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- Lily taking pride in the fact that Dudley’s hair is actually nice and manageable and her brushing it so it sits just perfect, kissing his forehead and touching his cheek gently. The turning to Harry and his unruly tangle
that probably has twigs/ a quill/ whatever food he was eating last entangled in it lbrand sighing a little.
- Harry standing up for his cousin in the playground when the other kids make fun of him for being a little chubby. Just imagine that though, picking on the chubby blonde kid then out of nowhere comes this short little bespectacled runt and just, so not going to win that fight but they try any way god bless them.
- Peter making Dudley feel better about his size by cracking completely inappropriate innuendos
greatly aided by Siriusthat a seven year old should not be hearing and Lily completely losing it.
- Harry and Dudley being partners in crime and constantly creating mischief together.
Jonathan Carroll (via kbfoto & Ms.MAC)
Does anyone else lie in bed at 2:30am filled with the crippling fear that they’re never going to accomplish anything in life and fail miserably or is that just me
Ron Weasley gives free ice cream to kids. Harry Potter talks about the importance of feminism and gay rights. Hermione Granger is a UN Goodwill Ambassador for Women.
The heroes of my childhood became the heroes of my adulthood.
jily coffeshop au
I threw in some Modern!AU too, because, why not? Also because I’ve done this one before, so it’s a nice contrast.
This paper was going to be the end of her, Lily decided, glaring mutinously at her laptop screen and willing the word document to somehow double in length in the next six hours. What had she been thinking, taking a bloody literature class? She was a maths person. She had always been a maths person. Complex calculus? Simple. Non-Euclidean geometry? She was your girl. Metaphors? Yeah, not so much. And yet she’d somehow stumbled her way into a Romantics seminar. What utter rot.
"Ah. A Keats fan, then?"
Lily glanced up, eyes bleary, to find one of the coffee shop’s baristas standing beside her table. He was tall and lanky, with the shop’s standard dark green apron hanging off his limbs like it didn’t quite know how to fit among all the sharp edges. His hair was dark and loafed about like it had a mind of its own, while a pair of wire specs perched neatly upon his long nose. In one hand, he held a skinny paper coffee cup. The other tapped gently at her poetry book.
"Actually, right now I reckon I’m inching toward TB’s side of things," Lily answered, sighing lightly. "Keats may have deserved it."
The barista’s lips quirked. "Ah, well. Two sides to every story and all." He placed the foam cup atop the poetry book. "Coffee."
"Er, no. I haven’t ordered anything."
"No, you haven’t. Ordered for you, actually." He twisted the cup, and there on the stark white curve, a name and number was written in thick, black ink.
JAMES 07914 483 219
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