging over the edge, swinging back and forth. He lit a cigarette and raised it to his lips. He let the acrid taste of nicotine fill his lungs, then exhaled, watching as a smoke snake slithered away from his mouth. A party trick he learned over the summer. Hearing footfalls behind him, he rolled his head against the stone to glance lazily down the corridor. “It’s after curfew,” he mused, voice monotone.