“Timothée Chalamet was my first choice at the beginning. There was just one Paul Atreides on Earth right now for me, and there was one name on the list.”
“He’s a real movie star. He has that insane charisma. Insane charisma. You put Timothée in front of a camera and it’s an explosion.”
Fifty trade union women pictured outside City Hall, March 23, 1923. The delegation, led by the secretary of the Women's Trade Union League, Mabel Leslie, had gathered to call on Assemblyman George N. Jones before marching to the home of Assemblyman Sol Ullman to ask both men to vote for the minimum wage commission and 48-hour workweek bills.
“I think we’re rubbing off on you, Potter.” Barty snorted when James arrived. Sirius had already filled Evan and Barty in on why they wanted to come over. “I’m liking your Slytherin side, Potter. Makes me all tingly.” He rubbed his arms over his chest, head thrown back, cackling. He stopped abruptly when James caught him with a stinging hex. But even that didn’t stop his wicked mouth. “Oh, Potter, stop with the foreplay and get stuck in. I won’t tell Reg if you don’t.” Barty ended up on the floor when Evan physically shoved him off his bed. “Oi, what was that for?”
“You know I’ve got first dibs on Potter when Regulus gets bored.” Evan drawled, brushing imaginary lint from his robes.
“Then who do I get? Barty whined.
“Sirius or Remus.” Barty pondered for a second.
“Well, Sirius has the beauty,” Sirius blushed. “But it would be like shagging Reg and sorry, Sirius but no. Now Remus has the animal magnetism. I think I’d be very happy with him, at least in the bedroom department. I bet he—”
“Silencio!” James growled. Barty was suddenly cut off. His mouth was still moving, but nothing came out. He sat sulking on the floor when no one would help him reverse the spell.
James pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to purge Barty’s words from his brain. He visibly shuddered at the thought.
“Right, anyway. Can we please discuss what we’re going to do about Peter?” James spat Peter’s name out.
Fine, he might be showing a bit more of a Slytherin side, but so were the others, and his Gryffindor sense of right was roaring inside him stronger than any other will.
Peter had betrayed them. Peter was still betraying them. He’d thrown his in lot with the most evil Dark wizard the world had ever seen, and it sickened him to his core. The Marauders had given him everything. They were brothers in everything but blood. They would die for him. And yet he’d used James to get information about Sirius. He’d used James to put Sirius in danger.
A firm hand grasped his arm, and he released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
Sirius waved his wand at Barty.
“Come on then, clever clogs,” He grinned toothily at Barty. “What’s this idea you’ve been bragging about since we figured out `Peter was the spy?” Barty grinned back just as toothily.
“Sit down, Black. I’m about to rock you’re world.”
Barty’s plan was a good one. It needed a bit of fine-tuning, but James liked the idea of it. That coward was going to feel all the betrayal and hurt that the rest of the Marauders felt.
Three unemployed men start a fire for cooking in this vacant lot, where they live, March 23, 1932. These encampments were called "Hoovervilles" after President Herbert Hoover, who denied the existence of a depression.