a couple things
Ok, since no one else is doing it, I'm writing the Eames is a wizard story. I scribbled some stuff down tonight.
Eames's childhood bloomed in the brittle days between wars. The most recent wars. There was a texture of complacency amongst the families least effected by Voldemort which roughened in his early teen years when people began airing out homes in Buenos Aires and Istanbul, Roanoke and Mumbai. Voices were subdued as they sighed over cocktails they're at it again and Voldemort was no Grindlewald. Eames was weaned on haughty annoyance that people couldn't just rise above and stop all the nonsense. He knew vaguely that certain elements ceaselessly caused trouble in wizarding Britain, but his sense of what that trouble was besides distasteful was inchoate.
Eames, who was then, of course, Charlie, was in his sixth year at Hogwarts when Harry Potter matriculated. Everything started the summer before hand, when whispers began about The Boy Who Lived. Most people were incredulous that the child was alive, and the worst sort of vicious rumors claimed he lived in the muggle world. No one really believed that. Mummy owled from Les Eyzies-
Darling,
Beauxbatons is holding a spot for you. Isn't Scotland a bit bleak for someone with your exuberance? France is more your style, certainly.
She made no demands, because that's not how things were done. Eames was old enough to make his own choices according to the older traditions than the Ministry mandated seventeen years of majority. He doesn't even remember replying to the letter, or even if he did. He was sixteen, the deathless age when nothing seems impossible but most things appear improbable. Voldemort was a scary children's story told by Gryffindors and historians. His family had very little involvement in the Voldemort scrum, they looked down on involvement in the Ministry as beneath them (who becomes embroiled in politics at the level, really) and grudges against muggles had proven distasteful since Grindlewald. Eames was raised to scorn The Order of the Phoenix as idealistic bumblers and Deatheaters as backwards malcontents. Most importantly, he was raised to see everyone on both sides of that particular struggle as deluded cultists.
This will appeal to, like, two other people, but I CANNOT NOT MAKE THIS. So, there you go. Maybe tomorrow I can really work on this. I have a couple ideas.
And a link: a fic whose canon is Famous Blue Raincoat by Leonard Cohen How awesome is this shit?
Wait, a Buffy reboot movie? I don't even know what my feelings are on this!
Eames's childhood bloomed in the brittle days between wars. The most recent wars. There was a texture of complacency amongst the families least effected by Voldemort which roughened in his early teen years when people began airing out homes in Buenos Aires and Istanbul, Roanoke and Mumbai. Voices were subdued as they sighed over cocktails they're at it again and Voldemort was no Grindlewald. Eames was weaned on haughty annoyance that people couldn't just rise above and stop all the nonsense. He knew vaguely that certain elements ceaselessly caused trouble in wizarding Britain, but his sense of what that trouble was besides distasteful was inchoate.
Eames, who was then, of course, Charlie, was in his sixth year at Hogwarts when Harry Potter matriculated. Everything started the summer before hand, when whispers began about The Boy Who Lived. Most people were incredulous that the child was alive, and the worst sort of vicious rumors claimed he lived in the muggle world. No one really believed that. Mummy owled from Les Eyzies-
Darling,
Beauxbatons is holding a spot for you. Isn't Scotland a bit bleak for someone with your exuberance? France is more your style, certainly.
She made no demands, because that's not how things were done. Eames was old enough to make his own choices according to the older traditions than the Ministry mandated seventeen years of majority. He doesn't even remember replying to the letter, or even if he did. He was sixteen, the deathless age when nothing seems impossible but most things appear improbable. Voldemort was a scary children's story told by Gryffindors and historians. His family had very little involvement in the Voldemort scrum, they looked down on involvement in the Ministry as beneath them (who becomes embroiled in politics at the level, really) and grudges against muggles had proven distasteful since Grindlewald. Eames was raised to scorn The Order of the Phoenix as idealistic bumblers and Deatheaters as backwards malcontents. Most importantly, he was raised to see everyone on both sides of that particular struggle as deluded cultists.
This will appeal to, like, two other people, but I CANNOT NOT MAKE THIS. So, there you go. Maybe tomorrow I can really work on this. I have a couple ideas.
And a link: a fic whose canon is Famous Blue Raincoat by Leonard Cohen How awesome is this shit?
Wait, a Buffy reboot movie? I don't even know what my feelings are on this!