(no subject)
WHO: Michael and Morag
WHERE: Morag's house
WHAT: Just some time together! Maybe it will keep them both sane and provoid some happiness.
WHEN: December 27th, sometime in the later afternoon.
RATING: PG?
STATUS: In progress
To Michael, Christmas was supposed to be a time for feeling happy, spending time with those he didn't get to see very often, and eating good food. In the past, it had been just that. There had always been gifts to get, people to see, and those delicious smells of pies and pine and cinnamon to explore every morning when he woke up. It had never been too difficult to adjust to going from Hogwarts to his own house and then back to Hogwarts again, mainly because each place had always held that welcoming atmosphere, that one that drew him right in and made him feel like nothing could ever go wrong. Hogwarts had changed, however. Something had been off since he walked onto the Hogwarts Express that very first morning, and like a tidal wave things only seemed to spiral out of control from there. It wasn't unspoken, unseen danger that he'd felt during his first six years, but it was actually tangible, something he could see and touch and hear. It was readable on nearly every face he passed, and even though he wanted to pretend that the only thing he had to worry about was Quidditch and whether or not he was going to be having a good hair day, now there was so much more to dread at Hogwarts.
But things at his own house were hardly like they used to be, too. While it was certainly better than being at Hogwarts, minus the fact that he didn't have Anthony and Terry sleeping near him or couldn't walk down to the common room to see Morag easily, it was still different. His father was drinking a bit more than he usually did, which led to his emotional presence being almost completely distorted. His mother was so paranoid that she walked with a spatula tucked into her pocket. Somehow she had figured out just what exactly was truly going on, and she was responding to it in worse ways than Michael. Michael's reactions to everything were the numb sort, the kind where he could only watch with exhaustion and shake his head. It hadn't been the worse Christmas ever, and he'd still had plenty to eat, but if he stayed cooped up in his house any longer he would have gone mad. If only he could have just permanently moved in with Anthony, for that had been a nice escape from the ordinary, but there was someone else on his mind.
The knitted hat on Michael's head was constantly get shifted around from his prodding fingers as he stood outside of Morag's house and stared at the door. That swirling sensation was still in his stomach from having just apparated, but thoughts of Morag were taking over as he finally reached his arm out and tapped on the door, clearing his throat.
WHERE: Morag's house
WHAT: Just some time together! Maybe it will keep them both sane and provoid some happiness.
WHEN: December 27th, sometime in the later afternoon.
RATING: PG?
STATUS: In progress
To Michael, Christmas was supposed to be a time for feeling happy, spending time with those he didn't get to see very often, and eating good food. In the past, it had been just that. There had always been gifts to get, people to see, and those delicious smells of pies and pine and cinnamon to explore every morning when he woke up. It had never been too difficult to adjust to going from Hogwarts to his own house and then back to Hogwarts again, mainly because each place had always held that welcoming atmosphere, that one that drew him right in and made him feel like nothing could ever go wrong. Hogwarts had changed, however. Something had been off since he walked onto the Hogwarts Express that very first morning, and like a tidal wave things only seemed to spiral out of control from there. It wasn't unspoken, unseen danger that he'd felt during his first six years, but it was actually tangible, something he could see and touch and hear. It was readable on nearly every face he passed, and even though he wanted to pretend that the only thing he had to worry about was Quidditch and whether or not he was going to be having a good hair day, now there was so much more to dread at Hogwarts.
But things at his own house were hardly like they used to be, too. While it was certainly better than being at Hogwarts, minus the fact that he didn't have Anthony and Terry sleeping near him or couldn't walk down to the common room to see Morag easily, it was still different. His father was drinking a bit more than he usually did, which led to his emotional presence being almost completely distorted. His mother was so paranoid that she walked with a spatula tucked into her pocket. Somehow she had figured out just what exactly was truly going on, and she was responding to it in worse ways than Michael. Michael's reactions to everything were the numb sort, the kind where he could only watch with exhaustion and shake his head. It hadn't been the worse Christmas ever, and he'd still had plenty to eat, but if he stayed cooped up in his house any longer he would have gone mad. If only he could have just permanently moved in with Anthony, for that had been a nice escape from the ordinary, but there was someone else on his mind.
The knitted hat on Michael's head was constantly get shifted around from his prodding fingers as he stood outside of Morag's house and stared at the door. That swirling sensation was still in his stomach from having just apparated, but thoughts of Morag were taking over as he finally reached his arm out and tapped on the door, clearing his throat.