The newest batch of Hogwarts students have entered this historic school and no one knows how their future will turn out - will you be a quidditch pro or maybe a prefect? The year is now 2021, and now it's time for the next generation to make their mark. The newest batch of Hogwarts students have entered this historic school and no one knows how their future will turn out - and that is where the fun begins.
The plot will be determined by the characters of the site as of now - future plots will change as these forces weigh in on the Wizarding World, and we see where these characters take us. So join in and let your character make their mark!
Minimum word count is 200.
Post by James Sirius Potter on Jul 5, 2018 13:56:08 GMT
The chime of his quiv made his falling eyelids hesitate- the Friday evening had been spent in the common room watching Falmouth and Wimbourne on the projector, and while Falmouth had won, he was happy to submit to the sleepiness that had been building for the past week. The work for his Transfiguration NEWT was taking a turn for the busier; he’d been in the library most evenings, or in the practical lab, trying to perfect his ability to turn a parrot into a cat (without the resulting cat having fur that too closely resembled feathers).
He rolled over, blinking tired away from his lidded eyes so he could properly squint to read the notification beneath the cracks of his quiv screen. omg. i saw some 4th years following you around. like why are they obsessed with you? He sat straight up in bed, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand while the one holding his quiv helped shuffle him out of his sheets. He wondered when this was going to happen, well…if it was going to happen. There were many explored realities where they never spoke to one another ever again. Those were a little too close for comfort.
and people talk about you all the time. allllllllllllllllllwaaaaaaaaaayyyyssssss. The quiv continued to buzz in his hand and he lifted it to his face, so desperate to read quickly that he finally had occasion to wish that he would take his mother’s advice and just get the bloody glasses. “Bloody hell.” Sitting on the edge of his four-poster now, he grabbed at the thick tufts of hair near the top of his head, wonder what on earth was possessing Cece Abercrombie to hext him on a Friday night, and seemingly…so intoxicated.
Buzz. like I’m v hungry and also v dizzy and v lost outside. how do you function like this. James jumped to his feet, hands out in front of him in exclamation, ”Oh, shit,”, surprised to find this was the way his evening was beginning to turn. Was she just wandering around outside? When was that girl ever alone? Buzz. i bet grimaldi does this kinda stuff all the time but NOT ME “Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Nothing about this seemed good.
He tossed his quiv onto his bed, whipping his head around in search of a pair of pants. He’d just taken them off (and subsequently thrown them into the pile that was congregating half beside and half under his bed). While he dug through it, found and kicked his way through them, he could hear the faint buzzing on the quiv on his sheets, continuing to receive hexts at an alarming rate. After pulling a Gryffindor Quidditch hoodie over his head, he dove at the four-poster, securing the quiv in time to see omm Niko would probs laugh at me rn and then or not laugh by be v disappointed flash across the screen.
WHERE R U? he tapped furiously at the broken screen, not watching his steps, nearly tumbling down the stairs to the common room as he went. His friends were still congregated around the projector, turning instead to BrewTube videos of people making wild trick shots with quaffles- they, howling with laughter, didn’t see him dart past them on his way out the portrait hole. Buzz. outside? He growled exasperatedly, kicking his pace up to a quick jog, jumping the bottom of each staircase six or seven at a time. Buzz. By the pitch! Wanted to be inspired!!! BUT I WAS NOT!
Were he not worried about a rarely drunk Cece walking aimlessly around the Quidditch Pitch, alone, at night, he might have been able to spare a chuckle. As he landed at the Entrance Hall and swiftly exited the castle without fear through the front doors, his thumbs slid around the screen in response. DON’T MOVE He was off at a jog, glad to have selected track pants, also glad that it was only brisk and the paths and grounds weren’t snow-covered.
In the few minutes it took him to reach the entrance to the pitch, he began to get sicker and sicker at the idea of talking to her, something he’d avoided for the unusual sensations of shame that he felt. It had been nearly a month, but the effects were still present- he was convinced that she’d never want to speak to him again, and he had also resolved to make sure that she, and no one else for that matter, ever found out exactly who’s bed he’d ended up in that same evening. It had not been his own.
As he reached the entrance, he checked his quiv, seeing that it had buzzed while he’d been moving. okay but only cause I wanna see you. Shutting his eyes, he stretched his neck upwards, exhaling, part from running and and fear and…confusion? He felt a simultaneous warm and splitting feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t hesitate long. There was a drunk Hufflepuff wandering around in the dark. “Ce!” Walking onto the green, he peered around the space, all too familiar to him even in the dark. “Cece?”
TAGS:Ceres Selene Abercrombie NOTES: This is poor exposition- more introspective narrative to follow. Lol, thanks for the hexts in advance.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Jul 9, 2018 4:35:57 GMT
Ceres Selene was not quite the party girl that her cousin was. Well, cousins. Because as much as Nathaniel liked to think that he rose above it all, he was just as likely to be found at all of the big parties as his sister. And, yes, okay, so maybe even the blonde was likely to hit all the major social events. Yes, she thrived off of the best of the general camaraderie. Yes, people often asked her if she was going to these blowouts. Even asked her to be their dates. And maybe for her input, too, because she had been to enough that she knew how to make them memorable. However, she did not, on the norm, consume anything without making express certain that she was going to have someone looking out for her. Someone who made sure that she didn’t make an absolute idiot out of herself. Like...like a certain someone. She wished she could remember who it was that she was pissed at. Just that she was. It was something that she should maybe ask Niko or Joy, depending on how sugar coated she wanted the answer. And! Actually!! They were normally the ones that she asked to whatever was the teenage-version of babysit her was.
Maybe even Cisco! So maybe, maybe...maybe. Whoa. Maybe was such a weird word to contemplate and muster over. Like she said it too much or something. Still, maybe she should have asked Cisco to watch over her and make sure that this potion didn’t turn her into some sort of weird inferius, complete with a scary skeletal torso. As long as she still had some hair. Then again, if she saw her fantastically handsome boyfriend...the likelihood of her getting any work done was unlikely. More than anything, she would squish his cheeks between her hands and snog him senseless. And that wasn’t going to do anything for her being creative. At least not creative in the way that she needed to be creative. Probably. Because Cisco was the definition of boyfriend material. So much so that it was likely...mayhaps, that the two of them had been spending too much time together. The sixteen year old was quickly becoming one of those girls. Like Grimaldi. Freaking Grimaldi, whom Cece didn’t like but couldn’t even start a beef with because the world would just love to see two pretty girls hating each other.
It wasn’t even because Cece hated Grimaldi because she was pretty. She hated Grimaldi because she was just a general, awful...no good human being. Instead, she grit her teeth and pulled out her quiv. Scrolled through her wiztant so far down that she even got to one of James’ post. James never post. He was like a grandpa on social media, which was honestly one of his more endearing qualities. Cisco was the same, that weirdo. That precious cinnamon roll. Her hand hexted her friends so fast, she wasn’t even sure she could pay attention to who it was. Cece was a social creature at heart. She thrived! Thrived!!! Off of positive vibes. She loved people. And, yeah, maybe it was selfish of her to pride herself off having the massive fanbase that she did. It went to her head; made her feel much more important than she likely had any business having. She did love when people tagged her in photos because she was guaranteed to get them likes on it. Loved when people popped up in front of her and asked her if they could take a quick selfie. She loved selfies! Loved coming up with the different faces and getting to know different people.
In a couple of weeks, she was going to be able to sit right outside that gorgeous house that her Papa built her Mama. She was going to lay a towel down, make sure that she had impeccable sunglasses, and absorb all the sunrays there was to be had. She would work her summer break with her Mama; make designs that could go on her magazine. Enough that she would be able to get some valuable work experience. Cece had dreams! Dreams, she would tell everybody who would listen. She had desires. And, yes, she wanted her boyfriend. She wanted to be happy. She also wanted to make a mark on the world that didn’t involve piggybacking off the success of her Mama nor her Papa. She could have been content being that stupidly rich girl, but she didn’t want to. She wanted her outfits to dress the world. No more antiqued designs of Madam Malkin. Even her Mama made some questionable choices, but not her. She was different. She used her gift so familiarly it was like the back of her hand.
Her head snapped up so fast whenever she heard her name called. Her bottom teeth clanked against her top. “James?” She muttered. Because she did not remember calling him. Did not remember hexting him. She also couldn’t contain the sheer giddiness bubbling in her stomach. “James!” She called, waving her hand. “Are you here to join me!?”
Post by James Sirius Potter on Jul 9, 2018 13:29:43 GMT
While it wasn’t bitterly cold out, it certainly wasn’t the sort of weather where one could go gallivanting around outside without proper attire. Perhaps it was unfair of him to assume that Cece was thus unprepared, but the nature of the hexts that had come to his quiv made it very believable that she didn’t have all her wits in one place. He’d never known her to send a message like that, to act like this, out of control or unbuttoned or so frazzled.
He heard his name, crisp and chipper, cutting through the March night air and he followed the sound, squinting through the darkness, another reminder that he should finally go get those glasses that his mother continued to pester him over. She stood out in peachy pink, sitting on a lower stand not too far away from where he was. Thinking that she might have ascended to one of the higher stadium bleachers, he exhaled an audible sigh of relief, his right hand running reflexively through his hair, grabbing a handful of it mutual exasperation and relief. “I am here to join you,” he replied as he jogged over to her, removing his sweatshirt as he did. She didn’t have one- sometimes, James assumed correctly.
Handing it over the railing to her as he approached the bleacher, he nodded slightly, indicating that she should take it. “Put this on. I know how much you like Gryffindor Quidditch. Almost as much as I’m sure you like being warm.” He furrowed his brow slightly as he rolled his shoulders a bit, his arms readjusting to the cool air; since he’d basically sprinted through the castle and out to the pitch, his body temperature wasn’t angry at the sudden change. The breeze was refreshing, and there were more important things to worry about.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, unsure if he should get closer or not, beginning to battle with the reality of the situation he had entered himself into. It was obviously, by the way she was grinning at him gleefully, that there was no way she could be in her right mind. She hated him right now, didn’t she? Like, never-speak-to-him-again level hate. Told-you-I-fancy-you-and-you-were-a-prat level hate. I-have-a-boyfriend-now-leave-me-the-fuck-alone level hate. Had he just…imagined all that?
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Jul 11, 2018 16:39:18 GMT
What was a strange and yet not sobering enough of a thought was that Niko was going to kill her. Not even the kind of kill her that didn’t actually involving committing murder, but the kind that did! The kind that was probably going to make news. Probably the trashiest newspaper that ran in all of the magical communities - the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter was going to do a whole bit about how they were the closest of the closest siblings. How it was almost freakish how much they knew about each other. How no one else has had, at least it seemed like, as close as a sibling relationship. And it all ended because the - arguably, debatably, something else that was a synonym to the word that she couldn’t quite think about and was largely indifferent because it really just detracted from her original thought - dumber of the two siblings couldn’t have been bothered to remember the warning from the smellier of the two issued. “But only take a little bit.” Niko had said. Because Cece had been so stressed she had been contemplating murder. “Cece...I mean it. A little bit.”
Niko had said it in that weird tone of voice of hers that implied that she meant Serious Business. But, even with her twinster abilities, she still had a hard time differentiating when Niko meant Serious Business and when she meant Niko Doing Niko. Because her sister always gave that vibe of being completely serious and yet completely fucking with you that she really had to look at the context of the bigger picture. The problem was that she was essentially Messed Up right now and thus couldn’t look at the bigger picture. Or didn’t want to look at the bigger picture. And apparently made decisions like hexting James Potter to come make sure that she didn’t do something stupid like climb to the top of the bleachers even though she wasn’t the biggest fan of heights. It wasn’t that she was terrified of heights - how could she be considering her Papa’s life? It was just that she was coherent enough to realize that she was going to topple over the edge and save Niko the trouble of murdering her via something sinister...like a furry pillow that looked soft but was the exact opposite of soft!
Or she would steal her pens and totally not give them back because she just knew how much that irritated Cece. For that matter, it was even a wonder that Cece was there at all because the Quidditch bleachers were also not someplace that she willingly wanted to go to. She liked Cisco, sure. She loved all of her family that indulged the sport, but the fact was that she wasn’t a fan. She liked the way the pants made the boys’ butts seem all the more bubbly, but even that was countered by a Bludger to the face that knocked out some teeth. Ick. So ick. “You know, it drives me absolutely mad to see you run your hand through your hair.” She giggled. Because it really just made her want to pull on it. Run her long fingernails through his scalp and massage it. He’d probably fall asleep faster than she could say his full name. Actually, no. It wasn’t probably. She knew the calming effects her nails upon scalps had. She knew for a fact that he would fall asleep. “I do like being warm.” She said seriously. “Almost as much as I like not being murdered.”
She took his sweatshirt and pulled it on, relishing in how warm her shoulder suddenly were and resisting, and failing, the urge to giggle again as she wrapped the arms around her. It smelled too much like James. It was giving her a headache. “I wanted to breathe! To think! To relax. I’ve been told I’ve been wound up and too stressed, so. Yeah. I thought coming out here was going to be a good idea. It was not.”
Post by James Sirius Potter on Jul 15, 2018 19:17:59 GMT
The fact that he was able to be in front of her at all was a miracle, so it was ridiculous for him to consider that he had the right to be frustrated by the chance that was being afforded to him. About fifteen minutes ago, he seriously thought that he might have to graduate without ever talking to her again, leaving behind an abominable memory of heavy regret in his wake as his last standing impression with her. He was frustrated because she was flirting with him, in a less calculated way, which made it even worse. But, keeping his ego in check was the fact that she appeared to be high out of her mind, so everything she said now needed to be taken with a gigantic hunk of salt.
It was radiating off of her, leaking out of her like a sieve; he could spot it since he’d been high more times than he could count on all his fingers and his toes. He’d become less interested in the diverse offerings of the Thestral as the year had worn on, especially since the crystallized speed-high of the Valentine’s Day dance, courtesy of Grimaldi, her deep pockets, and her outsourced connections. He wasn’t certain on what exactly it was that Cece had smoked or ingested, only of its effects, and the loopy was she continued to giggle after he’d approached her and offered her his hooded sweatshirt.
From looking around the pitch to see if any other stragglers, perhaps comrades in her experimentations, were wandering nearby, his head snapped back to attention at the surprising choice of words she’d pieced together, while her tone and expression remained constant. “What the bloody hippogriff balls did you take,” he whispered, half to her but more to his own inquisition, leaning onto the railing to peer at her eyes, trying to decipher the size of her pupils, tricking himself into thinking he was enough of an expert to be able to tell by that fact alone. He certainly wasn’t completely useless. He had a few ideas of what it could be.
She was stretching into his sweatshirt and looping her arms around herself, and he couldn’t resist the subtle feeling of satisfaction he got in seeing her in Gryffindor garnet, his Gryffindor garnet, not seeming repulsed or irate, and that Krum was nowhere to be found. Seeing her speaking, responding, you know…breathing…tempered his concern, and he was able to let a smile pop onto his face at that thought. She’d hexted him. As he crossed his arms over his chest to lean against the railing between them, the muscles in his arms and chest tensed a little bit in masculine plumage.
“Of all the places to relax, you picked the pitch. You, the pitch.” He was privy to a few of her opinions on Quidditch and none of them involved any terminology that indicated feelings of calm or relaxation. “You’re always wound-up, anyway. Not in a bad way. Just a…y’know, the Cece way.” He considered his own opinion of Cece to be highly accurate- bubbly, vivacious, looking like she might burst or pop at any moment but you didn’t know if you were going to get a shower of champagne or of fire.
“Well, I’m here now,” he said, dropping his head so that his chin balanced on his forearms crossed over the railing between them, marinating on the fact that he’d just leapt out of bed and sprinted for five minutes for her, which were things thoughts that were, while not appealing, justified in his mind like they were not before. Was this punishment for acting like a complete asshole? There were still things she’d said that he was mad about, like her picture perfect description of a boyfriend and relationship that couldn’t possible exist, a standard that he would never be able to live up to even if all he did was try to.
“Maybe we should get back to the castle…I’d think your bed might be the best place to breathe and relax and…whatever else you were looking to do. Yes, right…bed is always a good idea, inn’t it?” He paused for a moment as he straightened himself, and offered a hand to her, one he was genuinely uncertain if she would take. There was an equal chance of her standing up and sprinting off into the distance. She was like the least predictable person on the planet. Oh god…and she was on drugs.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Jul 20, 2018 14:22:47 GMT
She felt…giddy. Bubbly, pfft. Bubbly in a way that wasn't normal. That wasn't to say that she wasn't happy and upbeat because she was and she would point her painstakingly perfect painted nail in their face and laugh. It didn't seem important that it wasn't a natural bubble, anyway. Artificial bubbles were just as fun to pop and chase around, at least when she was little. She'd chase them every which way, trying to catch them in her fingers and pouting - and crying occasionally into the arms of Niko, of Silas, or of Papa - when she failed. Cece hated failure. To the point where it barely bothered her that her hair would get as matted and tangled as Niko’s on a regular basis. But bubbly! Almost nervous? Almost like when her Mama first pushed her to model one of her more adult dresses. When she walked in heels the first time and was terrified of falling and being laughed at. Like the first conversation she’d ever had with James Potter and she'd gotten him to laugh and flirt and the satisfying realization that, maybe, there could be something there.
Cece had wanted something to be there. Had wanted to wear this! This! Sweatshirt! Wear it while she studied. While she slept. While she doodled and designed and dove into his arms after watching a Quidditch game. She held no fondness for the sport, but for the boy who could get her to laugh so hard she forgot to maintain dignity, she went to the games. Although, normally dressed to the very definition of Badger pride. Yellow and Black looked amazing on her. Everything looked amazing. Like Cisco's sweater. One she always had to roll the sleeves up on because her boo was ripped. And maybe he didn't make her laugh so hard that she had to hold onto his arm to keep from tumbling over like James used to, but he made her feel so warm. Like this potion. Oh god, was it kinda so much like this potion! Gave her goosebumps and then the comfort and butterflies for them to dissipate in her stomach like a cool cherry juice in the summer. This sweatshirt that she wasn't sure James would ever get back made her eyebrows furrow. Because the goosebumps were there and she wasn't cold. She was bubbly. Airy. Sad.
Oh, god. What the hell? Why did it feel like the world was ripped out from under her. Like the look on Grimaldi’s face the first time it looked like James had picked Giselle over her. No. Fuck that. She wasn't a fan. She wanted the giggles again, damn it. She blinked up at James - didn't even realize she'd been staring so intently at his sleeves that her eyes teared up from not blinking. Thank the small miracles of waterproof mascara. “Is that a thing?” She wondered, humming. “A Cece way. Is there a James way?” She laughed so suddenly it felt like an eruption. It caught her off guard, but the thought was honestly too much. A James way. What would that even mean? Putting up so much bravado that it seemed like he could take on the world's problems? All of hers, certainly. Well, maybe. He was only ever sometimes the person she wanted to tell everything to and not fear that she would be judged for it. James definitely couldn't handle Dark-Cece. Cece couldn't even handle Dark-Cece and that pretty much convinced her that the only person who could was Niko.
She beamed at him because she did not feel like a Dark cloud of sadness that circled around her every time she had to use the loo. Whenever she read all the rumors swirling around them. Or whatever the hell Lady Howler was spewing around - sometimes appreciated, sometimes true. The blonde felt more like...that feeling she got when someone gave back one of her favorite pens. Relief. At least that was the only word she could think to use to describe this swirling mess of emotions in her stomach. James was there and there! Right! In! Front! Of! Her! She didn't even bother to stop her nose from wrinkling at the thought of going back to Hufflepuff. For one thing, she’d have to climb down and there was like...zero chance of that happening. Zero. Mostly because she knew that she’d be as graceful as Joy in six inch heels. Not at all. “You're here now.” She agreed and grinned. She had no actual concept of time, so she wasn't particularly sure how long it had been since his hext. Or her hext. The last hext. “You got here so fast! Did you like...run here for me? Come to save me from myself or to spend time with me? Oh!”
She waved her hands excitedly in front of her, reaching for his without reaching. She didn't want to fall over and be forced to head toward the dorms. There were too many people. Not enough understanding. So much judgement! God. If she knew to the extent to which everyone watched her, she might have had second thoughts about Wiztagram. Probably. Actually, no. She wouldn't have, but Cece also didn't license the thought of losing privacy. “Gimme your hand, please.” She wiggled her fingers invitingly. “Also, I don't wanna crawl into my bed. Or Cisco’s. Which is what everyone seems to think. That I'm a good lay. Not as good as like...Grimaldi and stuff, but how would people even know?” As far as she knew, and she knew her body, she was a virgin. So like...anyone who claimed to sleep with her was a bold faced liar. “And Niko is too far. And Charlotte cuddles and Joy worries. Joy's seriously gonna give me the mother of lectures if she sees me right now so maybe can we stay here a bit? Pretty please? You'll stay with me?”
Post by James Sirius Potter on Jul 23, 2018 20:57:56 GMT
She was staring intently at her arms, typically glittering irises positioned positively downward and unmoving on the garnet color of his well-worn sweatshirt. He’d had that one for a long time, at least it was a long time in the mind of a freshly-eighteen-year-old. Four years was as close to a lifetime as one could fathom. Granted, it was big when he’d gotten it, the desired style for a gangly fourteen year old who’d stretched up vertically but whose muscle mass hadn’t had time to catch up, and even now he wasn’t quite the build of a Cisco Krum or a Linus Longbottom, but his scrappy frame, lean and strong, had filled into it with ease. Over her shoulders, it fell much looser, but against the vibrant blonde of her hair, still semi-tucked under the neckline of the hood, it looked refreshed, but still did not account for her fixation on the cotton fabric, which perplexed him not so much as amused him.
“Oh, there’s a Cece way,” he said, chuckling in spite of himself, rocking his feet underneath him, black and white trainers (the ones that had nearly worn a hole in the side) rocking sideways underneath him with the extra energy from standing still after gratuitous exercise. While he hadn’t started to sweat entirely, there was a sheen across his featured forehead and along the curly, unkempt line of his hair. He lifted an elbow to wipe at this while opening his mouth to…to attempt to piece together an explanation for what exactly the Cece way was, but she saved him the trouble by providing an equally complicated counter-question in its place. While he was sure it was possible to find a combination of words that could accurately encapsulate her, he was neither the wordsmith nor enough of the romantic to be able to- it was more a gut feeling, a full bodied presence of being that he could just…feel. But, of course, he wasn’t able to express that either.
“I’m sure the James way is the wrong way,” he said, still light-heartedly from the expulsion of laughter that came from her like unexpected lava, albeit almost bitterly, each passing second dealt another measly and poignant blow to his fragile ego, and the vulnerability, even in the presence of she who may not remember a single thing, was a little too welcoming to succumb to. “Y’know, in that bad-ass way, like, if this is wrong…I don’t wanna be right.” As he said it, sing-song tone on his tongue, he lifted his hands and shimmied on the spot slightly, the gesticulations of a carefree kid working their way back toward the surface, shoved under his skin and countenance for the last several weeks of hidden shame and suppressed anxiety from secrets.
He nodded at her, returning her grin with weaker enthusiasm. Something about all of this felt…wrong, and he couldn’t put his finger on the pulse. There was the fact that the last time he’d seen her he’d been spinning down a coke high and screaming at the top of his lungs. That she most definitely has a boyfriend that was not him, and this situation in the dark at the top of a pitch tower could be perceived as questionable at best. Yet, he very much wanted to be right here, especially right now. It was incredibly validating to be not only a rescuer, but especially this rescuer, because this meant that she probably didn’t hate him, not completely at least.
That was a pretty huge relief, that her grin was able to provide.
Completely reactionary, he dropped his extended hand into one of hers, his other reaching over the railing in turn to join her other one. Her fingers were cold from the temperature or from the comparison to his, which had been balled in fists and around his quiv as he’d sprinted from the top of his tower to the top of this one, but very soft, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d held his palms to her in a show of such blatant comfort. Sure, she’d tugged on his arm as they skippity-waltzed down the hallway, when he’d tell her a joke and speed up or slow down with gusto just to extract a laugh. There were even a few instances of piggy-back rides (one by request, one by offer) from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Tower to deposit her back at her own residence, sugar-lined with promises of picking her up from that same spot for their romantic date in a few days, dates that never came to fruition from laziness and fear and Quidditch and friends, and had they all that time in the world back, would he have gotten himself fucking together and just asked to hold her hand much sooner?!
It delighted him more than it perplexed him that she didn’t want to crawl into the loving arms of her prattish boyfriend, who seemed to be everything she’d ever wanted because he was a brazenly bronzed statue of the impeccable partner who, honestly, was too much of a romantic for James to handle. “People think they know everything. Hell, I think I know everything. We all think we know everything…we’re like, whatever-the-teen years old, that’s our thing right now.” He glanced down at his hands, malleable under her fingers, and realized that this was also their thing right now, because when you were whatever-the-teen years old, you held hands uncertainly at night with cute girls who compared themselves to slutty girls, as if those slutty girls could even hold a candle to what it was to be one such cute girl. You know, typical activities.
It was all churning in his head as she listed all of the places that she just did not wish to be, all the people she would rather not be with, and it was a laundry list of folks he just knew detested the air he breathed, as much as he wished to believe that he didn’t care about theirs. He never got on poorly with Krum, necessarily; just another Quidditch captain who seemed to get it, honestly. Had he ever spoken to Joy Sweeting in his life with her raising her eyebrows? Niko Abercrombie didn’t like literally anyone, so he wasn’t expecting much. And Charlotte…Merlin, Charlotte. Out of all these beloveds, all of whom would most certainly have sprinted out of a castle for her, here he was. And the only thing he had to show to deserve this prize of selection was that he had sprinted out of a castle for her. He was right shit at showing any of the rest of it, because it was all there, crystallized in forgotten moments and smiles and every deeply internalized, privately momentous precipice of vulnerability that his masculinity would allow, tragically but deservedly left behind, collateral for nothing.
“Yeah, yeah…of course.” His windmill of spinning excuses and self-loathing spit out a genuine response, for he didn’t feel inconvenienced in the slightest, at least not by her. She hadn’t chosen to be a complete asshole, only to serve retribution by being given the thing he wanted so badly but could not fully grasp. He was plagued to sit here and hold her hand and fancy the living piss out of her cheeky smile and Gryffindor-adorned arms and just remember what a buzzkill he was to himself, he who could just not get it together, who’d asked a total whack-a-doo to a dance he claimed to not even care about, who fucked Charlotte Longbottom like an animal because he was sad and angry and high. Is this who he was? Was this the James way of things?
As reality electrocuted him through her softly presented fingers, he wondered if it was possible for a Seer to see inside his head.
He almost wished she could.
“You don’t, like...feel sick or anything, right? You look alright.”Potter. “Especially in Gryffindor regalia. I should get a picture of this.” The idea was nice…he’d never taken a picture of her before. Although, he wasn’t so sure his quiv could take a picture in its current state. Even if it could, the quality would be terrible. Quivs from 2018, while perfectly capable of sending hexts, were basically from the stone age, according to every girl in his year.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Jul 25, 2018 1:45:58 GMT
This wasn’t something that Ceres should be doing, she realized. Entirely too late because she had already done it and she was already up in the Quidditch stands and she had already asked James to come because she hadn’t wanted to deal with anyone else. It wasn’t that Cece didn’t get high on occasion – she did. She was at this weird spot where she indulged herself way more than Ev ever did – she could count the number of times that Ev did anything that could get her into even the slightest bit of trouble on her chipped nails…two from making sure that she didn’t fall over on her way up here and wasn’t that a tragedy? Yes. Yes, it was because she had painstakingly done everything she could to make sure that they were perfect. That she was perfect. That her make-up was always on point; somewhat natural with regards to everything except her eyeshadow which was the subject of many photos. She didn’t even line her lips, no matter how many times people tried to tell her that they looked fake. Why were people always trying to tell her that she was fake? She was not! She was real.
She was as insecure about herself as basically every other teenager, guy, gal, and nonbinary pals. Well, except for Niko. But that was more because Niko very rarely let anything get under her skin except for maybe dirt and that was still not even under her skin but under her nails, despite how many times Cece showed her how to make sure that her nails were clean. Oh yeah. She indulged in the sometimes legal, mostly illegal potions and other recreational activities more than Ev, right? That was totes a given, but she was also simultaneously nowhere near as indulgent as Niko was. That wasn’t to say that her twinster was a total pothead or crazy stoner who could only function while she was high as a broom because that wasn’t true, either. She was, currently, ninety-seven-point eight percent sure that that wasn’t true. It was just that this wasn’t typical. This wasn’t typical Cece behavior – maybe Ceres. Ceres Selene because it was always her full name that was used whenever she was getting into trouble. Or Miss Abercrombie on the few times that she had been caught painting her nails in class. ‘Oh my god.’ She realized. Two of her nails were broken and she didn’t think she had any kind of kits back in the dorm to fix them.
They were just going to stay broken and wasn’t that a metaphor for her life right now?
And really, what was the Cece way? Because, from her point of view, it was staring furiously down at her knees anytime she had to go to the bathroom because some asshole had decided that it would be a good way to connect all the bathroom stalls so that they could talk in real time. Staring down at her knees because she didn’t want to see what else someone had written about her. About Niko. About Ev. About all the people that she cared about and somehow had to look at like she hadn’t just read their names in the bathroom stall. Like, yes, she knew that Nate had a thing for Lottie Dottie because Nate had told her as much. She did not need to know that people wanted him to magically end up with Dom. And she was pretty sure that they were talking about Dom because people just loved to have people who hated each other somehow being secretly in love with each other. Was the Cece way taking a million pictures because each one had some tiny perceived flaw that she saw in herself? Was it taking down a picture from her Wiztagram because it had gotten less likes than the others? Or it didn’t get as many likes as fast? Or was it running to Niko with her quiv in her hand shaking because she wasn’t sure what to do and needed Niko to tell her.
She was confident in herself, yes. She knew that she was gorgeous. Knew that she was intelligent and driven and all these other things that really summed up that she loved herself. That there were plenty of other people out there that wished to have a body like hers or to look like her. They told her as much. But it was also so freaking hard to keep that confidence. To not let words get to her. She was at school. The biggest things of importance were supposed to be her classes and her future career path. It shouldn’t have been that a bunch of people thought that she should be with Francisco Krum while a bunch of other people thought that he should have just stayed with Evadne. Evadne who looked like she was both really jealous of Cisce and also their biggest support. It shouldn’t have been reading over and over that James was snorting anything off Grimaldi’s boobs. It shouldn’t have been that so many people believed of her without even asking. “I don’t think I want to know the Cece way.” She said finally because she wanted to get something else in her head. The James way, maybe. She blinked and tried not to wrinkle her nose because her eyes felt like she’d been staring into a fan for too long. A little watery, but not from crying. She didn’t feel…sad. Maybe resigned? Maybe definitely annoyed that James didn’t seem to realize just how much she enjoyed being around him.
“I wish to embody the James way.” Cece laughed, immensely pleased that she had gotten him to laugh along with her. Chuckling was basically along the same lines, anyway. Basically the same thing. “Or the Niko way, with more showers because have you seen my hair sweaty? It’s awful. Or seen me wet. I looked like a drowned doll. Good in a bikini, though!” She did! She always enjoyed the first few months at Hogwarts, coming back from however long of a cation the Abercrombie’s took in Greece. Soaking up the sun outside and letting her skin bronze – still not as much as her twinster, but enough to know that she looked amazing. She didn’t think that James had ever seen her in one. Pictures she’d uploaded aside, and the thought made her blush. Because, yes, the pictures she uploaded were of her swimsuit, but there was the sudden awareness that all the comments on the bathroom wall made sense. That she was a good source of wank material. Oh, Merlin. ‘Oh Hades’ Had James looked at her that way? Certainly he had. Her hands gripped onto his even as her eyes widened with the knowledge she desperately wished she could scrub out and forget. His touched warmed her hands and she tried very hard not to think about where his hands had been before warming up her own.
She hadn’t even realized that her fingers were cold. That she was cold until she was wrapped up into his sweatshirt. “But don’t you just wish that you did? That we could know everything that could possibly happen. Not just maybe know, like when I See into the future. But just know for certain how things with be. I want certainty!” It was more of a shout than she had intended. She leaned forward to use his hand to cover hers, pressing it’s warm against her mouth half to cover it for being so loud and half with the realization that her mouth was also very cold. Her face was cold. She moved their hands – their hands! – to the side of her face, nuzzling against his. “Okay good because I don’t know what I would do if you said you weren’t going to stay. Maybe try to follow you? At least con you into giving me a piggyback ride. For sure keep your sweatshirt. You might never get this back. Years from now you’ll say, ‘what happened to my sweatshirt’ and I will have it and be sad because it does not smell like James anymore.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes, humming and debating and giggling. Was she okay? Yup! As far as she could judge whether she was going to throw up, she wasn’t going to. Throwing up was honestly the worst thing she could think about. If she could list all the things she hated out, throwing up would be right above touching things that looked soft but were not. It’s probably why she freaking loved this sweatshirt so much, even though it smelled like sweaty boy. (James. It smelled like James.) “I’m good! Really good! Cold, but you’re here and so I’m good.” She gestured towards her pocket with their hands but made no movement to let go of his. “You? You want to take a picture with me? Really?”
Post by James Sirius Potter on Aug 14, 2018 16:23:15 GMT
Her eyes had airs of being damp, which would typically indicate a sadness seeping out from the inside, but instead they just appeared as if they’d been open for an extended period of time without any maintenance blinking, which was probably the case. Regardless of the cause, he didn’t like it, seeing her looking as if she’d been defeated, maybe, and by what exactly? He was selfish enough to first think that it was by him, or by his choices and actions and all the missteps he’d made along the way but especially in the past few months. But as she lamented her own way, the idea of it, one that he so miscalculatedly could not put into words even though he should have, should have at least tried, so as to avoid such a moment as this…he realized that it didn’t have much to do with him at all, at least not so specifically, because it was much more deep-rooted than that. And that was validating to someone who’d spent the past few weeks punishing themselves for merely existing.
It was surreal to hear his name from her voice while paired with the ease of the delight of a laugh. He smiled, watching the damp in her eyes shine as she continued on, musing about all the things that she could be, but a very specific set of things, having to do with showers and sweat and other things that made him think about skin soaked in sudsy water, soap-stained shower walls, and the steamed serenity of insensible fantasies, ones he’d never actually had but wished to, distant dreams of desirous scenarios he’d been too ashamed to consider for fear that they’d be ruined by his barbaricness forever. Answers queued at the tip of his tongue, years of Potter preparing him for just such a comment, offered to the vulgarity of his wit on a silver platter- Best in a bikini, I’d say- …but drowned in what, exactly?- but they fizzled before darting past his lips, a light exhale turning to a faint murmur of what could only be assumed to be agreement, because there was no earthly scenario in which James Potter could disagree with the thought of this girl, whose hands he was balancing inside his own, in any form, complex, nakedness, or otherwise.
It was strange, to be incentivized to simply listen, but even if she wasn’t speaking to him at such a fervent rate, with such competing concepts so quickly jumping from one to the next, he wasn’t sure that he’d want to say anything at all. There wasn’t much for him to say, still existing fully inside the creases of her fingers warming between his, inside how his name had sounded off her tongue, inside the little prism of space between her top lip, bottom lip, and the palm of his hand, now pressed to them momentarily, being lead to each side of her softly frozen face, an instant trigger for the harsh vibration he now felt in the bottom-most region of his intestines, reminding him that while morality was an individualized spectrum, on most of them, this was wrong.
His voice lacked its typical brashness, the heat that typically burnt off any word he selected thoughtlessly missing from their expulsion. ”…c’mon, that’s no fun.” He looked at her knuckles above his knuckles above her cheekbone, swallowed slightly, knowing that wherever she was, there was a chance she’d remember this, that maybe it didn’t matter if she didn’t, as he was definitely saying this just as much to himself as anyone. “No certainty, no thrill, right? No…chances.” He wasn’t exactly sure what was coming out of his mouth, only that it was some miscellaneous bunch of words that replaced the actual thoughts in his head, which sounded something like: No certainty means no certainty of letdown, means the possibility of you, the possibility of this, the possibility of being able to still consider the possibility without knowing that it will never happen because I fucked it up.
He didn’t want any certainty, because he was sure it would not be in his favor.
The moment was laying heavily on his shoulders, but the persistence in her monologue assisted him back to the surface, the shock of feeling the ridge of her jawline against the pads of his fingertips subsiding with the concept of jaunting piggyback rides, stolen Quidditch sweatshirts, and personal aromas. And her following him. Which was a reality far from one he’d ever known, as typically it was he who would bother her when it best suited him. “And what do I smell like?” His curiosity popped out of him before he could consider the oddity of asking such a question, but it lingered in the air perplexingly, as in such a moment of this, any question was truly viable and legitimate, and now was as good a time as any to find out what he smelled like, because he wasn’t sure he smelled like anything other than his Quidditch sweatshirt, or broom wood, or maybe stingy aftershave.
Now that he’d been lifted from the vulnerable considering of darkness that was knowing everything that might ever be, pushing away from the diving board of knowing morality and testing the limits of the cool water of risk, he liked the bemusement of her sing-song hums and refusing to move her hands away from his so that they motioned together in singular sweeps. “Good,” he confirmed, the fourth and final good in a steam of goods he put to rest.
While his suggestion hadn’t been earnest, it was even more poignant that he hadn’t indicated that he wanted to also be in a picture with her. Indicated. At her suggestion, he wondered if there even existed a picture of the two of them together- and not a silly group picture from a younger-yeared game of truth or dare, or of him photo-bombing a stylized moment of the Hufflepuff girls in the courtyard, or of her in the background of a shot of him smacking the bloody life out of a bludger and toward Hufflepuff’s keeper- a real picture of the pair of them. And at this wonder, he wanted.
Really?“Yeah,” he said, nodding, giving each of her hands a quick squeeze as he stretched his arms away from them in an attempt to shimmy around the armrest he’d been leaning on while not letting go at the same time. “A nice proper picture,” he said, trying to maneuver, the test of keeping his fingers with hers while sitting down beside her manifesting in a sweet pseudo-embrace. He had to cross her arms in the air so his own could settle on either side of her, naturally encouraging her to lean into and against the crook of his arm and chest, a feeling so fucking natural he could have sworn he’d felt it thousands of times.
He let go of her hand so his arm could naturally fall across the lower line of her collarbone, his hand balanced around the curve of her shoulder. “You’ll take it? You know how to…I don’t know…hold it and stuff.” The only selfies James took were ones in service of some ridiculous purpose. They were usually taken from where he would hold his quiv regularly, aimed up at his chin in such an unflattering angle, were terribly lit, and sometimes oddly pixelated.
His cheek had rested against her temple, but he didn’t move it, just one more move that he had decidedly made, without being asked or encouraged. This wasn’t the whim of a girl with a little too much Thestral in her blood- it was the will of her suitor, who just wanted an evening, an hour, even a moment of living outside his own reality, nestled against the ambition, the guile, the gusto of the one he’d so stupidly denied himself, when it has been waiting for him, but no longer. “Yours is probably better quality, but you’ll still take one on mine?”
TAGS:Ceres Selene Abercrombie NOTES: I can’t tell if this is sweet or if he’s like…taking advantage of her? Hm. Either way, drama.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Sept 11, 2018 20:33:04 GMT
Looking at James wasn’t like looking at the sun for the first time. For one thing, people weren’t supposed to look at the sun. It didn’t matter if they were magic or muggle; it was bad for the eyes and James and she both had such pretty eyes. No, looking at James was like looking at a brand new tube of infinity red lipstick that was still in perfect condition and in stock. The in stock part was important because if the stupid brand could be found, it had to be bought in bulk because who knew when the next time one would be so blessed. That was to say, it made her happy. Warmed her to her core. The best part was that she got to actually look at him. None of that hopeful, seconds-glance that she aimed to get as she strode down the halls towards whatever destination. Glances that had to look unobvious that she was looking because she…was supposed to be mad at him, wasn’t she? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what for. For the life of her, she didn’t think it mattered. It had to be something so stupid. Cece often held James to a higher standard than anyone else.
And why was that? Why did she expect so much more from him than anyone else? Because she fancied him? Because her parents had essentially wrote a book on what it was like to have such a strong relationship and she craved that more than she craved pancake pops? Which, actually, she could go for some right now dipped in chocolate or honey or something else as sweet as James and it was definitely something she should remember so she could bring up when she was done with her inner monologue, but also hopefully before her stomach started growling because that was embarrassing. James deserved better than some scrawny pining-blonde with a penchant for vanity, according to whoever it was that had gotten their panties up in a bunch in the bathroom wall. Hell, Cisco probably deserved someone better, too. Someone like Ev who was perfect for him, even if they were both so ridiculously blind to it. The concept of anyone – Evadne, Niko, Joy…even Charlotte, sometimes – not really acknowledging just how jaw-dropping beautiful they were was so freaking confusing. Because…like…then it was up to her to tell them that they deserved the world and then some? And it was something she would do, everyday if she had to!
Maybe she didn’t need to, but she wanted to do that for James, too. James who looked at her like she was the prettiest girl in the world and whose eyes found hers almost as often as the other way around and who was listening to her and letting her babble like she was making sense and not just prattling nonsense? And he wanted to take a picture with her? She couldn’t tell if that wasn’t really just his way of catering to what she wanted to do. Because Cece loved selfies, even on the days where she felt like a flobberworm. Her friends would tell her that she was insane. That she was beautiful and intelligent and synonyms and other pretty language that was meant to build up her self-esteem until she was as vain as the bathroom wall told her she was. And, yeah, she liked to be flattered as much as she loved flattering. She loved all that a picture could capture. All that it could inspire. And how many things had a face like his inspired from her? How many Gryffindor-themed items – items she normally wouldn’t normally wear because she was a proud badger and could rep black and yellow until the sun went down – did she create and actually wear when the need to be a proud badger wasn’t necessarily needed…for him?
Well, no because that wasn’t fair for James, either. She didn’t want to put everything on him because it wasn’t. Whatever the reason she got mad at him for, and for the life of her she could honestly not remember what it was at all, chances were that she had not made the situation any better. People liked to think that Cece was the more chill of the Abercrombie siblings and, well, that wasn’t true at all. In fact, she didn’t think she was the most chill of any of the siblings, although it could be a tossup as to who was more occasionally uptight; her or Cal. And, besides, it wasn’t like she made outfits for the sole purpose of watching how James was going to react. She did that for everyone. She loved seeing what people thought of her creations and she loved posting them because it only inspired other people. To take their own pictures. To make their own stuff. To send her art! Besides, even she recognized that it wasn’t healthy to make all sorts of decisions for one guy, even if his hair was incredibly run-your-fingers-through-it-able. What was it about boy’s hair that made it so damn soft to the touch?
Their shampoo was awful and even the guys with longer hair still had soft hair. Like Jasper. Jasper had like…the softest hair she had ever touched. It was so…pullable? Was that a good thing? She wasn’t entirely sure. She certainly didn’t love it. That was a question for James, definitely. Also Jasper because his was the hair that started all of this questioning, she thought. Maybe Cisco, too, the next time she saw him because that seemed like it might be important or something. Her face lit up at his question, once it had finally hit her that he had actually asked something aloud instead of being content to let her ramble on. “It’s difficult because I can’t really put into words…” she huffed. “It’s mostly a feeling. Like, a combination of things that just set off this notification in my head like, yes. That’s James! But, this is so ridiculous, by the way, but for you…” She chewed on the side of her lip, looking up and trying to formulate the right words. “You smell like sweat. Like you’ve just worked out or ran somewhere and like you’re fit, but in that way that…it’s like you don’t care. Which is so wrong because I know you do.” And it was like she couldn’t stop herself from talking and going on and wasn’t that weird, too?
Their whole thing was weird, who was she kidding? Still, it didn’t much surprise her to know that she could go on a whole little miniature-complimentary-rant on him. “And sometimes you smell like cheese, so that makes no sense except that I know that you like it and also you sometimes reek of pages of an old magazine that you haven’t stopped flipping through.” And teasingly, because what kind of moment would this be – would any moment of theirs be, hext or otherwise – if they didn’t poke at one another? Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, or maybe she couldn’t exactly remember a moment of it since he had come to her rescue, but that didn’t stop her. “Knowing you, it’s probably something dirty~!” It totally, if she was being honest, helped her forget about all the embarrassing stuff she had said earlier. And it wasn’t like he didn’t normally say embarrassing stuff, either. Stuff that she totally teased him about later. If she gave him some material, well, that just meant that he had to talk to her, right? That they wouldn’t go so long without hexting? Because James was her friend, too, and one that she liked sending funny things to because who else was going to laugh as hard as she secretly did when second years tripped?
Or when fourth years jinxed first years to minutes of unending dances? Cisco was nice. Cisco was near perfect and that was terrifying, too. He didn’t laugh at this sort of things. That was definitely mortifying and made her feel like some sort of psycho. Instead, he went and made sure that those kids were okay. And she wanted that, too. Obviously. She wanted to make sure that nothing too serious happened, but also she couldn’t help the giggle that sometimes escaped. Sometimes, good people did bad things and that didn’t make them bad people. James did a weird thing with their hands that was not pulling them away, which was good because Cece half thought that he would pull the air out from her lungs if he pulled his hands from her. Silly thought and not…biologically possible. Silly thought that needed to be put away. She leaned into him and almost nodded, except that he put her cheek against her temple and that would have been uncomfortable for them both. Probably more for him because she wasn’t even sure that she could feel any pain at the moment. “That’s because you’re an old man with old man technology, but mhmm! Two pictures, then? One for you and one for me?”
Taking selfies was like breathing, actually. Was so natural to her that it seemed almost unfathomable that she ever had to learn how to do it; learn to know which angles to hit to make sure that t looked the absolute best. And it wasn’t something that she was worried about right now, either. She didn’t even have to crinkle the sides of her eyes to make for a more natural smile. It came so easily. Besides, her focus wasn’t even herself, but the wistful-happyish older teen next to her. It was even easier on her quiv, an extension of her hand and much more natural-feeling as she twirled it into position and snapped before he could change his mind about being normal in a picture. She kept herself from squealing, because she was not one of those fourth year girls that were in love with Christian and not at all quiet about it, and offered him both quivs. “I’m normally all over retakes, but I like this one. You?”