into the thick of it
Welcome to Potter’s Army

Welcome to Potter's Army

We have been a Harry Potter Roleplaying site since 2007. If you're an old member we hope you come check out the discord link provided below. And if you're looking for a new roleplaying site, well, we're a little inactive. But every once and a while nostalgia sets in and a few of our alumni members will revisit the old stomping grounds and post together. Remember to stay safe out there. And please feel free to drop a line whenever!

into the thick of it Li9olo10

What’s Happening?
Since every few months or so a few of our old members get the inspiration to revisit their old stomping grounds we have decided to keep PA open as a place to revisit old threads and start new ones devoid of any serious overarching plot or setting. Take this time to start any of those really weird threads you never got to make with old friends and make them now! Just remember to come say hello in the chatbox below or in the discord. Links have been provided in the "Comings and Goings" forum as well as the welcome widget above.

into the thick of it

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Post by Josie Mo Jansen Fri Apr 28, 2023 10:23 pm

He was yelling at her in French.

Her grandfather already felt comfortable enough with her presence in his home to call her a malicious sprite, waving his arms about as he rearranged the kitchen cabinets to the way he had them before she fixed them. She paid him no mind as he did, her soul was patient. Once he went on his walk with the nurse from Mungo’s she would just put everything back the way she liked. Their battle of neuroses would continue. He could choke on a biscuit.

He turned to her, his wispy hair blowing every which way as he continued on in his Parisian tirade. “You also threw out my soup tins. I was saving those for something important.”

“I don’t speak French,” she explained calmly without looking up, and he stuttered over himself. She glanced up at him and he waved a hand at her tottering off. She was surprised how often that worked. It didn’t matter how many times she stayed up with him listening to Edith Piaf, or how many times he asked her about her time in Beauxbatons, there was always a fifty/fifty chance he believed she didn’t speak the language the next day. It was probably unethical to exploit her grandfather's senility but there was no one else here. Better some light teasing than the solitude he’d had before.

“Where are you going?” she said, her Danish accent making music of the vowels as she arched an eyebrow. He spun around, sputtering in frustration. “The garden! Or can’t I do that anymore?”

She smoothed her lips into a line, a silent Well, saying nothing until he walked out the door. She murmured, “your hat” more for her own satisfaction than anything else. And sure enough, she had just finished spreading jam on her toast when he came back in and swiped his cabby hat from the hook next to the door. She raised her bread in a toast and he scoffed before heading out.

It was a beautiful Sunday. When she left her Famor in the comfortable care of the nurse who had the patience of a saint, she continued her now annual practice of a walk through her new-ish neighborhood, before ticking off another antique store from her list. She’d spent plenty of time in London, had briefly lived here for a year of so after school, but this was feeling oddly more permanent than the times before. She couldn’t envision a world in which she left while her grandfather was alive.

A spiced pear scone and coffee consumed, and she withdrew her list of shops. Borgin & Burke’s was next, in some place called Knockturn Alley. She looked up at the ramshacke sign and shrugged, before stepping onto the path.

Should be fun.
Josie Mo Jansen
Josie Mo Jansen

Number of posts : 42

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