diagonalleys - Tumblr blog

[diagonalleys]

the one with the origin of beginnings.

James Fleamont Potter was a jack of many trades. Conceptually, he was a simple boy with the dream of obtaining the goal of Head Boy at Hogwarts. However, that wasn’t entirely true. With a prominent surname to puff his reputation up, the label seemed fairly ideal to be given to the seventeen year old. The raven-haired male was wild, untamed, and callous. His rebellious streak had followed him since his toddler days, respiting the boundaries that his father and mother had been lenient on their only child. The Golden Boy. The Untouchable. Much into his youth, even, the only Potter offspring believed that if the world didn’t revolve around his every move, the imbalance was detrimental. It came with the territory of being a spoiled child. To which was the only reason as to why he was plucked out of the group to be Head Boy — not Seeker as he had instinctively preferred before. The label itself left much to the imagination of how much attention was infused into the teen. Most of it, unwanted and unwarranted. Despite amassing an inherited wealth he had become far less interested in as he grew up, his personality flourished into the arrogant, brunt archetype most would recall as a bully. Yet if teasing were illegal and poking fun meant trouble, it seemed as though try as he might that James escaped the consequences with the brood of his peers following in his footsteps. He bred power and control that often came hand in hand with the territory of well-endowed lineage.

Of course, when there was no wondering over where his head hit the pillow at night, his chest puffed up with the outstandingly obvious ego that was fed with every day that passed. It wasn’t a trained trait that he learned from anyone, James was just — rudimentary. Never knowing when to keep his mouth shut, all opinions becoming public domain. Maybe, despite the fact that he found an outward peace within himself to exude this confidence that was treading the line of malevolence, his cocky exterior outshined any other characteristic that he’d accumulated from his parents. He was a man-made coquette. And for a while, James Potter was doing just fine billing out his new found exterior that his inward feelings were never touched. At least, not until he found it was too late to turn back on his childish ways.

Somehow, it all changed. It wasn’t a rapid difference, that came snowballing at a feverish pitch. In fact, it was the complete opposite. The transition was smooth, heightened, yet sedentary in a way that bore a resemblance to a death grip from a vapid, venomous snake. With each second ticking off the clock, the tighter the clutch became. James Potter has never been in love. But it was within those many years of knowing Lily Evans that his perception from start to finish was drastically juxtaposed. Sorely in a torpid manner that caught him off guard at the hand. The once redheaded girl whom he likened pulling her pigtails at recess and pulling french fries off her plate at lunch was now this indescribable, mosaic of a woman who he tripped over with feeling of solicitous power. Every now and again, he would slide the glasses that bridged over his nose each time she walked by, inhaling her presence as if she dominated every last bit of air that circulated in the room. He had to stop himself from staring as to break his reputation and mold of being apathetic toward her. The transition was swift, but when it came, it throttled him faster than an obliviate spell could do the same in wiping his memory clear of her.

Though what he lacked in looks as a boy, he made up for in his charisma and charm. With age, came responsibility. Strung with it, a plethora of emotions to sift through as a teenager that felt in the very least unpleasant to all. The open floodgates of disappointment and fear were enveloped with embraced arms.

Crippled with uncertainty of the future, his lofty aspirations soon morphed into nothing more than coaxing Lily J. Evans into believing that he was worth more than a boy wasted on the temporary high of popularity and power. So much for a reality check.

A dark, starlit night enveloped the once baby blue sky of Hogwarts, a perfect excuse to escape his corridor to sneak out into a certain redhead’s room. Most nights he spent with a heart hurting, the sick want to spend a simple few hours with arms clung to her middle, head of messy, muddy curls sat atop of her blazing fiery ones. With the only break of silence coming from hearing her breath in syncopated cadence. He was sure her door was locked, thanks to Professor McGonagall’s interrogation of hounding each student to protect themselves from outward intruders. Softly slipping a folded up piece of paper reading Sometimes you need a little outward comfort to go to sleep, underneath the lip of her door frame, James carefully plucked his wand out from his pocket, twirling with his fingers while a smirk accompanied his features. Old ways still stuck with him, despite leaving the surliness for his stuck-up gang of “friends”. Truth be told, he was unequivocally falling for the girl he understood was too good for him, but with time he could only believe that he deserved some goodness too, without the temptation of a love struck spell to be the safety net. This was gambling his chances when all else failed. And the girl in question was worth the risk.

[diagonalleys]

There she sat, in a grease-filled dungeon held captive by the death eaters who were only holding her hostage for whatever random the Dark Lord wished. It was a frivolous game of back and forth like a teetering sea-saw. Luna could barely remember the last words her father screamed into the distance as she was carted away, though the brunette didn’t make an advance of causing a scuffle when her strength was much less dominated by the others. However, when she was saved, a relief washed over her in complete peace. It was the triad of the school that were coming to her rescue and all she could think about was inhaling fresh air again.

Luna Lovegood wasn’t a girl of many withstanding attributes that many found anything but endearing. She was most often monikered “Loony Lovegood” yet she would always shake the sentiment off. Nobody truly knew her. The girl was infamous for changing conversation, numbing the minds of the individuals around them. After her mother’s death, there was little she could do to console Xenophilius into believing that the two of them together would be okay. Her father created a hard exterior yet around her, he would crumble at a moments notice. The battle was long before it would be over and the events leading up to it left a bitter taste in the girl’s mouth.

There she stood, after mindlessly watching each student scramble and jolt like ants in a hill of fire, she stood in silence. Unsure of what the future held was always a common feeling in this school, and though she could mull over the idea of not having a future at all, whatever came to pass was alright with her. Descending down the long staircase of the school, she didn’t stop until her foot met with the fabricated back of the boy she hadn’t anticipated seeing. But his presence left a comfortable hug that metaphorically wrapped around her like the distant friend he was. Harry Potter was special. That much Luna knew. It was only when the words began to fall from his mouth that she realized he noted her attendance. Death. A word used so freely in this age and somehow all who were still breathing were the lucky ones. At some point wondering when Voldemort would dawn over them soon. But Harry Potter dying? The statement itself knocked the air out of her lungs. It took the girl a moment before she understood.

“Maybe it won’t hurt, it’ll be just like —...” she paused, head cranes to the side as if she pondered her words. “ — falling asleep,” she spoke up, tone as delicate and quiet as it always had been. The only reason for her to speak up in irritation was when Harry had ignored her with the information about the diadem in that was needed to be destroyed to satisfy the Dark Lord. However, now it seemed as though the more he required, the less they would gain in return when all was said and done. Slumping herself down as she sat beside him, she rested her hand on the ball of his shoulder. “Are you saying goodbye?” Luna hesitantly asked, her emotions weighing heavy as she turned to the side as steam dogged her vision. She didn’t want to admit that she was actively falling for the boy. As death has reared its ugly head toward him, it had done the same to her. Never to get too close in fear of attaching herself and potentially losing whatever relationship to the dark. “You can’t die, he doesn’t know you like he thinks he does. You’re so smart and witty and he could only wish to be as half of the man that you are. Do you believe that?” Luna inquired, immediately retracting her hand from his shoulder as to not intimidate him from the task he had to accept.

My mother was a genius, my father commanded respect. When they died, they left no instructions, just a legacy to protect.

To be Harry James Potter was lonely. It was so incredibly lonely. No matter how many people tried to understand the mind of Harry James Potter, they never could. All his life he had been running. Running and fighting against the darkness that constantly loomed over. So when he, Ron, and Hermione snuck back into Hogwarts that night of May 1st to search for a horcrux, there was truly no telling how it would unfold. Yet, Voldemort made it very clear, tonight was the night. Tonight it would all end.

God, he was so tired. He was so tired of fighting everyday since he was eleven. So many people were dead because of him. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Snape. The bodies of innocent hogwarts students scattered across the school and now Fred, Remus, and Tonks lying dead in the Great Hall. The sight of the Weasleys, his chosen family, sobbing over Fred’s body broke him to pieces. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me. Voldemort’s voice echoed his in his mind. No one else was going to die for him. He knew what he had to do, but first… Snape’s memories.

As Harry arose from the pensive, he just about collapsed. Dumbledore and Snape were allies this entire time, he asked Snape to kill him that night, Snape was in love with Lily, and probably the biggest revelation of them all: Harry had to die at the proper moment. And Voldemort himself had to it because there was a horcrux within him. That’s why he could hear and see inside Voldemort’s mind all this time. Because they were forever intertwined and if Harry wanted to end Voldemort once and for all then Harry himself would have to die. Everything Harry had wondered over the years that made no sense finally did. Well… he was ready.

For a moment, the green eyed boy stopped on the stairs and just sat. Right now, for a brief moment, hogwarts was quiet. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the fighting started up again, but he just needed a moment. He thought about even though he almost died every year, hogwarts was his home. In many ways, this school saved him. It gave him the people he loved most in the world and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Speaking of… he felt light steps from behind him. Luna. “You just caught the chosen one on his way to his own death.” The messy haired boy stated, as he he looked over at the brunette. “Hopefully he can actually kill me this time around, huh? What do they say eighth times the charm?” A small smile grazed his lips for a moment. Of course leave it to Harry James Potter to make jokes about himself dying. Really, it was the delirium speaking at this point.

[diagonalleys]

the one with the kiss of death.

Screaming. Echoes of the hollowed halls of Hogwarts were filled with the defiled school of death eaters planning for Voldemort’s reign of terror. The trio had planned long and hard about it. Well, really — Hermione and Harry did. The boy who most would have conceptualized as immature and flighty was mimicking just that when he bolted from their trek to finding each horcrux needed to catch the Dark Lord off balance and finally win after all. It had been a culmination of years of wonder, doubt and grief. Lives too precious to the wizardry world were lost too soon. Although, the more he began to meditate on the notions, the more he struggled to come to terms with the fact that the Dark Lord would finally be ceased of relaying his curses upon not only the school but infiltrating Harry’s mind. His best friend whom he could have only met due to a flood of overflowing fate being on their side when first making their settlement into the school of Hogwarts. They were so young, barely crawling out of the woods of childhood and into the roles of teenagers before their own eyes. If there was one thing for sure, however, it was his blatant skepticism of this entire master plan. Despite his wavered disbelief — after disappearing from the group when the smoke of the fire began burning too hot — he found himself in possession of Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. A crucial piece to the crucifix puzzle that would hopefully bring this long game to a much awaited end. The question was, “How are we gonna destroy this thing?” he muttered under a heavy breath that soon gripped into a sigh escaping his lungs.

Turning to his side, Hermione Granger. One of the most, if not the most intelligent muggle born wizard to roam the halls of Hogwarts. His stupidity clearly outweighed him as he knew as much that without the female’s wit and smarts the game was as good as over and dead. Clutching the golden cup in his clammy, nimble fingers he gave the girl a breathy chuckle. “If Dumbledore was so great in leading Harry to find all of this junk, then why didn’t he tell him how to destroy them before he kicked it?” The boy inquired with light tension to hopefully keep the mood tangible and circular. His inner being was currently fighting off the sensation between melting into a puddle of sadness over the untimely death of his elder brother, Fred, or to laugh knowing that in some ways, the future of the school was laid in incapable teenagers hands. Both of which felt seemingly plausible given the current state of the battle. With knowing glances and longing stares, Ron was sure Hermione would quip him, or chastise him for the fact that everything else was painted as so heavy around them.

“What’s going to happen when we die?” He husked, as if the words grew hoarse on his fervently thudding chest. Avoiding eye contact with the girl was his only method of coping without completely dissolving at her glances that always seemed to thief his breath out of his lungs. They were friends, best friends. Some might call the boy silly for even entertaining the notion of dreaming about her becoming more. The feelings were a distant cause. At a point when he was running for safety for hours on end yet finding little to no relief for it. Then, Lavender Brown popped up. A welcomed distraction from his affections that was nothing more than a batter at first swing. She made the transition from lonely boy to semi-decent bloke seemingly within rhythm. The fling didn’t last long — of course, with it being a fling. No true feelings bubbled up to the surface and Ron was able to suppress his qualms of destroying what was a good thing for a golden decade. He cherished their relationship. At night it was an escapism to relish in the idea of becoming her person, her protector, her armour. Ron Weasley was not the first picked in the line up of dodgeball players. He was lanky, tall, limpid. A fortified designated best friend. And that was where he always seemed to be leveled. Second best.

With his elder brother now gone, it felt as though time was a fleeting concept that he would never understand. Fred Weasley died fighting for the good nature of Hogwarts. So if he could put his life on the line, why couldn’t Ron? If there was a life after this, the boy would kick himself at the thought of not being bold. Bold enough to realize that everyday was but a gift in the present and not guaranteed. Amidst the chaos and blunder of the battle that was riding on the student’s coat tails, he had to be realistic. “‘Mione..” he hushed out, hues flicked up, now directly focused on the one person he couldn’t have imagined going to the ends of the earth without. His voice was shaky at best, calloused digits fumbling in stitches as they continued to scour the room for any item capable of destroying the god forsaken horcrux that stood in the way of death or defeat.