I Write About Shifting In My Physical Diary Because There’s No Reason I Would Ever Stop Being A Shifter

how many hogwarts drs can one have, i say, creating a new pinterest board for yet another hogwarts dr. (This hasn’t happened . yet. i’ve already done it like three times. )

thinking ……………:::.

They’re so silly

why is tumblr making my life so difficult. i hate this.

　　　the chronicles of emma's marauders dr. . . ౨ৎ the autumn air at hogwarts had a peculiar bite that year. a nip that whispered, “change is coming,” as though it were a narrator leaning out of a brontë novel. for emma, however, that sixth year began not with the rustling leaves of destiny, but with the sound of the whomping willow absolutely walloping someone into oblivion.

by breakfast the next morning, the great hall was alive with its usual din of students scarfing down toast and pumpkin juice. but dumbledore’s announcement, delivered with a kind of tragic grandeur, like a king recounting the fall of troy, was anything but ordinary. the morning news announcer had met their untimely demise (or at least a rather severe concussion) courtesy of hogwarts' most aggressive tree.

emma, seated at the gryffindor table with a crumbling croissant in hand, felt a spark behind her glasses that could have lit a thousand chandeliers. galleons. no, gringotts vaults. flashed in her mind’s eye. “oh.... merlin,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the clatter of plates. the phrase wasn’t prayerful; it was jubilant.

by the time lunch rolled around, she was already halfway to mcgonagall’s office, the smell of opportunity thick as honey in the air. Interviews for the new morning news announcer would be conducted posthaste, and emma, prefect, gryffindor, academically formidable with a surname prestigious enough to make even lucius malfoy raise an eyebrow, knew the position was hers. the word "interview" was merely a formality, like calling the sky "blue" or history "long."

the waiting area was a dreary corridor with an unenthusiastic fern wilting in the corner. beside her sat a fourth-year whose nerves were strung tighter than a violin in a vivaldi concerto. “sooo… you’re trying out to be the morning announcement person too?” emma asked, her tone casual, like she was asking about the weather or whether the one who shall not be named preferred tea or coffee.

the boy stammered, every word tripping over the last like lemmings hurling themselves into the abyss. “y-yeah… i th-think it would be r-really f-fu-fun! and it’d ra-raise my s-s-s-self-esteem.” he finished with a hopeful grin, as though emma might pat him on the back and say, good for you, sport.”

emma did not.

when mcgonagall called his name—"mike"—and he shuffled inside, emma stifled a laugh that threatened to bubble up like cauldron foam. alone at last, she leaned back, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded with feline confidence. “oh, i’ve got this job in the bag,” she muttered, the phrase curling in the air like smoke from a witch’s cauldron. sure, she had her very famous anonymous newsletter...but...she had to get her voice further out there. she had to destroy coriolanus snow.

but then, because fate loves a good plot twist, third-year boy plopped down beside her, exuding the kind of overconfidence usually reserved for heroes in bad adventure novels. “who are you?” emma asked, her voice a scalpel of disinterest.

“kacey millard,” he replied with a flourish, his voice dripping with self-importance. "i’m in third year, and people have always told me i have the voice of an angel dipped in butter.” he grinned, unrepentant. “my friends call it ‘audible chocolate.’ i’m here to get that chocolate on the airwaves.”

emma’s grimace could have soured milk. before she could formulate a reply dripping with the venom of a brontë antagonist, mcgonagall emerged, dismissed mike, and gestured at emma.

inside the office, the air was heavy with that peculiar authority mcgonagall always carried. “read this,” the professor instructed, handing emma a sheet of parchment.

emma adopted an expression so innocent it could’ve been sold at a toy shop. “professor...excuse my french, but what’s a ‘moronic old hag of a woman’?”

mcgonagall blinked, bewildered. “what? why are you asking me that?”

“well,” emma began with the sweetness of a poisoned apple, “it’s just that the..kid.. kacey said that’s what you were.”

when emma stepped out of the office, kacey was waiting, his face alight with misplaced optimism. she gave him a slow, toothy grin that could have made the mona lisa blush. he looked horrified.

the morning at hogwarts dawned with the crispness of parchment freshly unfurled. the kind of air that whispered secrets through the castle’s draughty corridors. emma, perched at the head of the gryffindor table, was already flipping through the day’s announcements with the air of someone holding a map to buried treasure. and fully prepared to narrate the excavation. her prefect badge glinted under the enchanted ceiling, and her quill was poised to scribble some commentary.

by mid-morning, the great hall’s enchanted speakers crackled to life, carrying emma’s dulcet tones to every corner of the castle. her voice was bright and poised, the kind of tone that one might mistake for innocence… until it wasn’t.

“morning, hogwarts,” she began, the voice drawing out the attention of even the most half-asleep students. “these are the morning announcements, and i am emma [...]. all forms for the schoolbook must be handed to mr. flitwick in his office by the end of the school day today.” she paused, humming lightly in mock thoughtfulness. “doesn’t seem like they gave us a lot of notice on that. oh well.”

her quill twirled idly as she read on. “for lunch today, the great hall will be serving a variety of foods from europe… in celebration of… europe week.” she paused again, this time with a languid sigh. “remember when we used to have a more broad variety of foods? i mean, what has happened to our school? this school is transforming into something really bad. and why? because we have leadership that doesn’t care. i’m talking, of course, about our student body president, coriolanus snow.”

somewhere in the middle of potions, coriolanus (also known as emma's nr one biggest rival, so much so, that lily coined it a cold war) rolled his eyes, a gesture as elegant as it was disdainful. his quill paused mid-stroke, though he didn’t bother looking up from his parchment.

emma’s voice carried on, growing bolder with every syllable. “ever since coriolanus was elected student body president, this school has started a rapid decline towards some… socialist regime, where students no longer have a voice.” she let the silence that followed sit for just a beat too long, perfectly calibrated for dramatic effect.

“the astronomy tower will be closed off today,” she continued, picking up the parchment again. “all students in the astronomy class will be meeting in the divination classroom instead.” there was an audible rustle as she tossed the parchment aside. “oh, so now the school is using money to do something to the astronomy tower. how old and outdated is our quidditch field? what other school has a 400-year-old quidditch field? our school president is turning this whole place into communist russia. it’s not a coincidence that once coriolanus snow took off, this school started falling apart at the seams. your professors don’t want to tell you, but they are scared, and they should be. because the very fabric of this school is tearing in all corners.”

a few students exchanged wide-eyed glances. somewhere, a hufflepuff whispered nervously, “oh, jeez.”

emma, unfazed and evidently thriving, leaned back in her chair. she held the microphone with one hand, the other gesturing grandly as though she were conducting an orchestra. “but, hey,” she said, her tone pivoting seamlessly to mock humility, “i’m just a normal kid just like you, except that i ask questions. and because i’m brave enough to ask questions, i come under scrutiny.” she paused for effect.

“is coriolanus using your hogsmeade galleons to buy narcotics? probably not. but how can we know?! i don’t want my hogsmeade money going to drugs! who’s taking these drugs? is coriolanus letting them? what would be the point? i’m asking questions.”

the broadcast ended with a resounding click as the speakers cut off abruptly. likely due to professor mcgonagall storming into the broadcast room and yanking the magical connection herself. but the damage, as they say, was done. by the time the echoes of emma’s words faded from the hallways, her name was already on every student’s lips, a ripple of chaos spreading through the castle like fiendfyre. james and sirius were probably clapping somewhere in the classrooms. bravo.

she, of course, manipulated her way to being able to tell the morning announcements again.

“good morning, students,” she started one morning. “the quidditch team practices are friday afternoon. that is, of course, if our student body president does something about our abysmal quidditch field. i have a question: what does coriolanus snow actually do? he’s supposed to be the president, right? what is his agenda? he’s lying to everyone. or is he? let’s ask these questions.”

and that happened the next day.

“now i want to talk briefly about the state of our school’s economy. the bake sale last week was a complete failure.”

anddd the next.

“and besides that, who actually voted for coriolanus snow?” she plopped the paper on the table for dramatic effect. “i know i didn’t. and everyone who did is now scratching their heads and going, ‘whoops. guess i shouldn’t have done that.’”

andddd the next.

“i’m not in the student council. i’m just a normal kid like all of you, and like all of you, i want to know what has happened to my schkewl.”

soon, she had a full-on room dedicated to her. props and all. she even asked lily to give her muggle soundtape so she could add a little foreword music… it being ‘queen.’

“lunch today is going to be, as always, a feast without any apple pasties. again,” she sighed. “friends, our school is dying and you know it. you feel it. you’re like me, you wanna change it. but, oh no, coriolanus snow’s not going to let that happen. this is not the school that we grew up in. and i don’t know if i can get it back.”

the corridors of hogwarts were quiet, the sort of silence that felt like the school itself was holding its breath. emma’s footsteps echoed against the stone walls as she twirled her wand absentmindedly, her prefect badge catching the dim glow of the torches. beside her, coriolanus snow walked with his usual posture of practiced disdain, his robes pristine and his prefect badge gleaming as though it had never seen a speck of dust.

“you’re an idiot,” he said without looking at her, his voice cool and clipped, like a professor reprimanding a particularly unruly first-year.

emma, unbothered as ever, smiled up at him. “you’re going to have to be more specific. i’ve been called many things, but i like to know what particular brand of idiocy i’m being accused of tonight.”

he stopped walking, turning to face her with a look that could have frozen the entire black lake. “you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

she tilted her head, her expression a mask of innocence that only made him more exasperated. “oh, is this about the morning announcements? i thought i’d been doing quite a service to the school. rousing the masses, asking the tough questions, exposing corruption—”

“you’re calling me a communist.”

“technically,” she said, holding up a finger, “i’m calling you the architect of a socialist regime, which is much more nuanced.”

coriolanus pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. “do you even understand how ridiculous you sound? me? a communist? i’m a pureblood slytherin with a lineage that practically glows in the dark from its superiority complex. my father was the minister of magic, for merlin’s sake.”

emma’s toothy smile softened slightly as she reached out and lightly tapped his arm with her wand. “relax, coryo. it’s just a bit of fun.”

“it’s not fun when half the school is whispering behind my back and the other half is calling me comrade snow,” he snapped, though there was a trace of something weary beneath the irritation. she suppressed a laugh. "merlin, first it was that reckless anonymous newsletter, now this."

she stopped twirling her wand and tucked it away, her grin fading into something gentler. “oh, come on. you don’t actually care what they think, do you? you’re coriolanus snow. nothing sticks to you. you’re like teflon.”

his brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked almost…tired. “of course i care. do you have any idea how much i’ve worked to maintain my reputation? people like you can get away with this…this foolishness because everyone already adores you. but me?”

emma’s heart did a funny little twist at the vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his usual armor. “well, if it makes you feel any better,” she said, taking a half-step closer, “i’ve always thought you were brilliant.”

he blinked, caught off guard. “you have?”

“don’t let it go to your head,” she teased, her toothy smile returning. “but yes. i may not agree with…well, most of what you say or do, but you’re clever. ambitious, i suppose. you’ve got that whole dark and brooding thing down to an art form.”

for a moment, he just stared at her, his gray eyes searching hers as if trying to decide whether or not she was mocking him. then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“you’re insufferable,” he said, but his tone lacked its usual bite.

“you’re welcome,” she replied breezily.

they resumed their patrol, the silence between them lighter now, almost companionable. as they turned a corner, emma glanced at him from the corner of her eye. maybe she did...sort of cross a line.

“you know,” she said, her voice soft, “if it’s really bothering you, i’ll stop with the announcements. i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

he stopped again, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “you’d do that?”

"sure,” she said, shrugging. “just say the word. i'm a bit too lazy to write all that stuff anyway.”

he hesitated, then shook his head. “no. if you stopped now, everyone would think i forced you. and besides…” he allowed himself a small, wry smile. “your idiotic ramblings are strangely…endearing.”

she laughed, a bright, clear sound that echoed through the empty corridor. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

as they continued their patrol, emma couldn’t help but notice the faintest hint of warmth in his voice when he said, “don’t let it go to your head.”

　you'll love me at once , the way you did once upon a dream 　　　　　an ask game inspired from @miaojune ౨ৎ ‧ ₊ ⊹ reblog for asks

🪄 . . .  the three good fairies : if you could be granted three things in your dr, gifts, powers, blessings, what would t hey be? what do you most want to take with you?

💌 . . .  true love’s kiss : what’s the kind of love that exists in your dr? romantic or otherwise. is it tender? unhinged? slow like honey or fast like teeth?

📜  . . . the spindle's prophecy : what’s written in the margins of your dr script? little details you never tell anyone but always include? symbols, colours, names, the way the light hits the window at 4pm?

🧹 . . .  the forest cottage : what’s your hideaway? where do you go in your dr when you need to disappear? what’s in that room no one else sees?

🎀 . . .  the dress that changes colours : blue or pink? chaos or calm? what aesthetic contradiction lives inside you? what version of you is at war with the other?

🛏️ . . . one hundred years of sleep : what’s something you're willing to wait for, even if it takes lifetimes? what’s your most ancient desire?

🐍 . . .  the green flames : what’s dangerous in your dr but too beautiful to resist? what do you touch even though you know you shouldn’t?

♣️ . . .  the moment before the spindle : what’s your favourite stillness in your dr? the inhale before the gasp, the step before the fall?

🧁 . . .  the crooked birthday cake : what's imperfect in your dr, but still precious? what detail's a little wrong, a little lopsided, and that's exactly why it matters?

🪁 . . . merryweather’s wish : what’s one wish that rewrites something dark in your dr? a last-minute change to a prophecy, a loophole, a secret softening?

🐦‍⬛ . . .  maleficent’s raven : do you have a pet? a familiar? a pair of eyes in the dark?

🕯️  . . . the cursed spindle : what object in your dr is the most dangerous but the most irresistible? what’s your version of “don’t touch that”?

🪶 . . . the owl with the hat and the coat : is there a moment in your dr that’s a little silly, a little theatrical, totally yours?

🩰 . . .  the woodland waltz : what song always plays in the background of your dr, even if it’s just in your head? what’s your forest soundtrack?

🌙  . . . the sleep dust : what’s something in your dr that puts you at peace instantly? a person? a smell? a phrase? something narcotic and gentle.

🥀 . . .  the thorns : what’s a detail in your dr that keeps others out? protective, defensive, painful. but necessary.

how i feel scripting my drs — ꪆ୧

moments I'd forgotten about: jackbox nonsensory

　what's in my marauders dr bag . . packed & ready

hiii hiiii hiiiii this is just a little peek inside my bag from my marauders dr. she's heavy, slightly cursed, probably illegal in at least three wizarding jurisdictions. i've had her since fourth year, she was a gift from my aunt effie. technically it's a charmed handbag (ignore the dior labels, this is the closest one i could find), but she's been through so much she's basically sentient now. anyway. here's what’s inside. she's messy. she's loved. she's full of secrets and seashells and other girly things. ( p.s., the prettiest top collage ever inspired from this prettiest post ever )

﹐ a lip gloss called "veritaserum." and another lip gloss named "blood witch" from that one weird potions girl who makes bootleg beauty products behind the greenhouse.

﹐ a blood quill, obviously. for correspondence and kink.

﹐ a note from sirius black that just says "?"

﹐ my head girl badge.

﹐ mints i stole from slughorn's office in 4th year.

﹐ banned potions disguised in vitamin bottles

﹐ the tears of a veela. mine.

﹐ a howler i refuse to open because i know it's from my mother.

﹐ a hexed compact mirror that only shows enemies.

﹐ the frog from divination class. he is named jean-paul croak-tre.

﹐ five galleons. one is cursed. i forget which.

﹐ an unopened chocolate frog card. i know it's rowena ravenclaw. i'm saving it for when i need her advice

﹐ dried rose petals and cigarette ash from last tuesday's séance.

﹐ bubblegum that explodes. literally.

﹐ a cursed friendship bracelet from a girl i hexed in first year. still cute though.

﹐ three different copies of witch weekly for literary reasons.

﹐ scraps of parchment with half-written poems and full mental breakdowns.

﹐ a pin that says "kiss me i'm fluent in latin."

﹐ a pressed four-leaf clover from the forbidden forest (don't ask).

﹐ a note from from my boyfriend.

﹐ a tiny bronze bell from a slavic shrine, wrapped in satin. never rings unless danger is near.

﹐ one (1) extremely illegal time-turner hidden inside an empty chocolate box.

﹐ my wand (9¾, cedar, unicorn hair, emotionally unstable).

﹐ parchment. quill. inkpot. all monogrammed. all haunted.

﹐ torn page from witch weekly titled "do pureblood girls get to have fun?" (answer: yes, but only if they're armed.)

　˖ ˚ ⋅　charmed cigarette case with . . . two cloves. one sweetroll (half-squashed). a list of the cutest boys in our year, produced by ten girls in the 4th year, later re-produced a couple years after. cigarettes....obviously. a silver heart keychain. a tiny scroll scroll of things i have to not do as head girl.

﹐ ancient-looking ring i stole from my great-aunt.

﹐ homework with sirius black's teeth marks in the corner. yeah, don't ask.

﹐ honeydukes receipt for . . . 1 exploding bonbon, 4 sugar quills, and 13 salted licorice wands (stress eating is a sport).

﹐ half-written essay on the goblin rebellions of 1612 that just says "goblins were right actually."

﹐ lip liners in every shade.

﹐ cracked seashell from a childhood holiday in marseille. sharp. sacred. kissed by selkies, probably.

﹐ antique silver compact mirror from my great-grandmother, hexed to say affirmations and family gossip.

﹐ tiny pair of embroidery scissors shaped like a stork. somehow menacing.

﹐ loose pearls, but not from a necklace, i just collect them.

﹐ stray earring with a snake motif. not mine. no intention of returning it.

﹐ combs. so many combs. why so many combs? you'll never know.

﹐ the marauders map i took from cousin james as he is not to be trusted with it.

﹐ a flask (yes it is alcohol, yes it is needed, yes it is not allowed).

﹐ a bloodstained tarot card. not mine. not recent.

﹐ red ribbon from the last slytherin vs gryffindor match i won. magically preserved in the shape of a middle finger.

　˖ ˚ ⋅　undetectable extension charm containing . . . silk gloves from paris. stolen love potion. backup wand. emergency frogspawn soap. flask of undiluted veritaserum. first edition copy of the inferi's wife annotated in glitter pen. pressed wildflowers from the forbidden forest. allegedly non-toxic. allegedly.

﹐ quill that autocorrects any essay to sound at least three iq points smarter.

﹐ small photograph of me & james at age 7. he's holding a frog. i'm holding a knife. balance.

﹐ scented stationary from an obscure russian stationery house run by veela descendants.

﹐ sugar mouse i never ate. i think it might be sentient now.

﹐ slip of parchment that says "do you believe in fate? circle one: yes / no / maybe" in black ink.

﹐ password list for all the house common rooms. not for sneaking. for diplomacy. obviously.

﹐ folded note from mary that says "if i die during potions, avenge me."

﹐ library ban list (handwritten by madam pince) that i'm definitely not respecting.

﹐ my secret head girl journal. every page booby-trapped with a mild jinx so boys can't read it.

﹐ a secret staircase chart annotated with little hearts where coryo has kissed me / pissed me off.

﹐ list of hexes i know in alphabetical order. "accidental castration" is under "a."

﹐ tiny crystal i stole off dumbledore's desk. no reason. it's just pretty. i think he's onto me.

shanks’ fuck ass pants appreciation post