Sunshine or rain, my guitar, a good book and tea = me extremely content. 25, aspiring scientific researcher, currently residing in England. Finding my way in life :)
|| INFJ-T ||
having a nasty potions accident during the days of Sleekeasys invention. They are seen to immediately at St Mungo’s but Potter luck, potions and genetics isn’t really taken into account.
Years down the line, James is born and he’s beautiful, perfect and precious. It’s his fourth birthday and with it comes a sudden realisation that he lacks a certain level of haphazardness when it comes to his hair, and after days of talking to the family portraits and observing his father and grandfather he has a list of crayon doodled tests from which he reaches the harrowing conclusion that he’s a disgrace to the potter line and “oh-my-god-my-hair-has-manners”.
It’s completely tragic and he has worked himself up into a mess of tears and in agitation his hands fist around tufts of hair and tug and ruffle and through the snot and bleary eyes he catches his reflection in the hallway mirror and oh! its is hair all messed and rumpled and so-completely Pottered. Thus the habit begins and his parents watch with amused affection as their little terror adopts his soon to be trademark hair ruffling.
It grows as an easy habit yet by the time his Hogwarts letter comes, in a litter of feathers, owl droppings and mad excitement, there are tells in the way its done. There is the sleepy drag which leaves a wake of spiked inky tufts leading to an odd squashed flatness of fringe on his forehead, the ruffle back being too much effort. The charmer, two handed and even redirection of his locks that is normally followed with a cheeky smile. The idea, where the ruffle up is arrested midway leading to a cluster standing attention atop his head. The agitated, where volume is everywhere, as is the general direction of hair. The angry, where the messiness reaches a level of painful almost tangles smoothed out with angry tugs at his roots.
Remus is the first to be able to read James’s moods via the state of messiness. He begins to appreciate it like an obscure art and by third year all three marauders and well versed. Fourth year, Sirius is taken to the hospital wing for a broken coccyx, for falling off his broom laughing in realisation when Joanne Spinnet thanks James for the discount on Sleekeasy “I can actually see something other than my hair on the pitch”, and a concussion when said tub of hair product is thrown by a red faced Potter in retaliation. Safe to say after two, maybe three weeks of constant ribbing one prank ending with three hairless friends, “Sleekeasy” and “James” are never mentioned consecutively in conversation again.
Soon enough his magic seems to have infused in his follicles and come rain wind or snow, the vertical-ness meets no challenges. It irritates Lilly to no end. To her it just makes no sense, and if there’s one thing that any muggleborn finds hard to leave behind when learning and applying the laws of magic, it is logic. She finds her self through their years together noticing it more and more, Potter’s hair doesn’t make sense. Its fifth year, and the end of September has met and exceeded everyone’s expectations in rainfall, her charms essay is in front of her but the object of her studious scrutiny is the inexplicably dry and untameable monster crowning Potter, a bout of impulsive curiosity has her grabbing her wand wadding some spare parchment and lobbing it at her unsuspecting target. And it disappears.
James Potter effectively overcompensates for the lack of wacky hair, he feeds so much magic into it that he’s created a monster. It wasn’t just Lilly’s love that protected Harry that night. Harry’s hair, his fathers hair, that magic riddled black void probably ate the killing curse that night.
nobody on this site is ever ever EVER going to top running a blog dedicated entirely to posting cute pics of sweet old dogs in a shelter for a year and gradually becoming one of the most recognized blogs on the website, then without warning dropping “i just want to get dicked down again =/” with 0 explanation and abandoning the blog. not deleting it, not explaining anything, just leaving the whole thing as a monument. fucking flawless posting. literally the best of all time.
![visual-poetry:
“by gary stranger
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