#and that gertrude & harry would know each other and he'd go into the wizarding world knowing about the fears

[cealesti]

Hehehehehehe.

Well, don't mind if I do then.

First off, the tma/hp crossover "Terminus"?

I am SO curious about that one, cause since terminus is the fear of the end and death and everything, I'm guessing it'll have to do with the hallows? And the idea of death as the concept it is in tma being brought into the hp world give me brainworms.

(Tma in general give me brainworms, if you didn't notice the several liveblogs I wrote in, like, a week and how much I was losing my mind writing them. I did NOT sleep a lot at that time, ngl.)

Mate, I understand COMPLETELY and that's why you've hit the nail on the head: it IS about the idea of death as it exists in TMA being brought to the HP world. As well as all the other lovely entites in TMA!

The annoying thing about HP crossovers is that, more often than not, you'll see characters from other works being re-imagined in the context of the Wizarding World. But I don't want that! I want to think about Harry Potter in the framework of TMA! I want to reimagine Hogwarts and how terrifying it is and how sweetly it would feed all the entities! I want to think about which characters would be marked, or would become Avatars and about what that might mean for our story!

Some are easy, of course. Bellatrix is an Avatar of the Desolation if I've ever seen one. Dumbledore is an agent of the Web, as natural as breathing. Luna is clearly of the Spiral or the Stranger.

And Harry, well.

The boy is, at first glance, a wisp of a thing. Narrow shoulders and knobby knees, bird-boned beneath the large jumper that sits oddly and misshapen on his thin frame. The shock of unruly black hair on his head and his bright green eyes only lend credit to the almost fae quality of his movements, stilted yet graceful, like a newborn foal. To her left, a tape recorder switches on of its own accord, and Gertrude frowns. When she looks back, those bright green eyes are looking straight at her. Gertrude is no stranger to piercing gazes, to the sensation of being Seen and Known beyond reasonable doubt. She’s grown accustomed to them -- as much as anyone can grow accustomed to endless voyeuristic terror and paranoia. This is not a Knowing gaze. But there’s certainly something more to it; something that has her biting her tongue, staving off the urge to compel a statement. The boy walks towards her, motions unhurried, head tilted to the side in curiosity. His fringe moves as he does, and she spies the lightning bolt scar cutting through his forehead and brow, just shy of touching his eyelid. Ah, she thinks drily. Of course. The End, then.