SweetDragonSeeker

The kitchen of the Potter house was a mess, the floor gooey and slippery with pumpking guts, and the whole room smelled of fresh pumpkins and warm apple cider. Eleven-year-old Lily Potter, standing barefoot in the orange slime with her back to the sink, was laughing, grinning down at the blond boy sprawled on his back on the floor, his white shirt stained with orangey splotches. "That wasn't funny," he complained, pushing himself into a sitting position and peeling pumpkin innards out of his hair. Lily put a hand over her mouth to hide another giggle, and he scowled before his expression morphed into an evil grin and he lunged forward, send

Atlas He always stands very straight. As though to bend is to break. His shoulders squared, Head held high. She has never seen him kneel. Some say he has a chip on his shoulder But she sees his eyes betray him, The weight of the world in their depths. He doesn't realize his strength, How much stronger he is, As though it has never crossed his mind. And he sleeps sitting up Never lies down, As though it's a reflex, A habit hard to break.

"Victoire?" She freezes at the sound of her mother's voice, knuckles going white on the banister beside her and one foot stuck absurdly out over the next step down as a single thought flies through her head. Bloody hell am I in trouble. Because they aren't supposed to be home yet. They're still supposed to be in France. But here they are, her parents and siblings standing at the foot of the stairs, staring up at her, and she can't help but know it's painfully obvious she's wearing Teddy's shirt. Judging by the frown on his face, her father has already noticed this, and the look in his eyes promises a swift death for the Lupin boy. But he sa