![sherlockt:
Dear Snaps,
This—the owl—is Elizabeth the Second, named for the lady on the muggle money. My old owl has gone into retirement after an unfortunate run in with my Gran’s cat Bertram. It seems that was one cat attack too many, and he now refuses to carry mail.
I’m up North with my family at the moment, but we’re all headed back to Manchester tomorrow, which will be a relief. Pete’s here, too, irreparably damaging my bedroom ceiling with a Quaffle, at the moment (he says “hi”), but even still, there’s not much to do in Godric’s Hallow. He—Pete, that is—took his apparition test on Wednesday. Passed without Felix Felicis and everything…
I’ve started Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration essay twice now and have only written one sentence. So much for not procrastinating. I’ll just do it on the train, like always.
Let’s see… what else is going on here? Oh, Pete and I saw the Fresh Bloods play in Spain on Tuesday. My cousin Sam got us tickets at the last minute; it was mad, but brilliant, too. Calvin Shrewt was piss drunk, but he’s a god on the guitar. I caught a drumstick, but I gave it to Petey (His Royal Highness Peter Pettigrew formally requests that I stop calling him “Petey,” so be sure to call him that next time you use him). The Ministry of Merpeople play in London in August, and I hope Sam comes through for that, too. Hopefully with a little more than twenty minutes advance notice… long story, I’ll tell you when I see you.
Which reminds me—since Petey didn’t crash and burn on his apparition test, we should meet up in Diagon Alley or something. Have I mentioned how utterly bored I am? Summer holidays didn’t used to be this dull, did they? As much as I loathe the prospect of hastening my entrance to the Dementor-esque soul-sucking so-called “Real World,” I sort of which school would start again already.
Maybe it’s just Godric’s Hallow.
Anyway, I’m hoping to see the Wasps play Puddlemore next week. In the summer, time is measured in Quidditch matches attended, I think.
Oh, Remus is coming up to see me tomorrow. You should write to him. He’s miserable, and I’m not sure if it’s because his Furry Little Problem is acting up or something more serious. You should write him and tell him to get out of the house. He won’t listen to me, and I think he’s angry that I sent a singing howler. Don’t see what he was so miffed about—I didn’t use my voice or anything, and the charm produced a really lovely soprano.
How is your summer going? I hope you’re not wallowing or anything. Merlin—do you realize its only been two weeks since school ended? Have you seen anything of You-Know-Who? Not Voldemort. Snape. He lives near you, isn’t that right?
Petey thinks I shouldn’t ask because it’s a sore subject. As if “tact” has ever been my style.
Merlin.
At any rate, I’d better be off now. Mum wants Petey and me to take some shortbread to old Mrs. Bagshot up the road, and she (Mum) is positively having kittens over the fact that I didn’t do it this morning like I may or may not have promised. So, I’m off. Have a good week— don’t do anything I wouldn’t, and if you do, take pictures.
Cheers,
James Potter
The Life and Times; Chapter 24 [x]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4hj1e1YT71qi9ehgo1_500.gif)
Dear Snaps,
This—the owl—is Elizabeth the Second, named for the lady on the muggle money. My old owl has gone into retirement after an unfortunate run in with my Gran’s cat Bertram. It seems that was one cat attack too many, and he now refuses to carry mail.
I’m up North with my family at the moment, but we’re all headed back to Manchester tomorrow, which will be a relief. Pete’s here, too, irreparably damaging my bedroom ceiling with a Quaffle, at the moment (he says “hi”), but even still, there’s not much to do in Godric’s Hallow. He—Pete, that is—took his apparition test on Wednesday. Passed without Felix Felicis and everything…
I’ve started Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration essay twice now and have only written one sentence. So much for not procrastinating. I’ll just do it on the train, like always.
Let’s see… what else is going on here? Oh, Pete and I saw the Fresh Bloods play in Spain on Tuesday. My cousin Sam got us tickets at the last minute; it was mad, but brilliant, too. Calvin Shrewt was piss drunk, but he’s a god on the guitar. I caught a drumstick, but I gave it to Petey (His Royal Highness Peter Pettigrew formally requests that I stop calling him “Petey,” so be sure to call him that next time you use him). The Ministry of Merpeople play in London in August, and I hope Sam comes through for that, too. Hopefully with a little more than twenty minutes advance notice… long story, I’ll tell you when I see you.
Which reminds me—since Petey didn’t crash and burn on his apparition test, we should meet up in Diagon Alley or something. Have I mentioned how utterly bored I am? Summer holidays didn’t used to be this dull, did they? As much as I loathe the prospect of hastening my entrance to the Dementor-esque soul-sucking so-called “Real World,” I sort of which school would start again already.
Maybe it’s just Godric’s Hallow.
Anyway, I’m hoping to see the Wasps play Puddlemore next week. In the summer, time is measured in Quidditch matches attended, I think.
Oh, Remus is coming up to see me tomorrow. You should write to him. He’s miserable, and I’m not sure if it’s because his Furry Little Problem is acting up or something more serious. You should write him and tell him to get out of the house. He won’t listen to me, and I think he’s angry that I sent a singing howler. Don’t see what he was so miffed about—I didn’t use my voice or anything, and the charm produced a really lovely soprano.
How is your summer going? I hope you’re not wallowing or anything. Merlin—do you realize its only been two weeks since school ended? Have you seen anything of You-Know-Who? Not Voldemort. Snape. He lives near you, isn’t that right?
Petey thinks I shouldn’t ask because it’s a sore subject. As if “tact” has ever been my style.
Merlin.
At any rate, I’d better be off now. Mum wants Petey and me to take some shortbread to old Mrs. Bagshot up the road, and she (Mum) is positively having kittens over the fact that I didn’t do it this morning like I may or may not have promised. So, I’m off. Have a good week— don’t do anything I wouldn’t, and if you do, take pictures.
Cheers,
James Potter
The Life and Times; Chapter 24 [x]
(Source: serpadfoots)
James would swear he didn’t believe in fate, but there she was, and fate seemed kind of difficult to deny just now. Lily Evans stood outside the Common Room, a short distance from the portrait of the Fat Lady, drink in hand and far off look on her dream-cast face. She had wrapped around her shoulders a scarlet blanket—protection from the drafty corridors—and she tugged at it every few seconds, like a habitual twitch. The torches gave her pale skin a golden glow, sparked her eyes, and illuminated every strand of red hair. As she unconsciously chewed her lip, James forgot and remembered why he was there. He didn’t believe in fate, but what a coincidence.
The Life and Times by Jules (from chapter fourteen - for accio-womp)
Lily sat down. Numbly, she attempted to steady herself against the bed, but her breathing became labored, and over and over again she read the words on the trembling page.
-Chapter 35
She thought she was in love and disliked the fact. He knew he was in love and positively hated it. She thought he was barking mad. He thought she was positively insane. He was James, and she was Lily, and one day they shared a kiss, but before that they shared many arguments, for he was cocky, and she was sweet, and matters of the heart can require time. (x)
(Source: mezjennifer)
james: lily evans stops and is staring at me
james: i got a snitch in my hands and i ain't afraid to show it show it show it
james: I'M JAMES AND I KNOW IT
