#they are so responsive and full of knowledge. do not neglect your locality. revel in its strangeness and uniqueness

[elefsina]

TRADITIONAL WITCHCRAFT…

…with its many and various branches, is a Craft born largely from the very landscape in which it is practiced. There exist common threads that run throughout the various recensions of the ‘Elder Faith’, but the precise traditions, ways and practices of the ‘Old Craft’ will always differ and be flavoured by the preserved folk beliefs, traditions, customs, lore, historical magical rites, charms and impedimenta of the region in which its practice is rooted. Traditional witchcraft is regional witchcraft, it is not and never has been a standardised practice and long may this continue to be the case. The day witchcraft loses regional variation is the day traditional witchcraft ceases to exist.

Traditional Witchcraft, Gemma Gary (2008)

[pocharryfics]

HI CAN U PLEASE DO A DRABBLE ABOUT BLACK HISTORY MONTH WHERE YOU JUST STARTED DATING HARRY AND YOU'RE EDUCATING HIM ON HOW IMPORTANT IT IS TO YOU AND WHAT IT SYMBOLIZES AND STUFF LIKE THAT? THANK YOUUU BTW I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BLOG!!

I’d like to preface this by saying that this drabble is, without the shadow of a doubt, the worst thing I think I’ve ever posted on this blog. If it weren’t for the fact that I wanted to get in at least one Black History Month blurb before February was over, this disgrace would not exist in any form on any platform. Vey self-deprecating, I know, but I had to give a fair warning and let you all know in case you wanted to turn back. This is 10/10 a snake habitat, please turn around. There are much nicer drabbles in my masterpost that you can read instead.

You had absolutely no explanation nor rhyme or reason, but one Tuesday afternoon you felt compelled to ask Harry what he knew about Black History Month.

“Not too much, m’embarrassed to say. Didn’t really celebrate it in school cause it was considered an American thing.”

“What about when you got out of school?”

“Not much then either. See some fans tweeting a few things about it in February, but that’s about it. S’kinda embarrassing now when I say it out loud; feel like a proper git,” Harry sighed, mildly ashamed at his lack of knowledge.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s never too late to start learning, is it?”

He nodded glumly before allowing you to continue.

“In fact, I helped my baby cousin with the same thing a few years back. They weren’t really teaching her much Black History in school so my mom and I tried to bridge that gap; every weekday in February when we would drop her off to school we would tell her one Black History fact and encourage her to share it with her friends at school. No idea if she actually told anyone, but she left the car knowing it so I guess that’s good enough,” you reminisced, thinking back and smiling at the fond memory of your family.

“S’cute. Already flexing those teacher muscles and you weren’t even in the program yet.” Harry chuckled, nudging you and gesturing towards the colander on the cabinet.

He accepted it with a nod and set it down into the sink, reaching over your head for the sea salt to prep the pasta noodles for draining. It had been your turn to cook, but impending midterms had monopolized all of your focus and you had forgotten to stop by the store - coming right home after class and pouring over one of many study guides. When he had turned his key into the lock all of your neglected responsibilities came flooding back.

Harry had pretended not to notice and urged you to resume studying, but you had felt too negligent to comply and insisted on whipping up something yourself. You met each other halfway and decided to cook the meal together. Lucky for you, there was an adequate amount of pasta noodles left in the pantry and a can of Ragu so an emergency trip to the grocery was avoided.

“You’re not an eleven-year-old girl though, so I won’t be as nice to you as I was to her. In fact, how about this - you’ll give the facts to me?”

“Giving me homework, are yeh? Not a teacher yet, pet,” Harry surmised, pulling you in closer and nearly dunking his fingers in the tomato sauce as he reached over the pot to take your hand in his.

“New fact each day, Harry. And I want good ones too, not the same ones that get regurgitated every year. I don’t wanna hear anything about peanut butter or traffic lights.”

“New fact every day. Got it.”

You’re not sure if you really expected Harry to follow through with it; impending examinations had captured your full attention and if he had said anything at all  you likely wouldn’t have even noticed. But just as agreed upon, Harry greeted you that Wednesday morning with a fresh mug of coffee and the first of many facts.

“Hiram Rhodes Revels was the first Black man elected to the US Senate in 1870. Only got to serve a year, but still,” Harry recalled, handing you a mug of fresh coffee before pouring his own. “Right in the middle of Reconstruction and in Mississippi no less.”

And so a routine fell into place between the two of you. Each morning Harry would share a new fact that he learned over breakfast and you would discuss it at length before you had to go to class and he left for his meetings.

“A teenage girl called Claudette Colvin refused to give up her seat on the bus nine months before Rosa Parks did.”

“Mmmm hmmm. That’s cause everyone thought Rosa would be a better spokesman because people would be able to sympathize more with a tired little old lady than a pregnant teenager. Poor Claudette.”

“But she wasn’t some little old lady at all, she was a secretary for the local NAACP chapter! The whole bloody bus boycott was a setup! Crazy. I always thought it just sorta happened organically. I had no idea that it was a big protest planned fo’ months.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know Harry,” you teased.

Harry gave an offended pout and snatched a piece of your toast, sinking his teeth into the buttery bread before you could grab it back.

“Did yeh know that Shirley Chisholm was almost assassinated three times when she was trying to run for president in 1972? That’s fucking mental, innit?”

“She’s an inspiration, all right,” you hummed in agreeance while blowing the steam from your coffee.

“You ever think of changing majors? Maybe go into politics?”

“I never really thought about it too much. If I ever changed majors, I’d probably switch to criminal justice and go to law school. Why? Think I’d be a good politician?”

“Think you would make a good president. Follow up in her footsteps and win it for old Shirley.”

“I think you just wanna be the First Husband.”

“Think they’d let me?”

“I don’t know, but could you imagine? Former pop star turned First Gentlemen.”

“Former?”

“I don’t think they’d let you keep performing if you were the First Husband; it would be a major security risk. If you think you have it bad know, you’d really have to have a security detail around you 24/7.”

“Good point. Maybe yeh should just stick to teaching.”

“W.E.B Du Bois.”

“What about him?”

Do yeh know that he -”

“Co-founded the NAACP? I sure did.”

“But did yeh also know that he was the first -”

“The first African-American to receive a PhD from Harvard? Absolutely. He’s very well known for his academic achievements.”

Harry heaved a long sigh at the interruption and you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his pouty bottom lip. “Gonna let me finish or aren’t yeh?”

“I’m sorry, Harry. Please go on, I’m all ears.”

“Anyway. He wrote this amazin’ book called The -”

“The Souls of Black Folks. It’s a literary masterpiece that … oh I didn’t even mean to do it that time. Wait, come back! Harry!

Harry was sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, contemplatively sipping his coffee when you found him that morning. Long shadows and dark circles haunted his face and it looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. You flicked the light switch on the wall when you made your way in.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin? And why are you sitting here in the dark?”

He took a long and plaintive sip of his warm beverage before he spoke. “Are you aware of the monetization of incarceration and the exploitation of minorities in this country’s prison-industrial complex?”

That took you for a loop and you didn’t know what to say for a moment so he took your stunned silence as an opportunity to continue.

“Did you know that Ronald Reagan brought crack into inner city neighborhoods during the War on Drugs to fill up privatized prisons?”

“I thought you were gonna wait so we can watch 13th together?”

Harry only shook his head and stared forlornly out of the kitchen window. When it had finally clicked in your mind, you had to cover your mouth to keep the giggles at bay. The dark circles underneath his eyes, the withdrawn demeanor, and the yawn that broke from his berry red mouth gave everything away. You had anticipated that all of this newfound information would have an effect on him, but you couldn’t possibly have predicted this.

He was literally tired from being so woke.

I’d like to apologize to @milkmeharry @mendaxtheuser and anyone who sat through this.