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lcvendcrs‌:

“oh my gosh!” lavender practically squealed, trying to keep her voice down but failing miserably. “oh, i love this. the coors, the glitter, it’s like these were made specifically for me.” lavender picks up the magazine, examining it. she loved these things, always explaining to her how muggles see their horoscopes and how they handle their heartbreaks. they were so similar to lavender ( mountains of chocolate frogs and crying her eyes out with her best friend ) that it was uncanny. “oh, that’s so cool!” she smiles, and turns the page, reading the words in the article. she lowers her voice, “wow, you’re right it’s… so cool, that they’ve got this figured out without potions at all?” as it seems that others are approaching their area, lavender shoves the magazine in her book bag as quickly as possible. “so, other than that, how is it going?” she says, trying to keep her mind off of the interesting things she was sure to find in the magazine. 

lavenders tone and volume got a few giggles out of susan as she took a quick peek around to confirm that no one was paying them much attention. "it's printed lavender brown! if there's one thing nothing can ever beat is the reactions when i bring these." it was pure joy to see how her friends had always, since first year really, burst with excitement every time susan had muggle magazines. they truly were something else. "it's uncanny. hm, haven't checked out their horoscope yet and- " lavender putting away the magazine was the sign for the girl to shut up, so her eyes began looking down at her teacup. "good, good. although perhaps i should be a tad concerned - do you see heartbreak here as well?" the teacup was raised in lavenders direction so she could take her expert look at it. "perhaps i should get a girlfriend before i get my heart broken, no? usually works out that way for me, need one for the other."

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ABBOTT, HANNAH. when: january 29th, 1998; 00:15 where: hufflepuff dorms

@abbbott

it was just slightly past midnight as susan's arched body could be seen by the side of her bed, sat on the floor, a small radio between her feet. past midnight meant it was no longer her birthday, meaning that she'd avoided just narrowly more sorrow on a rare bright day, but that made little difference, for being so distracted by herself and her brilliant achievement of surviving yet another year, she'd missed it when the news broke os someone who had not. silent tears streamed down her face, even though she felt an ever-growing need to sob, wail, scream.

"did you hear?" there was a crack in her voice that she so often chastized others for having. even hannah. the repeat of the announcement was over before white noise took hold, and susan kicked it just a bit away from her, as if the radio itself could take her life too. "they got one of us." she's seen hannah enter the room. one girl slept in the farthest away bed, the rest seemed to still be downstairs - in truth, it was just hannah, susan and a goddamn ghost stuck in that radio. "oliver rivers. never even spoke with him." the drinks from the celebration had died out in her system, but her words were still slow, as if she was processing the information. "if they got him, they can get us. i just - i'm really fucking scared, hannah." she could act strong, happy, energetic, all of it - but she could not pretend courage. "i am bloody terrified. aren't you?"

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aureliians‌:

if there was one thing that stephen enjoyed about quidditch being back - other than the actual game, of course - it was seeing how excited the rest of the house was over it. just one of the many reasons that being the captain of the hufflepuff team made him so happy. which was why when he came to sit down at the table and saw the elaborate set up that susan had going, it only left him smiling even more. “i think it needs more badgers, honestly. i didn’t dress up as a badger that year just to have my reputation forgotten. and i think you meant absolutely adorable,” he said with a laugh, before he took the seat beside her. “is this supposed to be a banner?” he asked. “because you know with this out there in the crowds, there’s absolutely no way that the gryffindor team can beat us. this is some definite foreshadowing for the upcoming match? you think it’d be too much to hang this by the gryffindor common room prior to the match?”

“fair enough. your oh so noble sacrife will not be wasted!” laughter seemed to flow so easily amongst her housemates that it soon filled the space between them. “perhaps we should just ditch the sports gear and make the badger costumes the team outfit, no? i’m sure you still have it somewhere.” susan smoothed out the fabric of the banner, absorbing the cheer size of the thing - she’d really gone all out this year. one of her hands reached for the paintbrush soaking in a small tin of black paint. “oh, i’m aware. moral encouragement is my expertise, stephen.” line by line, she slowly began filling out one of the outlines badgers. “the gryffindor common room?” the brush stopped and the girl seemed all but frozen, as if her system was processing the option, before she turned to the other hufflepuff. “that’s terrible. what a mind.” the mischievous grin that most would attribute to the house of their targets lighted up her face. “you help me finish paint this and we can hang this over the painting for their common room. a timely welcome home sign, what do you think?”

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moragmac‌:

“It truly was. I mostly can’t believe she wore a Gryffindor hat, too —– rooting for another team!” Morag didn’t have a place to talk, of course, with her supporting Hufflepuff the upcoming match ( but only for Megan — the Gryffindor team winning would be better for her own chances at the Cup, after all ). “I would help but I’m … quite useless at drawing. Maybe just some writing?” At the mention of Dean Thomas, Morag felt herself freeze up a little, not entirely prepared for this sudden turn of a conversation. Sure, Susan had mentioned it as casually as she could but still — Morag preferred not to talk about things like their missing classmates in moments like these. Or at all, really. “Maybe there’s still some of his banners in the Gryffindor dorm or common room?,” she offered, shrugging a little. “You could ask Neville or Seamus, I’m sure they’d know.” Morag’s eyes were mostly focused on Susan’s banner while she spoke, feeling uncomfortable and uneasy but trying not to show it. She was glad that the other talked so much and easily, as she was soon able to smile at her words in stead of feel guilt at them. “I think that would be great. More sports would be a good idea, anyway — I’d love it if we could do competitive swimming, or something.” And having English classes wouldn’t be a bad thing, either, thought Morag. “Maybe one day.”

“The state of her! A true traitor to the nation.” Trying to catch up to work, Susan turned her attention to the banner and began filling out some yellow spots. “Any help is appreciated enough.” Susan wished she could have regretted the mention right away, but above all, she was a mostly honest person. The truth laid in front of their eyes, matter of fact, and perhaps saying their names without whispering would have just the same effect as saying the name of Voldemort without fears, back when they would. It was acknowledging what had happened and reinforcing their memory, not just as victims, but as people who’d lived side by side with them for so long - or perhaps, so she wished. The air had grown thick again and suddenly, they were back in 1998, in war, worrying for things much scarier than quidditch matches. That couldn’t do, so she made sure her voice, light, and her words, light in meaning, filled the air instead. “Competitive swimming? The lake is full enough as it is.” A knowing smile appeared on her lips. “You know, In fourth year I tried starting a petition for that but everyone was too distracted with the Tournment. Maybe someone will try that again some day.” Bold of them to assume things would change in the future, recovering enough so that children could devote time and inocence to attempting to bring their favourite sports to Hogwarts. “I’m assuming football will be the first and once they open that door, it’s all kinds of sports everywhere.”

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stvneheart‌:

“i didn’t think you had wanted to talk to me either,” he reasons back, and it’s a flimsy excuse. of course neither of them had wanted to talk to each other — susan, nursing over her own heartbreaks this year, theo, trying to pretend he didn’t even feel the slightest bit guilty. the point of this friendship was that they never had to get to this moment, a breaking point where the silence between the two wasn’t enough to pretend it’s all okay. 

but what can he say? he cannot make her feel better. all those years ago when they had started becoming friends, he had never apologised for their intertwined family history. for his uncle who had slaughtered her cousins, had gone to azkaban for his crimes. that hadn’t been for him to apologise for, he maintains. so he doesn’t know how he can apologise for the same crime decades later, for his uncle and his cousin murdering her mother — these aren’t for him to claim, and yet he’s still standing there by his family’s side. his family had made susan an orphan, the only bones left, and he had let the month go by without saying a word. 

what can he say? he doesn’t know, but he wants to bridge this gap even if he doesn’t deserve it. “i didn’t — i haven’t done anything,” he says, almost desperately. “i’m not… i’m not them. i didn’t know what my uncle — what they were planning.” he doesn’t know what he would’ve have done if he did anyhow.

“of course i didn’t.” she snapped back with the burning anger she’d never been able to redirect at HIM before. “we can’t both be cowards at the same time, though. that obviously doesn’t work.” her tone was whispered and she didn’t even look directly at him - the attention of the class was sparse, focused on every little hub of chatter and noise. it was almost a private scenario, so at least they had that in their favour. very little was on their side, though. “i’m not just angry at you, or for you, or whatever. i’m angry at myself for how much faith i have in you.” stupid little girl, thinking he didn’t have his future traced the moment he’d been born, thinking she too was free. stupid little girl, believing they lived in a new era where their past was the matter of history books and sad dreams. stupid little girl, thinking that any of them had a shot when, in fact, they were tied to those they’d decided were their family and friends. so damn stupid.

theo was trying. she’d seen him trying before, she could identify the effort. that, however, wasn’t enough. “i know. god, i know.” i’m not them. somehow, the evident tragedy of who they were injured her particularly hard then. “i belive in that, but what would you have done?” she whispers out the words with enough fear to make her hands tremble at last, which she quickly hides under the desk, grasping them together. every sound seems to scratch at her throat, drawing blood. “if you knew, what would you have actually done? tell me? tell my mother? tell aurors, tell the police, write to me, stop them, flee the situation?” slowly, it’s beginning to rise in volume. not quite enough to attract any eyeballs to them, but loud enough to be visible that she is losing the thin barrier that separates her and all her white flame anger from theodore. “or nothing? hm? that’s the goddamned problem here. because i would have done something.”

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rvncorns‌:

this was hard to listen to. noah wanted to be as optimistic and sure as susan, but the more she said, the more uncertain he grew. a pull with the slytherins ? besides tracey, he couldn’t come up with the name of a single person besides him who would even consider joining the da in the slightest. on the contrary, he knew more than a few who were going to follow in the footsteps of their parents, their lives destined and decided because of the blood in their veins. “ they won’t — it’s not going to be that easy. ” his arms were folded across his chest and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. he didn’t want to flat-out tell her no, that he couldn’t do what he was asking, but the word yes weighed like lead on his tongue. 

joining the da was just step one. it had taken a lot from noah for him to finally join, and he wanted to be involved — susan’s ideas, though, they seemed like he would be diving straight into the deep end. it scared him more than he cared to admit. “ i get that, susan, i do, but the lot of them will be harder to convince than any of the other houses. ” he was trying to sound as diplomatic as she did. he was most certainly failing. “ it’s just — pardon my phrasing — they’re snakes. they’ll strike out at sudden change. they’ll strike out at weakness. they don’t want to make waves. ” it struck him suddenly — maybe more-so than any time before ( more than when he talked to tracey, more than his confrontation with theo ) — of the separation he had put up between himself and the rest of his house. “ half of them would hex me before i even got a word out, and i don’t think i could blame them. they’re loyal, nearly as much so as your lot of hufflepuffs. ” he lowered his voice. “ if they caught word of me even thinking of joining the da, i’d bet i’d be dead in my bed come morning. ” he wasn’t sure how much of an exaggeration that was.

noah was in a tricky spot, she had to admit that much. there was nothing inheretly wrong with the green house, but a systemic problem spread like wildfire within the dungeons and anyone like susan was deeply cut off from their territory. change needed to come not from invasion but from outside pressure and voices from within. that, of course, was easier said than done. “well, if it was easy we’d all be doing shots right now and saying c’est la vie.” it was with a deep sigh that the girl leaned her shoulder against the wall by her side, crossing her arms just like him, admitting a position of slight defeat. noah spoke and spoke, and every word was dripping reasonable thoughts and precautions, but they didn’t help HER case. “i’m not saying our class is doomed, but i know that anyone above maybe fourth year will do a hard pass on any change. they’ll strike at it all, yes. so i suggest we don’t focus on them. you can’t tell me every eleven year old is running around the dungeon playing ‘i wanna be a wizard nazi’ through the weekends.” 

in truth, they had nothing left but a bit of hope. sure, most older students would want to stay out of the way, for a variety of understandable (but still cowardly, she’d say) reasons, and others would certainly follow their families or peers, but they needed to HOPE that some would choose neither. follow noah in the less travelled path, regardless of the truly threatening consequences. “i know.” she had no doubt in her mind that he would indeed be found dead by the hand of his housemates should the secret ever be let out. “it’s dangerous. it’s terrifying and for a lot of them it might even sound pointless because they might have no real connection to all of this - but you did it. we need them, even if we don’t like it. you don’t have to announce it to the world, you can just... try to install in SOME the sense that if everything goes to shit, they too will be condemned to live like this. you did it anyway, so why wouldn’t they?”

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OPEN. when: january 28th, 1998; 8:50pm where: hufflepuff common room

“i might have nicked some of this from the party," susan confessed while pouring some more into the line of plastic cups, "but truly, what is the hufflepuff common room without a constant supply of drinks." for her eighteenth birthday, the girl had decided on an open event, whispered around by the students - anyone who could get into the hufflepuff room was free to have a shot, or some of the cookies she'd last bought during the break, which were definitely not in their peak quality. all around, a pretty good birthday celebration. "you know, if this all goes to shit, i think i might have a future in bartending, right?" on the table she'd been serving drinks, enough to fill a whole bottle puddled up, and the floor definitely smelled like liquor. "oh, wanna see some of my tricks? i can juggle! sort of."

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moragmac‌:

Losing the Quidditch game despite catching the Snitch had made Morag more than a little sour, to say the least. She had seen games that were more of a disaster of this one, but still — it had been a right disaster, and it had been her responsibility. It was nice though, in a twisted way, to be occupied with feelings of disappointment and anger over something like Quidditch, rather than the real things that were going on. She focused on her sourness, let it fester and grow, ignoring all the other things going through her head. She was also trying to shift her focus on the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor match, too, speculating how any possible outcome would influence her team’s chance a the Cup, and giddily getting excited to see Megan fly again. Her entire mind was filled with Quidditch and so when Susan Bones asked on her opinion on her banners, she decided to give it a look. “Hm, it’s good. Definitely more subtle than Loony Lovegood’s … I’m not sure if I should call it a hat. You remember, don’t you?” She chuckled a little. “Don’t listen to the first year, though. Never listen to first years. That banner’s really good — I love the badgers especially. There’s no room for subtlety when it comes to Quidditch.”

“Lovegood’s costume was definitely... a statement piece.” Laughter spilled out of Susan’s lips with ease as she thought of the Ravenclaw. “Thank you for approving of my art - don’t suppose you want to help paint it, though?” Despite having no real interest in the game, Susan certainly loved the gimmicks of being a supporter and, while not to the same extreme as Luna Lovegood, definitely took it a few steps up. “Dean Thomas used to make some sick banners for the matches, remember? It’s not as much of a competition without him here to rival my art.” It had somehow become a habit, speaking of those that weren’t at Hogwarts even though they should. If she wept for every name she uttered in casual conversation, she’d have gone dry a long time ago, so Susan had to limit herself to a less vibrant shade of a smile. With a sigh, the girl twisted the dry paintbrush in her fingers, her attention returning to the task at hand. “You know, I’ve been saying this since fourth year, but Hogwarts really should add cheerleading to their list of activities - I would finally be interested in being a part of a sports team then. Morag, I’m sure you definitely agree with this.” Chuckles returned to the girl, along with a wider grin. “Sure, we’re missing some of the muggle basics, like maths or english, but cheerleading really would add some dynamics here.”

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stvneheart‌:

for a brief moment, he thinks that she’ll just ignore him completely and try to pretend this — this is all okay. that schoolwork even matters even a little right now; these castle walls aren’t holding a school anymore, and they both know it. it’s a battleground, where every step is like trying not to blow yourself up on a minefield, and learning was lost somewhere in the process of the dark lord seizing power. theo’s been doing a valiant job at prioritising his education throughout this mess, and it shouldn’t be a problem to take susan’s lead to just focus on the work. just finish this lesson and they can part ways again, avoid each other.

he should be quiet, because that’s what he’s always been best at doing. but he can’t, he CAN’T. 

“bones,” he says, and his voice is quiet, lowered in a noisy classroom where no one really cares anyway. he is still a coward, though, even after everything. “bones. we should — we need to. we need to talk.”

Bringing it up himself feels excruciatingly painful to do, but it’s a necessity right now. He doesn’t know if he can sit through an hour of pretending like nothing had gone wrong.

she wanted to scream. perhaps she'd been hiding that need deep within, or tears simply weren't enough, and who could blame her? she knew for a fact that susan bones sitting next to a nott while yelling at the top of her lungs would be understood by those who mattered, those on the right side of things, which he was not. if anything, he was in the very hallway between them both, holding the door, complacently, carrying in his face and in his name the things that made her want to scream.

the shaky breath the girl let out made her realise how strongly she'd been holding it in. susan's wand fell onto the table with a gentle tud and, instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest as if putting up the barrier between them both. something soft in her noticed how theodore nott was the one trying to talk with her - he hadn't ran away from the issue, he hadn't quit. any other time, she'd even be proud of him, throw in a snarky remark about his lack of passiveness, smile softly with acknowledgment; but no, she needed to stand her ground. "you've had plenty of time before." her head was pounding, but not nearly as much as her heart, screaming at her to flee from the situation. "it's not..." damn her and her soft soul that gave the world a million chances that it did not deserve. "as far as i know," susan felt like she needed to make that part clear, "you've done nothing." at last, the girl turned to him, looking at theo properly for the first time in months, searching for signs of the destruction of their generation on his face, maybe even for guilt. "but i just - i don't WANT to do this. i don't expect you to understand," nott couldn't possibly comprehend her side, "but looking at you hurts." she saw everyone who'd ever wronged her in theo and along with it, every single loss, every funeral. it used to be kept in the backburner, but her mother was the last straw.

[reflectedfame-archive-blog]

SUSAN RAGNHILD BONES; born 28 January, 1980

A very happy eighteenth birthday to our favourite fashion icon, Susan !! We want to give a shoutout to CAMI for bringing Susan with all her tragic self to life for us. You’re doing amazing, and we’re so glad you joined us !

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SUSAN’S 7TH YEAR CLASS SCHEDULE, click to enlarge !!

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RUNCORN, NOAH. when: january 21st, 1998; 03:30pm where: some hallway at hogwarts

@rvncorns

"we need a stronger pull with the slytherins, especially younger ones." outside of context, susan's words sounded more like those of a campaign manager for a politician, preaching for stronger voting appeal to a certain subset of society. it was easier (and practical, if you asked the girl) to approach the work of dumbledore's army as a political endeavor, rather than a hail-mary militia, recruiting young soldiers for the danger of punishment or worse, and that was exactly what she did. more and more, DA meetings had susan bones moving at lightning speed in the background, taking energetic notes and pulling people away for quick individual chats, looking more like the manager than the soldier. talking with people about the rebellion against the carrows at hogwarts, even those outside of the DA, was no different at all. "look at the walk-out, it's ridiculous. i haven't done the maths yet, but i'm sure it was NOT 25 per cent, and we saw how that worked two years ago. you can't organise actual change without a quarter of the school, or they'll group up themselves." her voice was low, fully aware of the dangers of speaking of such things out in the open, even if no one else was in that hallway. "you could reach to them better than i ever could."

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wanted connections !!

I: change the world with me - she handed you a pamphlet once, but you didn't quite catch what for. then she gave you a petition to sign. little by little, she kept asking for more of you to yet another cause, and a few more hours of rebellion to make the world just a little better. you accepted it, not knowing you were contributing to a revolutionaire's hunger for rebellion. now you do.

II: first flame - it was in that halloween party way back in fourth year that things began making some sense in susan's head, and it was thanks to you. a girl with soft hands and softer lips, a smile that brought up the brightest sun in susan. the two burned bright, with their hands clasped together in every hallway and their passionate kisses, but soon that fire turned to smoke, and you two have never felt each other's skin again.

III: pretty in yellow - hufflepuff friends !! that's literally it, people she has met and mingled with simply because they shared a house, a common room, maybe even a dormitory. from study sessions to helping her paint large pieces of fabric, cheering on your team during quidditch matches. she would die for any hufflepuff, this is a fact.

IV: closed fists, falling tears - susan is soft. she tries not to be, to bring out all the chaos that hides inside her and be iron, iron, iron, but no matter how strong she acts, you can always see her unashamed tears. you've caused them quite a few times, ever since you were only young children and it was amusing to watch her sob. now, however, you face not a victim but a threat.

V: inside the beautiful mind of a teenage girl - you share susan's passion for the things some might dismiss. the glitter, the pink, the miniskirts, the trashy magazines, the wonders of divination. the strength to believe in something that makes the world exciting and to carry on with finding beauty in material things even though it's deemed futile and pathetic, that unites you, and has for a long time. you used to come to susan's slumber parties during the summer and school year, and now it's one of the few things keeping your innocence. giggling with the hufflepuff girl over a quizz in a magazine while you paint your nails bright pink lets you forget how cruel the world's become.

V: unexpected acceptance - it happened in a place of little importance, like a bathroom or the stairs while above you was the noise of other people, but you found susan only. in a moment of odd vulnerability, something you don’t have all that often, you spilled out more of yourself to that hufflepuff girl than you’d wished to, and so did she. you don’t quite understand what made you two click, perhaps it was just that you now shared secret knowledge about each other, but there’s something quite special about seeing others in a place of vulnerability. you won’t tell her secret, she won’t tell yours, and no one will quite know how you two became friends-ish, but here you are. 

VII: secret touch - you attended a party during sixth year that was much like all others, with a handful of students drunk well into the night with cheap spirits. except that night a girl kissed you like she could hide in your lips and forget the incoming rubble about to bury you all. susan bones, lost in the feeling of one night of pure joy, kissed you like tomorrow was doomed and then smiled your way the next day, and a few times ever since, but not once was that night mentioned. although you can swear you see her looking at you all the way across the classroom sometimes, with a soft smile on her lips.

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abbbott‌:

Susan was family. There was no cell in Hannah’s body that thought differently about it. She was a sister in all but blood, someone who had been, was and would be a constant in her life until one of them would too, inevitably, pass away. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to lose Susan any time soon, but when she looked at the state their families were in, she was scared at times. There were so many gaps already, especially in Susan’s life — the idea that more would appear was a frightening, but not an unrealistic one. She tried to push the thought of it out of her head whenever it popped up, but it was growing harder and harder to do so ever since Susan’s mother had died. It had brought everything back up. Hannah was still an optimist, but she had experienced loss and loss again and again, and it’d made her wary and scared and a bit fractured, too.

But Susan was still here. She was breathing despite it all, telling her to be angry, inspiring her inner fire. Hannah squeezed her hand, felt her presence, and her mind eased. There was no room to worry about potential futures without Susan in them — there were names to paint, statements to make, fights to fight. And this was theirs. Honouring the holes in their families and shaking a castle up with red paint on empty walls. And while Hannah was crying and trying to find the strength to stop, she still felt her fire. ( That crying didn’t make her weak, she knew, but she’d forgotten it momentarily. ) Susan wanted people to burn up when they saw the names and Hannah did, too. She wanted to inspire people’s anger and sense of justice and their willingness to stand up for what was right. 

She was an idealist. An optimist. Even now, she found herself inspired and determined, all the while tears kept leaking from her eyes quietly. “You can be sad and angry all at once,” she said, and her voice shook a little less, now. Hannah reached for her brush. She remembered her mother and the paint stains that never left her hands and how she’d told her to handle brushes and colours and everything else that came with painting. If only you could see me now, mum. Hannah ached for her, but the memory of her mother in her studio, of the things she’d created with brushes and paints — they made her fire burn even brighter. How lucky she was, to have so many things to be inspired by, still. With so much dark in the world, it was good to know that there were bright spots in her memories and her being. “But I know. People need to not just feel the pain and suffering and loss — they need to feel the injustice, too. The anger.” She dipped her brush in the paint, eyes falling on the wall for a moment. “Pain paralyses. Anger moves.” 

"I know. I know." If anything, the two were a prime example of that statement. "It's just harder that way." That, in all truth, was the core of it. Susan had long resigned herself to the fact that, no matter how resilient and optimistic she could act, there was no hope for her living an easy life, but she wished nothing else for the girl next to her - Hannah still had a shot, she believed.

The wall she was about to paint was a part of her daily life so often it had simply blurred in the background as the setting of many hours throughout the years. It was so damn close to the Hufflepuff table that she was certain at least a few of the photographs filling up scrapbooks under her bed (and in her closet at home, a now empty house) featured it. She'd leaned against it a few times while chatting with people. Certainly felt it cold on her back at least once while kissing some girl while the Great Hall was mostly empty.  Hogwarts and all of its walls were a part of her life, so taken for granted that they simply blurred as the background, and now it no longer had that privilege. Susan held back before almost reminding the other girl how the two and Justin had a photograph by that wall, fourth year perhaps, likely near Christmas because she distinctively remembered the shiny decorations on it, but then she was silent. Perhaps she wanted to spare Hannah of the notion that their home was corrupted beyond repair, a true battleground. Perhaps she simply didn't want to say it out loud and feel those same tears fall down her cheeks. Perhaps she believed Hannah already had recalled that anyway. She'd make sure to write it in her diary later and spare them the words, and the time - after all, they were doing something beyond dangerous and risked being caught at any time.

With that, Susan let go of her friend's hand and instead grabbed another brush from the paint can and, letter by letter, each bold and large, wrote one name. SOPHIE BONES. By her side was Hannah, with the same intense energy, writing another just as painful name. Not far from them others wrote. AMELIA BONES - another name, and for a moment Susan considered how many others with the same on-the-nose surname could fit in there. OLIVER BONES. The father the same vile creatures took away from her before she could even remember his face. FRANCIS BONES. COLLEEN BONES. The pillars of her once great family, the loving greatparents who never got to meet her. EDGAR BONES. Her uncle, a soldier for the rebellion, a martyr. HELENA BONES. DAHLIA BONES. OSCAR BONES. MARTIN BONES. With him was his wife and their three children. In the end, she decided to keep only the two latest injustices, but in her mind, every wall dripped in paint, with the name of her family in it. "They'd be proud of us, I reckon." The words came as but a whisper, and her eyes were still stuck on the wall. "She'd be proud of you," Susan spoke with a sad smile on her lips. "There'll be a storm in here tomorrow. Kinda makes you miss little Umbridge."

[reflectedfame-archive-blog]

OPEN.

when: january 22nd, 1998; 05:10pm

where: the great hall

no one would see susan bones on a broomstick, she'd sworn that to herself and the world as soon as flying classes in first year were over. however, as terrible in them as she was, quidditch always held one particularly fun prospect: the euphory of her house during their matches. as an avid muggle football fan, the spirit was similar enough, as were the tactics of support - while susan showed up to no game but those of her housemates, when she came, with her was a merch store's worth of banners and cards, embellished t-shirts and, of course, the occasional (moderate) face paint. this year should be no different or, if anything, it should be bigger, louder and in a much brighter shade of yellow. the table on the great hall was nearly covered by a long strip of white fabric in which the girl had already done some light sketching and now came the time to pain the words of cheer for her house and the simplistic illustrations of badgers eating lions. right in front of students from every house. just a couple of tables from the gryffindors and their own arts and crafts. "do you think the badgers are a little too much? no, right? first year boy thought so and i told him that in my first year three students dressed up as badgers during our final game of the season. they looked bloody ridiculous."

[reflectedfame-archive-blog]

BROWN, LAVENDER. when: march 2nd, 1997; 10:30am where: divination classroom

@lcvendcrs

"my mum sent it with today's owl." susan didn't need to whisper, as the divination classroom, even though not packed, was a loud place anyway, with all the small groups chatting away, be it assignment related or not. the professor herself added to the bubbling chatter and anyway, it was never a problem in that class. from between her stack of books came a glossy-looking magazine with brighter colours than any of those textbooks and susan knew just the page to open it in. "this is the muggle one i told you about, with the all saints posters and..." an amused smile brightened up her face as she set it on their table, next to the teacups and leaves, "a section describing what your favourite smells mean romantically. what you're attracted to. it's basically printed amortentia analysis and they have no clue and - okay, i haven't read the whole thing yet but, just saying, it reads pretty reasonable."

[reflectedfame-archive-blog]

bencvolences‌:

( susan. )

A smile spread across Sally-Anne’s face as they both laid there on the stiff pull-out futon, because of course she remembered the slumber parties. They felt like something out of a different time now, before so many of them had lost loved ones and felt the great burden of this war pressing more heavily upon them day by day. The five girls, giggling until all hours of the morning, sharing secrets and dancing along to whichever Madonna or Spice Girls album Sally-Anne’s father had most recently bought her and partaking in pillow fights (usually initiated by Megan or Lily). It had all sort of come to a stop when Hannah left in sixth year, a sad emptiness remaining in her place that made continuing with those lighthearted sleepovers seem nothing but hollow. Being here with Susan, however — no matter how different these times were to the days of those sleepovers — brought back that warm feeling that Sally-Anne had so missed. 

“I’m pretty sure Finn’s got a CD boombox in the other room,” She grinned before jumping up to retrieve it, thankful that her brother and his girlfriend were both out of the apartment for the time being. As soon as Sally-Anne returned, she opened the CD player to see what album Finn had put in there last, and she couldn’t help but laugh in appreciation as she set the boombox down. “He’s got Thriller in there. You know, the Michael Jackson album. My dad played it all the time when we were kids, Finn must be feeling nostalgic lately.”

"Wow, every day I like him more." Susan's soft chuckles accompanied the other girl out of the room and so she stayed there, with a sudden near-giddy feeling. It was as if summer had begun: she could feel it in the air in the room, much lighter and warmer like a soft embrace. When Hannah returned, she was sitting on the floor, a bright smile on her face, waiting for what could be an hour of summer in the middle of years of dark, dark winter. "Brilliant." Her heart wanted to ache for Finn and his tragic longing, and for Sally-Anne as well, but if she allowed it they might just end the night both reduced to tears and damn it, they had decided on happiness. Just for a moment, just to regain what they'd so brutally lost.

"You know what I just realised?" The ginger's grin was such an amazing sight to see. "Watching YOU do the choreography of the song, Thriller, would bring me a level of joy I didn't think was possible." Laughter fell in between the words as Susan looked up with her hands on her chin, expecting, hoping., fully taking the piss. "Do it for the children, Sally-Anne."