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Q: How do you see Hermione? I feel like most people dont like her
— Anonymous

In my experience, I come across more people who over-idolize her!  I like her but for very different reasons than idolization.

Over the years, Hermione’s become an icon for the bookworm. I don’t see her that way. I think she’s someone who knows how to use her resources wisely, who strives for excellence and perfection, who is prepared, and who wants to be respected for all of these traits—which is great but I don’t think it makes her a bookworm like she’s oft characterized. She’s practical, but not so much a lover of knowledge that would place her in Ravenclaw.

I see her as an activist. An aggressive, sometimes-damaging activist for reasons that this post can explain better than I can. I think at her core, Hermione needs to be correct and likes feeling needed. She would rather mold other people to fit her views of correctness than concede. While I frame these traits negatively, they’re the flip side of the traits I mentioned in the paragraph earlier, on the negative extremity. Hermione can be hardworking but also overworking, determined but also pushy, usually on the mark but also very very wrong.

And I can relate to that. I can relate to that better than the flawless Hermione the movies gave us. Better than the Hermione who is beautiful all along, a trope that I find detrimental to representation of nerd girls. Better than the Hermione who is compared to Cho, Lavender, Pansy and elevated by somehow being less emotional, fanatical or conniving (she isn’t but that’s how it’s written, and I fault JKR for that). Hermione may not always be a great person, and that’s why I like her.

— Gina

Q: Do you think Draco's the type of guy who likes a challenging girl (the one who challenges him/his ego and is competitive) or a girl who's sweet and charming enough to appear as very vulnerable?
— Anonymous

    For the brightest witch of your age, you are a foolish girl.    Can you hear your heart? It beats like a bird’s. You can feel it pulse in your wrists and your neck and your chest. You’re frightened. There’s an incredible, intense agony in your head, something more marvellous than you could ever imagine.    You have a right to be scared.    The air burns around you. The molten silver binds you. The precious stones melt and leak into your mind like liquid, shimmering poison. Wit beyond measure is what you always wanted. Perhaps you didn’t anticipate how painful it would be.    It was easy enough to come here when the library failed you. It was easy enough to stop on the seventh floor after dinner with quills and fresh parchment, a borrowed map in your hand and a phrase etched in your thoughts. I need to know what Horcruxes are.    The room always provides.
[[MORE]]
    You expected books on dark magic. You wandered for at least half an hour before, out of boredom, you decided to put on the stupid, tarnished tiara some long-forgotten student had abandoned. You thought it might give you a laugh, you thought that Ron might find it funny – how your adolescent heart almost stopped your hand, how the sad sickness of your infatuation almost made you deaf to the whispering! A disease, nothing more, and you have no need for it. You know what Horcruxes are now, and you wish you didn’t. You expected books. You didn’t expect the real thing.    Of course killing splits the soul. Is that not obvious? Think, Granger, think of it. How many did he kill? You don’t know. You could figure it out if you really thought about it, even if it made you weep, even if it poisoned your mind more. Think, Granger. You might be next.    What will you do with this knowledge? Will you rule the world? Everyone wants that, Granger, surely you do too? With two minds tangled like this, you could control them all. Kill them. Build a new world. You should have been a Ravenclaw. The Sorting Hat had no right to put you into Gryffindor. But Ravenclaw will help you.    You could rule the world, but you’re a mudblood and you’re nothing, nothing at all. The diadem is little more than beaten tin on your ungrateful head. Won’t you give it to someone more worthy, someone with blood richer, more pure than yours? You’re tainted, and this is why it burns you. This is why you’re knocking old books and looking-glasses to the floor and sending up screams to echo in the distant rafters. You know it isn’t yours. A more rightful heir stands a few feet away, his hands trembling. Give it to him.    You fall at the feet of the old Vanishing cabinet. Glass and splinters bury themselves in your hands, the pain like a dusting of stars. It is nothing compared to the pain in your head. Even the whites of your eyes seem to be on fire.    Horcruxes - the only word to reach your lips. The voice, however, isn’t yours.    Horcruxes.    You stumble, finding the floor with your hands.    Killing rips the soul in two.    Of course it does. Didn’t you know? It tears your soul like parchment. But it’s worth it, Granger, so worth it. A mudblood, anyway – your soul is worthless. Flimsier. Worth a grain of dirt and no more. Can I call you Hermione now that you’re trying to rip me from your head?    I’ve always been here, Hermione. Why else would you have lifted the necklace from his bedside table and taken it here to hide? A way of killing two birds with one stone, you’d thought. Find the meaning of Horcruxes and destroy his girlfriend’s silly love token in one go. You clasp the metal so hard that it digs into your hand, that, when you release it, the words my sweetheart will be engraved into your hand.    Give it to the boy. He’s closer now. All you have to do is fall at his feet. Depose yourself and crown him instead, his blood is purer, worth more to the drop than yours. The word you’re looking for is please, Granger, but you don’t control your own voice anymore. But somehow, he understands, and he obliges, and he tears the diadem from your head.    I’m still here. Neither of us understand the look in his eyes. You know him, but it’s as if he’s a poor copy of the one you know. Too pale to be real. Too cold. Trembling, on the verge of collapsing into separate parts. An inferius, you deduce, and scream.    But inferius or not, he has a mind. He has mercy, although he doesn’t owe you a thing. And he has a spell that he must take his time over, because to fumble it will be to fumble a year’s work on that cabinet.    He bears it for a moment more. Then a single word. Obliviate.

    For the brightest witch of your age, you are a foolish girl.
    Can you hear your heart? It beats like a bird’s. You can feel it pulse in your wrists and your neck and your chest. You’re frightened. There’s an incredible, intense agony in your head, something more marvellous than you could ever imagine.
    You have a right to be scared.
    The air burns around you. The molten silver binds you. The precious stones melt and leak into your mind like liquid, shimmering poison. Wit beyond measure is what you always wanted. Perhaps you didn’t anticipate how painful it would be.
    It was easy enough to come here when the library failed you. It was easy enough to stop on the seventh floor after dinner with quills and fresh parchment, a borrowed map in your hand and a phrase etched in your thoughts. I need to know what Horcruxes are.
    The room always provides.

Read more

SLYTHERIN CLASS OF 1999 - WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

    In Hogwarts’ 1999 crop of successful graduates, there is a notable absence. What has become of the students of Slytherin house? The Knockturn Correspondent tracked down Slytherin’s class of 1999 and found out what has become of them since leaving the prestigious school.
    first row, l-r: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle
    second row, l-r: Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson
    BLAISE ZABINI: Once a minor fixture in gossip columns, the only son of beautiful socialite Adaeze Zabini has somewhat fallen off the radar. Our search revealed that he now works for Gringotts Bank, although he told us that his position is ‘strictly classified’. Gringotts management refused to comment.
    THEODORE NOTT: The only remaining member of the once-wealthy Nott family tarnished by associations with You-Know-Who, Nott has taken up a job with the International Magical Trading Standards Body after graduating with six Outstanding N.E.W.T.s.
    GREGORY GOYLE: Currently working as a security guard for a number of establishments in Knockturn alley. Refused to give any information on his friendship with Draco Malfoy, who resisted all our attempts at contact.
    TRACEY DAVIS: Working as deputy manager of Slug & Jiggers Apothecary on Diagon Alley. Potions research papers that she has co-authored can be found in many notable journals, and when we interviewed her she expressed a desire to take in further qualifications in Potion Engineering.
    DAPHNE GREENGRASS: Currently unemployed, and turned down many of our requests for a formal interview, although her younger sister Astoria is rumoured to be engaged to the elusive Draco Malfoy.
    PANSY PARKINSON: A writer for weekly magazine Cauldron Chat who could almost be considered a household name. Dispenses advice in her regular agony aunt column, and often appears the papparazzi pages of Witch Weekly. Currently in a relationship with Cormac McLaggen, a reserve player for the Falmouth Falcons, current champions of the Quidditch League.
    Despite our best efforts, we could not reach Millicent Bulstrode, Sophie Roper, or Draco Malfoy for comment. 

Q: the kings in Romania thing. aren't the "kings" the dragons? that's how i understood it.
— Anonymous

Indeed! A metaphor :D

on that note, sorry for the lack of posting still! We’re still here, just super busy; I hope you don’t mind an inactive blog in your follow lists for awhile. We’ve also received a number of really nice anons—thank you very much for the love! ^__^

Julia edit: wheee looks like our jobs and various commitments got the better of us. Thanks so much for all your support & kind words and I hope we can post some new material soon!


Luna’s mother & fairytales; requested by anonymous
Luna’s mother & fairytales; requested by anonymous
Q: Um..about your chatlie weasley edit.. umm.. we don't have a king in Romania. Just sayin'.
— Anonymous

It’s a metaphor!

Julia: 

I couldn’t resist sorry.

Was Fleur afraid of her daughter? Not always, but there were times in the holidays when Victoire came home bristling, reeking of sweat and beer, talking of circle pits and amplifiers that made her ears ring for days on end. Times when she’d come home with a silver ring punctured through her nose and a storm boiling behind her eyes. Or when she’d come home and shear her hair off with kitchen scissors. That was when she was afraid. (x)
Was Fleur afraid of her daughter? Not always, but there were times in the holidays when Victoire came home bristling, reeking of sweat and beer, talking of circle pits and amplifiers that made her ears ring for days on end. Times when she’d come home with a silver ring punctured through her nose and a storm boiling behind her eyes. Or when she’d come home and shear her hair off with kitchen scissors. 
That was when she was afraid. (x)
Apologies for the late acceptance letter. Or maybe you were taking classes all along?

Apologies for the late acceptance letter. Or maybe you were taking classes all along?


THOMAS & FINNEGAN - GOOD BREWS, GOOD CRAIC   Seamus Finnegan, co-founder of fledgling brewery Thomas & Finnegan, is excited to announced the launch of the brand’s first craft beer, an IPA.   Finnegan’s India Pale Ale, which will be sold in the duo’s Diagon Alley bar from this Monday, is crafted from English hops and has a distinct, hoppy flavour which makes it a perfect pairing for spicy foods.   Thomas and Finnegan, who established their company in 2003, have recently secured investment from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes Inc.    ’We want to see our brews on tap in all good pubs. The Leaky, the Three Broomsticks,’ Finnegan said, when asked about his plans for the company’s future. ‘If anyone’s as much of a hophead as me and Dean, then this will be the beer for them.’    Dean Thomas, Finnegan’s long-running business partner, had more prosaic aims in mind.     ‘As long as Seamus makes enough money to buy his flipping moustache wax, he’ll be happy. Rent isn’t cheap either.’    Thomas also dropped hints that the pair plan to produce a Stout by the year’s end. Ale aficionados - watch this space.     — Ruaridh Belhaven, Food and Drink Correspondent for The Daily Prophet
THOMAS & FINNEGAN - GOOD BREWS, GOOD CRAIC
   Seamus Finnegan, co-founder of fledgling brewery Thomas & Finnegan, is excited to announced the launch of the brand’s first craft beer, an IPA.
   Finnegan’s India Pale Ale, which will be sold in the duo’s Diagon Alley bar from this Monday, is crafted from English hops and has a distinct, hoppy flavour which makes it a perfect pairing for spicy foods.
   Thomas and Finnegan, who established their company in 2003, have recently secured investment from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes Inc. 
   ’We want to see our brews on tap in all good pubs. The Leaky, the Three Broomsticks,’ Finnegan said, when asked about his plans for the company’s future. ‘If anyone’s as much of a hophead as me and Dean, then this will be the beer for them.’
    Dean Thomas, Finnegan’s long-running business partner, had more prosaic aims in mind. 
    ‘As long as Seamus makes enough money to buy his flipping moustache wax, he’ll be happy. Rent isn’t cheap either.’
    Thomas also dropped hints that the pair plan to produce a Stout by the year’s end. Ale aficionados - watch this space. 
    — Ruaridh Belhaven, Food and Drink Correspondent for The Daily Prophet

narcissa and andromeda’s last meeting (also under the cut as text)


ginny weasley & blood, requested by redhead-ginny
ginny weasley & blood, requested by redhead-ginny
Q: what do you think of rita skeeter?? (besides the obvious)

Rita’s 100% selfish and revels in it. Sure, she might have some redeeming quality somewhere, but would she even care? She clearly loves her job and holds nothing back, has no boundaries nor shame, stomping all over both the alive and dead. Her quill is the only thing she holds sacred. She has few loved ones if any. She travels too much for them and they’re all hassle, no payoff; she needs concrete incentives, not evidence. She gets a kick out of the attention her stories get and her sheer power through words. There’s a terrifying appeal to that kind of thrill and freedom. I don’t think she has many regrets.

I completely understand why JKR thinks she’s so fun to write. My thoughts on her are biased because I write an OC who’s her grandniece, and she’s a Rita-lite who I’ve essayed endlessly about. She describes Rita as a “rubbish writ[er], brilliant businesswoman,” and has this anecdote to sum up Rita’s familial love: “Great-Aunt Rita always said she would take me to the Prophet headquarters, but let’s face it: the woman is much better at being a liar than an aunt.” Which sums up my headcanon for her and her writing as well.

Terrible, knows it, sassy about it. I love to hate her :D

- Gina


    Characters and their favourite music (requested by anonymous) / Harry Potter and Brothers in Arms - Dire Straits     Harry had never had a chance to be into music; a childhood lived in a downstairs cupboard and years spent dodging his own death had taken care of that. All he’d ever listened to was the radio, or Ron’s taste in records, and so when, after the war, he found himself with more money than he could ever care to spend, he bought a brand-new record player and set about listening to the last twenty years.    There was nothing he could inherit. The Potter house and all his parents’ possessions had been destroyed. Sirius had owned very little, and there were no records in Grimmauld Place (his parents would have forbidden them). Harry had no desire to keep the house that had once been Sirius’ prison but spent a fortnight cleaning it out all the same, poring over the books and letters and clothes that had once belonged to the man that, for two brief years, had been his friend, brother, uncle, father.     The record player was portable and he often took it with him as he tidied. Sirius, decided, had been a lot like him, and his father had been to Sirius what Ron had been to him. They had both suffered airless, lonely childhoods, both been robbed of the best years of their lives. Only Harry had a chance to make something of the time he had left.    He found himself going back to the same few records as he boxed and sealed Sirius’ few things. Sometimes the same song. ‘Padfoot,’ he would tell the empty house, as he lowered the needle on to the same point of the vinyl’s whorling grooves each day. ‘I think you’d like this one…’
    Characters and their favourite music (requested by anonymous) / Harry Potter and Brothers in Arms - Dire Straits
    Harry had never had a chance to be into music; a childhood lived in a downstairs cupboard and years spent dodging his own death had taken care of that. All he’d ever listened to was the radio, or Ron’s taste in records, and so when, after the war, he found himself with more money than he could ever care to spend, he bought a brand-new record player and set about listening to the last twenty years.
    There was nothing he could inherit. The Potter house and all his parents’ possessions had been destroyed. Sirius had owned very little, and there were no records in Grimmauld Place (his parents would have forbidden them). Harry had no desire to keep the house that had once been Sirius’ prison but spent a fortnight cleaning it out all the same, poring over the books and letters and clothes that had once belonged to the man that, for two brief years, had been his friend, brother, uncle, father. 
    The record player was portable and he often took it with him as he tidied. Sirius, decided, had been a lot like him, and his father had been to Sirius what Ron had been to him. They had both suffered airless, lonely childhoods, both been robbed of the best years of their lives. Only Harry had a chance to make something of the time he had left.
    He found himself going back to the same few records as he boxed and sealed Sirius’ few things. Sometimes the same song. ‘Padfoot,’ he would tell the empty house, as he lowered the needle on to the same point of the vinyl’s whorling grooves each day. ‘I think you’d like this one…’

THE UNLIKELY DRAGON TAMER pt. INone of the adults in the family imagined that one of their kids would be crazy enough to follow Charlie’s footsteps as a dragon keeper, least of all gawky Albus Potter who had difficulty tying his shoelaces without tripping. ("I’ll be all right. Lucy made me velcro boots.") When his apprenticeship acceptance arrived singed and stamped in the post, they finally took him seriously—and bombarded him with questions: did he really want to train dragons? Or was he just running off? Was he unhappy in Britain? His siblings and cousins picked on him, but surely he could tell they were just teasing. Albus laughed; sometimes, they knew so little about him. He liked dragons—well, he liked everything, but dragons were a subset of everything. And it was as simple as that.

THE UNLIKELY DRAGON TAMER pt. I
None of the adults in the family imagined that one of their kids would be crazy enough to follow Charlie’s footsteps as a dragon keeper, least of all gawky Albus Potter who had difficulty tying his shoelaces without tripping. ("I’ll be all right. Lucy made me velcro boots.") When his apprenticeship acceptance arrived singed and stamped in the post, they finally took him seriously—and bombarded him with questions: did he really want to train dragons? Or was he just running off? Was he unhappy in Britain? His siblings and cousins picked on him, but surely he could tell they were just teasing. Albus laughed; sometimes, they knew so little about him. He liked dragons—well, he liked everything, but dragons were a subset of everything. And it was as simple as that.



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