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“You deserve to live,” Harry says.

“I deserve nothing,” Sirius says, “But I can’t do anything about that. James deserved everything but he didn’t get it. James didn’t get you, Harry. I got you. And I’m trying my best. I promise. I promise. I promise...”

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With clumsy fingers, he unwraps the small gift. It’s just a single truffle only it’s so much more than just candy. It's Dudley’s favorite chocolate. The truffles are from a sweet shop in London that Vernon always has to make a special trip to buy. They come in sets of six and Dudley historically eats three boxes on his own before breakfast.

Harry asked every year until he was eight if he could try one. Petunia always said, “those are Dudley’s,” and Vernon always said, “Only little boys who deserve these get them, ungrateful brat. And you -- you will never be good enough.”

Harry knows Petunia remembers Harry’s questions and the answers he received. Is the candy to say, “you’re mine as much as Dudley’s mine?” Is it to say, “You deserve these?” Is it to say, “You are good enough?”

Petunia’s heart is ink, dripping and drying and layered over in scratch marks and sketch marks as she tries to become the person she will be even as she can’t (won’t) ever leave the person she was behind.

He unwraps the candy and puts it in his mouth. It’s sweet, probably, and smooth but… Harry can’t taste it.

It’s everything, isn’t it? You’re saying I’m yours, and deserve this, and am good enough, aren’t you, Aunt Petunia?

Maybe it’s twelve years too late for her to decide that he’s her family but Harry knows enough of souls and forgiveness to say that this small thing is enough for him to imagine a future where he loves her. It’s enough for him to imagine a future where she loves him, a future where she thinks he’s good enough.

Maybe it’s never too late to love someone.

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I'm a really goofy and boisterous person but....I'm a tad too shy. Like stranger talks to me I cry shy. Reflected on it a lot and determined the cause was low self-esteem. I'm secretly a perfectionist and every little thing counts. If I mess it up even a smidge I feel positively awful :(

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It has to be Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0. Its honestly a true masterpiece. Be warned though, this book will oftentimes leave your heart in pieces.

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork.
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Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Go check it out at AO3 :)

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It was no longer an unusual sight to see the Dark Lord talking to himself or laughing softly. Most knew what it was like to have loved and lost and so they did not begrudge him his imaginary happiness, and he was still a formidable foe despite sinking deeper into insanity than he had ever fallen before, and none dared challenge his reign. Harry might have, once, but he was no longer there. They all knew that. All, but him.

“Hello, Harry love,” Voldemort smiled as he spoke.

He had long ago learnt to ignore the fact that Harry was slightly transparent now, and tinted blue around the edges. He could ignore the greyness of the boy’s usually jet black hair and the whiteness of his tanned skin, and the blue sheen to his normally pink lips. His green eyes were as bright and beautiful as they ever were though, and they were the only part of him that did not remind Tom Riddle of a ghost.

But he chose not to be reminded of anything, he ignored the memories probing at his mind, ignored the tightening in his chest as faint silver lines on Harry’s wrists glowed in the light, and he certainly ignored the way that he could no longer touch Harry, no longer cup his cheek or his chin, or brush his nose or neck with his fingers, or kiss his lips, or take him to bed. Ghosts had no need for physical pleasures, and Tom chose to ignore that he, himself, did.

Whenever he managed to find Harry, he always greeted him the same way. “Hello, Harry love.” He’d start and Harry would smile softly back, raising his hand as if to touch him then letting it drop limply to his side. “Why would you leave me? I’ve been searching for you.”

“Because you stopped loving me,” Harry would whisper with sad eyes. Voldemort usually changed the subject then, and they talked about the world and life and everything but death, but on the exact day Harry had died two years earlier, Voldemort found Harry in the Astronomy Tower.

The boy had never gone there before.

“Albus fell, right from where I’m standing,” Harry told him, after telling Voldemort ‘because you stopped loving me’, knowing by now that Voldemort would have changed the subject anyway.

“I never stopped loving you.” The Dark Lord said, unexpectedly. “I didn’t even know I loved you until I had lost you. I didn’t know how… to say it, to feel it, or accept it, and Harry!” He gasped, surging forward to pull Harry against his chest, but couldn’t. There was a wall of coldness, an invisible sheet of ice between then, and Voldemort could have pushed through the wall but he knew he would have gone through Harry as well, and Voldemort wasn’t able to handle that kind of reality check. So he stopped, pulled back unwillingly, and gritted his teeth.

“I’ll never lie to you again,” he promised desperately, “but you have to come home to me. I need you to come home, Harry!” Sad green eyes looked up at him in silence. “Please come back.”

“I can’t,” Harry told him sadly, softly. “But you can come to me, if you wanted?”

Voldemort thought about it, thought about his Horcruxes and his familiar and his world. But his world was standing right in front of him, blue around the edges and shimmering in the middle, and he would have given anything to make the boy flesh and blood and real again. “What do I have to do?”

“Come to me.” And Harry held out a hand, waiting. Voldemort walked slowly forwards, his own arm outstretched.

He kept walking, ignoring Harry as the boy stepped to the side. Then he was falling, from the same window Dumbledore had fallen, landing with crunches and cracks on the same ground Dumbledore had landed. And Harry watched, as he had watched Dumbledore’s death, from the Astronomy Tower in silence.

Two students, who had stayed at Hogwarts for the summer holidays, found Voldemort an hour later. There were tears on his pale cheeks, and a halo of blood spread out from his head. But he was smiling.

When Death Eaters attempted to use the Horcruxes to resurrect their Lord, when they went looking for them, when they found them all of the Horcruxes were destroyed, smoking and blackened with tiny lightning bolts scratched into their surfaces.

-Cardiomyopathy by AislingSiobhan

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I really like Good Old Fashioned Loverboy by Queen. Yes you caught me, the edits on Tiktok ensnared me. Other than that I mostly listen to classical music. My personal favorite is Merry-Go-Round of Life by Joe Hisashi.

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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flopsy, who has served generations of gaunts: it’s the gaunt gene iT’S THE GAUNT GENE IT’S THE GAUNT GENE

flopsy, popping tf outta that incestuous shit:

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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voldemort: *continues to confuse being a daddy with being a sugar daddy*

all of us, trying to be encouraging:

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And she does her best not to be a bitch at her younger sister’s wedding but she can’t help blowing up at one moment and yelling, in front of a crowd, “You’re seventeen years old! You’re too young to be getting married! Far, far too young.”

And Lily looks back, emerald eyes defiant, gorgeous in her gown the way little girls always dream of, (the way Petunia dreamed her baby sister would be, blushing and resplendent and magical in the way Petunia will never be,) and says, “I love him! And there’s a war on, Tuney. There’s a war. We have to live while we can.”

And then all the anger seeps right out of Petunia’s boney fame. “What?” She asks, “what war?”

Lily shakes her head. “Please,” she pleads, voice vulnerable, “Just let me be happy on my wedding day.”

James will forever (for four years) remember Petunia as the person who yelled at his bride at her wedding. But Lily will forever remember the way Petunia sat next to her when the party was over and tucked her against her side and the sound of her older sister’s voice as it said, “You looked beautiful tonight.”

And then Petunia learned about the war. Learned about the dark mark. Magic was scarier than it was dazzling.

“Come back,” she’d begged her little sister, “It’s not worth it. It’s not.” (I’m worth it. Don’t leave me.)

“I have to. Stay safe,” and Lily went back to where Petunia could not reach her. (I'm the older sister. I'm supposed to protect you.)

-Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0

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If I'm reading a book I just skim over the fluffy parts but the angst parts? Those parts be bussing. I will savor it, write it down, preach it to my family members. Is this normal behavior or is it just me :/

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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voldemort: i am a badass dark lord and none dare stand against me

harry: i… actually have a life outside of you

voldemort:

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She thinks back to when Harry got the letters to Hogwarts and she and Vernon and Dudley grabbed her nephew and ran. Why did I let Vernon go crazy to keep the letters from reaching you, Harry?

The answer comes easily: Because I know that fairyland is beautiful but when you are spirited away you don’t come back.

-Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0

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Petunia was never as vibrant as her little sister, never as charming, never filled with that unnamable something extra.  Petunia didn’t have Lily’s magic or Lily’s true love.

Petunia lives. That’s what big sisters are supposed to do when their little sisters die. They live on for their beautiful baby sisters and do all the things their little sisters never got to do. They live on for themselves and put one step in front of the other knowing that the grief they feel will never fade but there’s a whole world out there waiting.

So Petunia Evans, the last Evans from a family of four, the woman who buried her parents and little sister, keeps going. She has days where she is cruel and days where she is joyful, but she wakes up every morning and hopes that it's enough.

Petunia Evans does not remember life before Lily. But she remembers Lily forever in the life she lives after.

-Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0

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Do I have a problem? Yes. Will I fix it? No.

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Do I have a problem? Yes. Will I fix it? No.

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Frankly I've been quite obsessed with Genshin Impact up to the point I stay up till early in the morn to grind for in-game currency. But I'm quite proud of myself because I lack patience and the game is proof that deep, deep, deep, really deep in me I have the capacity for patience :D From just having one person in my party I've got 13 now. Hopefully someday I'll have all of them. I mean a girl can dream right?

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Draco forces his eyes back to Granger, because she's the only one who can tell him what he needs to hear, tell him what he has a feeling he would rather do anything but listen to.

"Is it… Is it her?" Draco whispers, and from the corner of his vision he sees Potter's lips part over a question. Draco can't hear it, can't hear anything apart from the spinning in his head, the whooshing of his own blood, and the constant mantra of please no, no no no no. Granger's face contorts with pity, and something in her eyes shimmer, and it makes Draco mad, so fucking mad — but he can't even shout, his voice only wavers and croaks, "Is it her?"

She nods, and Draco stands shakily. He feels distant from his own body, as if he's watching from afar as he stumbles towards her. She's lying, she must be lying. It isn't true. They said — they promised —

A hand coils around his elbow, and he hears a voice — almost urgent, saying, Malfoy, Malfoy what's happened? What's going on? Hermione?

"Is it my mother?" That can't be his voice. Because Draco has never before sounded so broken and unsure — so raw and in pieces.

Granger's lips tremble. "Y-yes."

And then everything is falling falling falling. Falling apart.

-Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrimson

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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A/N from Heir Apparent by MonsieurClavier

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harry, blatantly lying: i don’t like daddies—i mean men—who aren’t emotionally mature and who don’t have a high EQ

voldemort: *desperately reading ‘Emotions For Dummies’ upside-down*