IT'S BLOODY HOT IN HERE (no, really. it's seriously hot.)
it's the summer holidays! a perfect time to travel, relax, spend time with loved ones and bask in the sun. the wizarding world is lively with energy at this time of year. everyone seems to want to make the most of their break before september comes around the corner and life returns to its normal, mundane pace. it has been especially exciting with the sporadic and strange appearances of old and new faces. some claim to be from a different world while others claim to be from a different time. then, there are the ones who have simply found themselves waking up to be remarkably younger or older. just remember to keep to your curfews, half-bloods and muggle-borns! those eerie disappearances are still happening in an increasingly alarming rate...
MINISTRY OF MAGIC
for the ones who don't have the good fortune of going on holiday, you won't have to worry about having nothing to do, especially if you're part of the ministry of magic! with all the anomalies happening, you're going to have your hands full registering, documenting, interviewing and/or helping with a multitude of busywork relating to the newcomers. or maybe your job doesn't have anything to do with that. maybe you're on the opposite end and you've been brought in. or maybe you're just a tourist and you want to see if you can catch a glimpse of the minister for magic. whatever your reason is, welcome and stay out of people's way!
DIAGON ALLEY
everyone loves to go shopping and what better place to do it than diagon alley? you'll find mills of people looking at all the different items on sale or on display in store windows. maybe you're here to purchase materials for the upcoming school year or you're out on a date with your significant other. or maybe you actually own or work at one of the many shops here. whatever your reason is, you better be ready for the crowd and the heat.
KNOCKTURN ALLEY
oh no! what are you doing here? turn back right now! knockturn alley is no place for you to be. well, at least it isn't if you aren't a dark arts practitioner or you're not part of some nefarious secret group. just turn around and go back to diagon alley. it's much nicer there, friendlier and safer. have you not heard about all the disappearances going on? you're only asking for trouble stepping into a place like this, even if it's remarkably cool here.
M.I.A.V.I.
not in the mood to go out? or maybe you're stuck in the waiting room at st. mungo's trying to figure out why you're suddenly 10 years older and you need a distraction. disregarding the reason, it's sure a good thing you've conveniently brought along your m.i.a.v.i. so feel free to browse the public network, create your own post, or private message someone!
OTHER
not interested in any of the options above? feel free to make up your own! the wizarding world is huge, so get creative with it. the setting is the summer of 1980. have fun testing out and shaping your characters, mingle with others, and start getting those crs down!
( Astoria hasn't quite caught on anything being wrong yet, either. She had felt dizzy, this morning, so when Draco took Scorpius for a walk, she hadn't joined them and instead kissed them goodbye, and watched them from the window – hand in hand at the kind of awkward angle that comes with her son's age. She had lain down, and when she woke up again, they hadn't returned yet.
It didn't strike her as terribly odd – perhaps Draco had wanted to give her some time to rest, taken Scorpius to Diagon Alley. She had settled into his study, then, feeling as though things were a little off, but attributing it to having just woken up. She began to write a letter to Daphne, all ordinary things: an impending birthday, Scorpius' newest toddling feats, some pondering on whether or not a kneazle would make a good companion for the little boy –
Dad?
She sits up, startled, and blinks at the young man standing in the doorway. )
I wouldn't think so, no. Are you quite – ?
( She stops, recognition and then confusion flickering across her face in rapid succession. This can't be – can it? )
[Scorpius is equally startled by her. He freezes solid, unable to believe his senses.
He steps forward, hesitantly, as though she might disappear if he moves any closer. It can't be. The air in his lungs feels thick, and his heart feels like a fist has reached into his chest to squeeze it tight. How could it be--?
She's younger than he remembers, far more healthy than she'd been those last few months but still sicker than she'd looked in the pictures of his parents' wedding, before Scorpius himself was anything other than a thought for the future.] M-Mum--
[It comes out choked, and even though he wants nothing more than to run to her, to collapse in her arms, he feels frozen to the spot. Is he seeing things? Has he gone mad? How can this be real?]
( Her voice is a whisper as she realigns realities within herself. She stumbles over the evidence, hastily looking for whichever bit or piece could explain why the small boy she had so carefully dressed in baby-bright colours this morning now stands before her, grown or at least nearly grown. It is him, there is no arguing that – she couldn't possibly look into her own son's eyes and not recognise them.
None of that tells her how in the world this is possible, though.
Well, if the answer won't come, pick a different problem. Even if it is a problem that makes her blood run cold, because there is an innate heartbreak to seeing him like this, hearing his voice so heavy and choked, standing glued to the spot. He should be barely three and bumbling happily into the room and onto her lap. He should be his own age, maybe a little awkward, enduring some motherly attention like having his collar straightened and hugging her before he's off with some friends. Instead he stands, bereft, and she feels the way the story ends before she even knows it.
She stands, then, and takes a few cautious steps towards him, open but unsure if she can touch him. Part of her feels as though she might cry, she can feel the tears rising in her eyes, but another part refuses. )
Don't tell your father but I think we broke the space-time-continuum.
( She tries to make it sound light, it's what she always does when he's is about to cry and she wants to cheer him up, plus she is smiling, smiling up at him, where was she while he had grown like that. She takes a deep breath, trying to contain herself. )
[The joke releases him from whatever spell was holding him frozen in place, a desperate and wet-sounding laugh catching in his throat.
He's taller than her now, and his brain sticks on that detail for a moment, like that's the most important thing. And then he's moving again, hugging her tight and burying his face in her shoulder and she's still there.]
Please let this be real, please-- [She's still here, and she still smells of the same perfume, and feels just as he remembers, even if the angle of it is a little different because Scorpius hadn't hit his growth spurt yet when she'd passed and oh, he is sobbing now, like he hasn't since he was even more of a child, legs suddenly unsteady beneath him.
( She holds him tight – tighter than she would have been able to, towards the end – and still she finds herself struggling with the differences. A few hours ago, she could carry him around, fully conscious of the fact that he would soon outgrow the stage. Oh, the irony. )
It's real, I'm here. ( Here and not at all holding it together anymore now that her son is full-on crying in her arms. When she weeps, she does so quietly, but her voice still breaks when she repeats herself: she's here, she's here, it's going to be alright, that's what she tells him. It's a way of convincing herself, too. This reality might be strange, but whatever has gone wrong here is real, and it can be worked with. And it can't be so wrong if she can at least know that her son is safe and sound, even if the same cannot be guaranteed for her husband.
She can sense him crumbling, and her own legs are shaking as well, so she tries to nudge them in the direction of the sofa that, unlike them, hasn't moved in its corner at all. But honestly, they might just sink to the floor into a sobbing pile, it's a bit of a uneven endeavour. )
[It may speak to his remembered fragility of her, that he does manage to get them over to that couch. He lifts his head from her shoulder, just so he can look at her again, because he'd had plenty of pictures of course but it's different, seeing her here, in person, whole and alive and not still and pale and thin and weak in a bed. The memories had faded, no matter how tightly he tried to cling to them.
Little too late to act as though he hasn't lost her. Failed step one of surprise time travel.
He smiles, tears still streaking down his cheeks.] I've missed you so much, Mum, I-- I don't know what's happening but-- You look-- younger, what-- How old are you? How old-- was I?
[A strange thing to have to ask your mother but, here we are.] I want to tell you everything, there's so much that's happened, I mean, not what's happening now, I don't know what's happening now, I just mean-- in general. With my life. [It was a constant ache, every life event tinged more grey with the realization she wasn't there to share it with.]
( She focuses on the present as to not let herself linger for too long on her now-certain future. The conclusions she comes to are logical but equally false: one, she has been transported into the future by some mysterious means or other, or two, Scorpius has been sent to what is, to him, the past. Seemingly infinitely more likely than them both having ended in a past way before their birth, an alternative reality at that. Either way, both her theories put her ease in the sense that there is little rush for them to try and put a fix in: regardless of the option, the only person to encounter them like this is Draco. Well, and a much, much smaller version of Scorpius himself, who would, she guesses, be too young to be disturbed by or be overly disturbing to Scorpius. )
I'm twenty-five, you're not even three yet, I – ( She takes a deep, shaky breath to keep her voice even, and reaches out to wipe away his tears. Her smile is a little sad, but at the same time, she almost has to laugh. In many ways, he is entirely different, but this way of talking is all too similar to the way he would tell her about something he has found in the garden, or the plot of a bedtime story Draco read to him. )
I want to know everything. I'm just – ( her voice cracks, but she persists ) I'm just so proud to see you like this. ( It's the whole truth: she can barely contain her pride. He seems so sweet, so genuine, in so many ways the boy she hopes to help raise for however long she possibly can, and it's so good to see him, whole and alive and kind. Things may not be easy, but they will be fine. ) How old – are you still in school?
[He leans into the hand brushing away his tears, and it almost makes him start to cry again, that that's happened, that she can do that.
He takes one of her hands in his own, settling against her on the couch. He can't stop smiling, can't stop looking at her.]
I'm seventeen. I just finished up school. I had seven N.E.W.T.s, six O's and an E. [He's had the "so what are you going to do after you graduate" conversation what feels like a million times but he'd have it a million more just to speak with her.] I've got an internship at St. Mungo's starting soon, and my best friend and I are looking to get a flat together. That's Albus Severus Potter, we met on the train first year and we both got Sorted to Slytherin and we've been best friends ever since. [There's so much to say but that's a good start.]
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malfoy manor c: lmk if you need me to edit anything
It didn't strike her as terribly odd – perhaps Draco had wanted to give her some time to rest, taken Scorpius to Diagon Alley. She had settled into his study, then, feeling as though things were a little off, but attributing it to having just woken up. She began to write a letter to Daphne, all ordinary things: an impending birthday, Scorpius' newest toddling feats, some pondering on whether or not a kneazle would make a good companion for the little boy –
Dad?
She sits up, startled, and blinks at the young man standing in the doorway. )
I wouldn't think so, no. Are you quite – ?
( She stops, recognition and then confusion flickering across her face in rapid succession. This can't be – can it? )
no subject
He steps forward, hesitantly, as though she might disappear if he moves any closer. It can't be. The air in his lungs feels thick, and his heart feels like a fist has reached into his chest to squeeze it tight. How could it be--?
She's younger than he remembers, far more healthy than she'd been those last few months but still sicker than she'd looked in the pictures of his parents' wedding, before Scorpius himself was anything other than a thought for the future.] M-Mum--
[It comes out choked, and even though he wants nothing more than to run to her, to collapse in her arms, he feels frozen to the spot. Is he seeing things? Has he gone mad? How can this be real?]
no subject
( Her voice is a whisper as she realigns realities within herself. She stumbles over the evidence, hastily looking for whichever bit or piece could explain why the small boy she had so carefully dressed in baby-bright colours this morning now stands before her, grown or at least nearly grown. It is him, there is no arguing that – she couldn't possibly look into her own son's eyes and not recognise them.
None of that tells her how in the world this is possible, though.
Well, if the answer won't come, pick a different problem. Even if it is a problem that makes her blood run cold, because there is an innate heartbreak to seeing him like this, hearing his voice so heavy and choked, standing glued to the spot. He should be barely three and bumbling happily into the room and onto her lap. He should be his own age, maybe a little awkward, enduring some motherly attention like having his collar straightened and hugging her before he's off with some friends. Instead he stands, bereft, and she feels the way the story ends before she even knows it.
She stands, then, and takes a few cautious steps towards him, open but unsure if she can touch him. Part of her feels as though she might cry, she can feel the tears rising in her eyes, but another part refuses. )
Don't tell your father but I think we broke the space-time-continuum.
( She tries to make it sound light, it's what she always does when he's is about to cry and she wants to cheer him up, plus she is smiling, smiling up at him, where was she while he had grown like that. She takes a deep breath, trying to contain herself. )
liek if u cri evry tiem
He's taller than her now, and his brain sticks on that detail for a moment, like that's the most important thing. And then he's moving again, hugging her tight and burying his face in her shoulder and she's still there.]
Please let this be real, please-- [She's still here, and she still smells of the same perfume, and feels just as he remembers, even if the angle of it is a little different because Scorpius hadn't hit his growth spurt yet when she'd passed and oh, he is sobbing now, like he hasn't since he was even more of a child, legs suddenly unsteady beneath him.
Sitting might be a good idea.]
no subject
It's real, I'm here. ( Here and not at all holding it together anymore now that her son is full-on crying in her arms. When she weeps, she does so quietly, but her voice still breaks when she repeats herself: she's here, she's here, it's going to be alright, that's what she tells him. It's a way of convincing herself, too. This reality might be strange, but whatever has gone wrong here is real, and it can be worked with. And it can't be so wrong if she can at least know that her son is safe and sound, even if the same cannot be guaranteed for her husband.
She can sense him crumbling, and her own legs are shaking as well, so she tries to nudge them in the direction of the sofa that, unlike them, hasn't moved in its corner at all. But honestly, they might just sink to the floor into a sobbing pile, it's a bit of a uneven endeavour. )
no subject
Little too late to act as though he hasn't lost her. Failed step one of surprise time travel.
He smiles, tears still streaking down his cheeks.] I've missed you so much, Mum, I-- I don't know what's happening but-- You look-- younger, what-- How old are you? How old-- was I?
[A strange thing to have to ask your mother but, here we are.] I want to tell you everything, there's so much that's happened, I mean, not what's happening now, I don't know what's happening now, I just mean-- in general. With my life. [It was a constant ache, every life event tinged more grey with the realization she wasn't there to share it with.]
no subject
I'm twenty-five, you're not even three yet, I – ( She takes a deep, shaky breath to keep her voice even, and reaches out to wipe away his tears. Her smile is a little sad, but at the same time, she almost has to laugh. In many ways, he is entirely different, but this way of talking is all too similar to the way he would tell her about something he has found in the garden, or the plot of a bedtime story Draco read to him. )
I want to know everything. I'm just – ( her voice cracks, but she persists ) I'm just so proud to see you like this. ( It's the whole truth: she can barely contain her pride. He seems so sweet, so genuine, in so many ways the boy she hopes to help raise for however long she possibly can, and it's so good to see him, whole and alive and kind. Things may not be easy, but they will be fine. ) How old – are you still in school?
no subject
He takes one of her hands in his own, settling against her on the couch. He can't stop smiling, can't stop looking at her.]
I'm seventeen. I just finished up school. I had seven N.E.W.T.s, six O's and an E. [He's had the "so what are you going to do after you graduate" conversation what feels like a million times but he'd have it a million more just to speak with her.] I've got an internship at St. Mungo's starting soon, and my best friend and I are looking to get a flat together. That's Albus Severus Potter, we met on the train first year and we both got Sorted to Slytherin and we've been best friends ever since. [There's so much to say but that's a good start.]