concept: willy wonka and harry potter take place in the same universe the ministry of magic haaaates Willy Wonka

“Mr. Wonka,” Dumbledore smiled warmly, looking down into the Pit from his podium. The members of the Wizengamot muttered disapprovingly, shifting in their seats. Willy Wonka, clad today in a bright magenta suit and tophat, beamed cheekily up at them from his chair, his silver-gloved hands cradling his chin. 

“Mr. Dumbledore,” He replied brightly, with the barest hint of a lisp. 

“I trust you know why you are here?” Dumbledores question was crisp and businesslike, but the twinkle in his eye gave away his amusement at the situation. 

“Not at all! I’ve nary a clue,” Wonka wiggled his eyebrows. Dumbledore audibly stifled a laugh. 

“You are accused of improper use of magic, improper use of muggle artifacts, and several counts of using magic in front of a muggle,” Dumbledore reminded him. He conjured a projection with his wand. Displayed in grainy sepia was Willy Wonka, arm around a boy of around 10. Behind his back, he twitched an ash wand, and machines in the background around them whirred to life, producing all manner of sweets. 

The projection ran its course and collapsed, and Dumbledore stowed his wand back inside his robes.

Wonka smiled and fiddled with his hat. 

“How do you plead?” Dumbledore asked, leaning forward eagerly for what would surely be an amusing trial. 

“Not guilty on all counts,” Wonka said, perhaps a tad smugly.

The members of the Wizengamot muttered amongst themselves. Not Guilty? Impossible!

Dumbledore hushed them quickly. “Explain, if you would. We have, after all, quite a mountain of evidence.”

Wonka stood and brushed a bit of dust off his suit. He tipped his hat mischievously. “Of course,” he grinned. 

“Firstly, use of magic shall only be considered improper whereby it is applied to cause harm or applied recklessly. All magic used in my sweets is rigorously tested for both safety and taste. It is not used to cause harm, but to bring joy.” Wonka paused to adjust his jacket. 

“But surely,” Dumbledore said, leafing through his notes, “you cannot deny that you illegally charmed several thousand muggle artifacts?”

“Ah, but I can,” Wonka said, now twirling his cap in his hands. “Muggle artifact refers, of course, to any muggle made object. But, you see, I built those machines, each and every one. They are not muggle machines at all, but wizarding machines, built by a wizard. The factory itself, as well. You could argue that, as machines are a muggle invention, I still broke the rules, but then I could argue that every wizard dwelling with any charms applied to its walls is in violation of the law, as muggles were the first to make bricks.”

The Wizengamot glared silently. He was right, of course. Violating the spirit of the law was not illegal if one followed the letter. 

“And the last charge? These are definitely Muggle children, are they not? No magical talent, raised in muggle society?” Dumbledore straightened his glasses and peered down at Wonka, his eyes still bright with intrigue. 

“Not at all,” Wonka grinned, placing his hat back on his head. “You see, the ticket system was not nearly so random as I pretended. The tickets were charmed, they would only becomes visible to children with magical heritage. All the children chosen were second generation Squibs.” Wonka bowed low, as if he were finishing a particularly well executed play. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it seems no laws were violated after all.” Dumbledore stifled a grin at the groans of angry disapproval from the Wizengamot. 

“But he very clearly violated the intent of the rules!” Spluttered a large, rather red faced wizard in the second row. “He’s just…cheating! He’s cheating!”

“Ah, this is true, but he did not, technically speaking, break any of the rules. He did not expose muggles to magic, nor enchant muggle made objects, nor improperly apply magic anymore so than any magical confectioner. I’m afraid we have to let him go.” Dumbledore smiled gently and put away the rather thick file with Wonka’s name embossed on the cover. For the brief second it was open, a list of hundreds of charges with “Not Guilty” inked beside them was visible. It was carried off by a house elf, and the Wizengamot began to file out until only Dumbledore was left. 

“You’re a very clever man,” He called down to Wonka. “We could use you at Hogwarts, you know.”

“No thank you,” Wonka called back, grinning. “Skirting the law is far more fun!”

Willy Wonka is a fucking Slytherin.

I’d prevviously said ‘Yes! Gene Wilder! Wonk!’. Now there’s pics.

BUT…

OMG.

MS. FRIZZLE! (and the MAGIC School Bus).

She must be before the Wizengamot ALL the TIME.

(Is her excuse; ‘Well, it’s educational’???? And it WORKS?!!)

Cornelius Fudge sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Behind him, the members of the Wizengamot muttered amongst themselves, wondering what his next move would be. When he finally looked up from his podium, all he could do was glare at the chipper redheaded woman perched on the arm of the interrogation seat in the Pit. A bright green lizard poked its head out of the collar of her planet patterned dress and skittered around her shoulders to stare back at him. 

“Mrs. Valerie…” He checked the file again. “Frizzle?”

“Good morning, Minister!” She replied happily, a hint of a laugh in her voice. 

“It’s 3:30 in the afternoon, Madam,” He replied. He was tired. 

“Here yes, but in America, its 10:30 in the morning! Aren’t time zones incredible?” She smiled and he could see all her teeth. 

Fudge’s eye twitched irritably and he took a deep, steadying breath. 

“Do you know why you’ve been called before the Wizengamot today, Mrs. Frizzle?” He asked, shuffling the papers from her file. 

“I’m probably in trouble,” she smiled serenely, absentmindedly petting the lizard. “That is, after all, what the Wizengamot deals in!”

Fudge stifled a groan as he began leafing through her file. He didn’t even know where to begin. “Mrs. Frizzle, you are charged with no less than two hundred and thirty two counts of violating the Statute of Secrecy. Note that this is one count for each muggle known to be exposed to magic through your actions, and not a reflection of how many actions you have taken.” He drew out a page from the file. “Actions that include unlawful use of a sentience charm upon a muggle bus, unlawful use on that same bus of indestructibility charms and some sort of curse or hex that made the damn thing not only unresponsive and utterly unusable to anyone but yourself and your students, but also made us unable to decharm, move or even hide it, several unlawful uses of shrinking charms, bubble head charms, transfiguration, and at least one unregistered charm of your own making that allowed you to leave the planet entirely!” He slammed his hand down on the podium. “Do you have anything at all to say for yourself?!”

Mrs. Frizzle smiled politely. “Prime Minister,” she said calmly, “With all due respect, I have a question for you. Have you ever captured lightning in a bottle?”

“Have I- What?” Fudge spluttered, taken aback by her odd question. 

“Have you ever captured lightening in a bottle?” She repeated, eyes flashing. 

“Of course I haven’t, what sort of nonsense-” He began, but she threw up her hand and interrupted him. 

“Muggles have. They’ve known how to use the same energy that comprises lightening to light their homes for over 100 years now. They can generate what amounts to lightening in a bottle with water, or the light and heat from the sun, or the wind. They can carry music in their pockets. They have been able, for nearly 30 years now, to leave the Earth and stand on the Moon.” Mrs. Frizzle straightened her dress. “I have, yes, been using my magic to help teach my students, but what I’ve been teaching them is science! It’s a shame that we don’t learn science as children the way muggles do. They know how the planets move! They know why the Earth turns! Muggles have a wealth of knowledge that rivals that of the centaurs, and we just,” She gestures around incredulously. “We just ignore it! Did you know they are able to not only capture movement, but also sound on film? It’s incredible!” 

Fudge waved a hand to silence the incensed grumbling of the Wizengamot. “Mrs. Frizzle,” he hissed angrily. “It does not matter how many trinkets and non-magical work-arounds the muggles have made, regardless of how incredible you find them. Their ‘science’ is not on trial here, you are, for exposing muggles to magic!”

“Minister, you do know my students are all muggle borns,” Mrs. Frizzle said, perhaps a touch angrily, her usual enthusiasm for science replaced by an anger at tech marvels being referred to as ‘trinkets’. 

“They’re not the only ones who have seen your…Magic Bus!” Fudge roared, slamming his fist on the podium and eliciting a dull rumble of approval from the Wizengamot. “Mrs. Frizzle, since you have failed to mount a defense, we will now take a vote. All in favor of conviction?” 

A sea of hands shot into the air. 

“All opposed?” 

2 or 3 hands were placed waveringly in the air, then quickly fell. 

“Mrs. Frizzle, you are found guilty of 232 counts of breaking the Statute of Secrecy. The wand you surrendered upon entering the Ministry will be kept, and you are fined in the amount of 1,160 galleons. If you cannot pay this fine, you will be given a job on low level staff or doing community service until such time as the debt is paid. Good day.” Fudge closed her file and handed it the the Junior Undersecretary, who ferried it back to the Hall of Records. 

Mrs. Frizzle stomped out, angry but not ready to give up. Luckily for her, they hadn’t taken her backup wand. She had classes tomorrow, after all, and they couldn’t very well explore the world of pollen without a proper shrinking charm. She made a mental note to stop by her cousin Xenophillius’ house to pick up her backup to her backup. She loved his house. Shaped like a chess peice, can you imagine?

This is why the Wizarding World of Harry Potter is just so…..dumb.

I think you’re all forgetting the obvious… Mary Poppins.

“Back again, Mary?” Dumbledore twinkled at the woman in the felt hat standing ramrod straight in front of the chair in the pit. She’d always been one of his favourite students.

Keep reading

Oh my g o d

HOW IS THIS HAPPENING

This post gets better every time I see it.

it got way better

NANNY MCPHEE!!

Rape Escape

Very useful to know, pass and share please.

Worth watching

I don’t mean to impose a personal favour on you guys, but I really would like to ask that everyone who follows me reblog this. 

I don’t think I made it very clear but last month I was sexually assaulted by someone who I thought was my friend (I don’t want to talk about it don’t ask), and it’s… really fucked with my head. 

Had I known this a month ago I would have been able to get away. 

So, essentially, I’m really pleading with you to reblog this so everyone who follows you doesn’t get stuck in the same position I was with no way out. 

I mean again I don’t want the point of this to be my sob story or whatever but if you could reblog this it would seriously mean a lot 

and im asking to all of my followers who see this post in your dashboard to please press play to this video, you never know when this is gonna be useful, PLEASE DON’T IGNORE IT.

This is one of the first moves I was taught in Krav Maga, and it is one of the most effective.

It took me about a half hour to get down with practice, but once you get it, it’s an intuitive movement.

Please pass this along, it will save lives.

EVERYONE AND ANYONE WHO SEES THIS POST: PLEASE TAKE THE TIME TO WATCH THIS!!! THIS COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE!

“I feel a responsibility to be a voice for the beautiful shades my people come in. Unfortunately, I have a bit of a privilege compared to my darker sisters and brothers… Like people question, Would you listen to Zendaya if she wasn’t the same skin color? And that’s an honest question. Can I honestly say that I’ve had to face the same racism and struggles as a woman with darker skin? No, I cannot. I have not walked in her shoes and that is unfair of me to say. But I’m completely behind that woman. I want to be a part of the movement and growth. And if I get put in a position because of the color of my skin where people will listen to me, then I should use that privilege the right way.”

– Zendaya Coleman

✨📅✏️📄💯📓💯📄✏️📅✨

emoji spell to get good grades and survive school/college this year 

likes charge it, reblogs cast it

Watch: The Young Turks’ Cenk Uygur nailed why millennials get so much sh*t. 

crossbreeds are so cool

I will take 10 of each please

I didnt want this post to end

everything mixed with a husky gets blue eyes everything mixed with a cogri gets +10 cute everything mixed with a pug gets +50 disgusting amazing

woA HEy edUCATE URSELF

BOSTON TERRIER X PUG

CHIHUAHUA X PUG

CORGI X PUG

DACHSUND X PUG

Don’t dogshame pugs you monster

@connswambo

Awwwww

My sensitive self can’t take this. this is beautiful 😫😢💕

I love Gordon.

She’s blind and he was making all the points about the pie in a way she could respond to: sound. He is an amazing man

Originally posted by stupid-depressive-confused

Not to mention Christine won Master Chef that year.

I reblog Gordon Ramsey every time he appears

i reblog this every time it comes on my dash and i will until the day i die or this hellsite does

i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap”

I will never, ever, not reblog this. 

*huggles RDJ*  Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger.  I wish knew where the link was so I could share it.  Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below.  If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that.

I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me  cry.

“True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt

I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.

    Mine does.

    His name is Robert Downey Jr.

    You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.

    It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.

    I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.

    I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?

    The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.

    I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.

    We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.

    We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.

    The volume of blood was staggering.

    I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?

    Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.

    He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.

    He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.

    She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”

    He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”

    He was a movie star, after all.

    Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.

    We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.

    I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.

    But I didn’t.

    Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.

    I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.

    I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.

    He remembered.

    “I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”

    He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.”

OH MY GOD………………………..

reblog forever

I love seeing this on my dashboard

tomorrow is september first

I don’t really want my relationship to be like romantic as fuck all the time. Like yo I need a girl that’s gonna surprise attack me with water guns or lay around in the same pair of our pajamas we’ve worn the past three days eating pizza and playing grand theft auto. Don’t get me wrong the romantic shit is nice but I enjoy being weird and wild together too.

@everything-but-my-bones

scorpius at the end of part one is literally

Things my brother has said to me since I’ve come out

Bro: You can’t say you’re pan if you’ve only dated cis-boys Jess..

Me: Then you can’t say you’re straight since you’ve never had a girlfriend

Bro: touche…

____________________________________________________________

Bro: so you like girls?

Me: yep

Bro: so youre gonna get a girlfriend?

Me: maybe

Bro: NOW I GOTTA COMPETE AGAINST YOU TOO?? 

____________________________________________________________

Bro: wanna bet on who kisses a girl first?

Me: sure… $10?

Bro: okay

Me: sweet…cough up the money because i already kissed three

Bro: WHAT?? WHO?? you whore…No but seriously who because we only have like 2 lesbians in our school….

____________________________________________________________

Bro: I SWEAR TO GOD IF I HEAR ONE MORE PUN ABOUT YOU AND KITCHENWEAR IM KILLING YOU

____________________________________________________________

Brothers friend: so your sister is pan?

Bro: yeah?

Friend: what’s that?

Bro: basically she’ll date anyone

Friend: think she’ll date me?

Bro: ew no, dude she has standered still..

____________________________________________________________

Bro: so…how was narnia?

____________________________________________________________

Mother: i dont want you going to (insert friend)’s house because you’re pan and they are too

Bro: shes 18 mom AND you had no problem with it before jess was out

Mother: yeah but-

Bro: and they’re both girls so its not like even if something DID happen she wouldn’t get pregnant or anything

Mother: yeah but-

Bro: just let her hang out with the one friend she still has

____________________________________________________________

Bro: *is complaning about something* Thats so ga- OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY IT SLIPPED

____________________________________________________________

Bro: *shows me a picture of a girl* do you think shes hot?

Me: ew no

Bro: I AM TRYING TO GET YOU A GIRLFRIEND STOP BEING PICKY WOMAN WE LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE THERE ARENT THAT MANY OPTIONS 

____________________________________________________________

Me: *is complaining to my brother about this dude on campus* -anyways hes so not my type

Mother: but youre pan and ‘youre attracted to everyone regardless of gender’ so you dont have a type

Bro: thats like saying because i’m straight i like every girl mom…she can be pan and have types you limp lettuce

____________________________________________________________

Bro: do you think grandma will freak out when she finds out you’re queer?

Me: hopefully

Bro: sweet…..can i tell her??

Me: no?

Bro: dammit…

____________________________________________________________

Bro: *is playing COD online in his room* Guys seriously stop saying the F slur

Bro: Seriously i dont care about your kill streak, i will shoot you

Bro: NO SCOPE! I warned you!

____________________________________________________________

Bro: you know what my favorite part of you being pan is?

Me: what?

Bro: you’re no longer grandmas favorite…now i get all the money/food

____________________________________________________________

Bro: aw fuck

Me: what?

Bro: what if you get a girlfriend one day and she breaks your heart? i can’t punch a girl! 

Me: no thats okay-

Bro: HOW WILL I DEFEND YOUR HONOR???

This is so sweet actually

Imagine if Dudley did have a magical child though.

He and Harry haven’t spoken since ‘I don’t think you’re a waste of space’ and he’s matured enough to realise his parents were not good to Harry, especially since the birth of his own little girls because God forbid anything happened to him and they were treated like Harry was.

On Daisy Dursley’s eleventh birthday theres a knock on the door and his wife, Anita, just stares and he feels his stomach drop because the stern lady on the doorstep is wearing a cloak and pointed hat.

They listen to the woman - Professor McGonagall - explain and Anita is surprised but receptive, Daisy is excited and Dudley is terrified of what this means.

It’s a surprise to his wife and little girl when at the end of her explanation, while Daisy’s flicking through a book with moving pictures and Anita peers over her shoulder, Dudley blurts out ‘it’s safe now then? Your world?’

Professor Mcgonagall gives a wry smile and assures him that the magical world is indeed safe. It dawns on him that she was expecting this, that she’d perhaps researched him and was aware of his relation to Harry.

He then admits to Anita and Daisy that his cousin is a wizard, before turning to the Professor and asking if she by chance knows a Harry Potter. Looking amused, professor Mcgonagall acknowledges that she does.

’D'you know where he lives?’

That does surprise her a bit, and she tells him that yes, she knows and that though Daisy’s acceptance into the school has been confidential up until this point, Harry would likely not mind a visitor if he wanted a word.

Daisy begs to come along and he relents eventually, bringing Anita and their youngest, Poppy, along.

All four of them stand on the doorstep of a modest house that Dudley would call nice if there weren’t squat little creatures snickering and running around the front garden.

The door is opened by a slouching boy with turquoise hair who arches a purple eyebrow at them. He yells over his shoulder for someone named Ginny and steps back to let them in, and, when he notices Daisy staring at his hair, he smirks and a second later it’s bubblegum pink.

Daisy squeals in delight and Dudley is still trying to get his head around that when young girl and boy around Daisy’s age with bright red hair and thick brown curls respectively, hurtle down the corridor.

‘Teddy you promised you’d practice the sloth grip roll with us!’ The girl yells in an accusatory tone.

A woman with hair the same shade of flaming red as the little girl appears with what Dudley recognises as a wand in her hand as the boy with blue hair flashes a grin at them before chasing the two younger children outside to a shout of ‘No higher than the treetops Teddy!’

Harry is much like Dudley remembers him, lanky with a pointed face, straight nose and mess of untameable black hair. It’s awkward, but, apparently forewarned, Harry greets him pleasantly and introduces his wife before Ginny goes outside to reign in a gaggle of children he assumes aren’t all Harry’s.

A woman with thick, bushy hair pulled into a messy bun with a wand stuck in it smiles and makes an effort to talk to Anita. She’s not too strange, he thinks, and reassures them that her parents were just as baffled when they found out she was a witch.

‘Why don’t you take Daisy outside to see the broomsticks, Al?’ Harry suggests to Daisy’s obvious delight and Dudley swears Harry’s trying not to laugh.

By the end of the visit Dudley is more informed about the wizarding world than he ever thought he would or wanted to be. Daisy, with a bruise on her forehead and scraped knees, because despite both his and Harry’s warning she hadn’t been able to resist trying to fly, is bouncing off the walls because ‘daddy how could you not tell us?!’

They visit Harry’s a lot over summer and Daisy befriends Lily Luna Potter and Hugo Weasley. Dudley doesn’t feel up to the trip to Diagon Alley but regrets his decision to not go when Daisy comes back with two owls, ‘uncle Harry bought the second one for me! So you can write without having to wait for me to send my owl!’

Petunia Dursley faints when she finds out, and Vernon spends a good half hour cursing and brandishing things aimlessly before retreating to his shed.

Dudley being introduced to what he calls ‘all those bloody gingers’ some of whom are only just on the right side of civil to him (one cheerfully introduces himself as someone who once visited his childhood home in a flying car and asks if he’s going to need to do the same for Daisy or will she be allowed to attend without punishment).

Daisy is shocked to find out Harry’s famous, and finds out as much as she can about him during her first term, which she relays to an increasingly guilty feeling Dudley, who’s gradually coming around to the idea.

It’s not as bad as his parents made out it was. He’s learned to understand Daisy’s ramblings about her subjects and spells and is proud of her achievements at school. He’s met a handful of witches and wizards through Harry and the world that he’s always been told is terrible doesn’t seem too bad anymore, after all, how could it with his little girl in it? He is prepared come excitable little Poppy’s eleventh birthday, for her to join her sister at Hogwarts instead of standing jealously on the platform as she leaves.

Poppy Dursley never gets a letter.

I TRUSTED YOU

No, but imagine. Three generations later, this family FINALLY gets the one wizard kid/one Muggle kid thing right. Poppy is never made to feel less, even though she’s disappointed. Daisy is never made to feel like a freak. Poppy is accepted by Harry’s kids, they play with her and she doesn’t need magic to play wizard chess or toss gnomes and Teddy takes her flying sometimes (she becomes a hell of a Quidditch referee and strategist with Ginny’s help, though she never plays).

Anita and Dudley talk to Poppy about what she’d like to do for school and she goes to a prestigious Muggle school, and as it turns out she becomes really, really good at tech and coding. She takes lots of time off to visit Daisy at Hogwarts where she becomes a favorite of McGonagall (so many clever questions). Eventually she meets Luna and spends most of a summer with her, following Crumple-Horned Snorkacks with the help of some trackers Poppy built to work around magic. Everyone is terribly impressed, and although Poppy tries to be blasé about it, she’s actually really proud.

And soon enough Daisy is graduating and working at the Ministry in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office with Arthur Weasley, who has been working on loosening some of the legislation, and when Poppy graduates she has a marvelous idea. She and Daisy open a shop in Diagon Ally for all these Muggle technologies that Poppy has fixed to work around and with magic. Dursley’s Muggle Magic, they call it.

And suddenly wizards are running around with iPhones and Kindles (Hermione made a digital copy of Hogwarts, a History RIGHT AWAY) and everyone is catching up on decades of video games and a century of movies. Scorpius Malfoy has an Apple Watch. And it’s all thanks the Poppy Dursley, the Muggle.

In their fifth year the Marauders etched their own little family tree on the wall next to their window in their dormitory. They had their four names lined up side by side with little arrows connecting them. Then when they went home for the summer, each of them etched the family tree into their bedroom walls. (Sirius especially had fun with this.) They were all connected, all five of the trees so that if someone made a change to one of them, it would automatically make a change to all of them. By the time they were in their seventh year, they had added a few other people to the tree including Marlene and Lily. On their last day at Hogwarts, the sixth of them stared at their little family tree for a couple of minutes before James suddenly added one more person on top of all their names. “She’s one of us whether she wants to or not.” They all laughed and then covered their mark by moving a desk in front of it. After that they said their final goodbyes and walked excitedly out of the school. When Lily and James got married Sirius and Remus’ first order of business was to bind the two of their names on the family tree together making an infinity sign glow whenever anyone passed by one of the trees. Then Harry was born and his name was automatically added to the tree. When Lily and James died, their names faded on the tree but the bind that Remus and Sirius placed seemed to glow even brighter at times. Once he learned what had happened to his best friends Remus stood in front of the family tree he had etched on the wall in front of his desk at home, his wand pointed directly at Sirius’ name, ready to burn it off permanently. Except he couldn’t do it. He would return everyday to try to bring himself to burn Sirius’ name off and everyday he would fail. Eventually he just stopped going to his bedroom when he visited. Sirius would sit in his cell and with a stick he found on the floor, he would engrave his family tree into the wall, purposefully avoiding Peter. When Remus become a professor his first order of business is to visit his old dorm and look for the family tree. To him, it seems as though James, Lily, Peter and Marlene’s names were glowing ever so brightly. He avoided looking at Sirius’ name. When he discovered that Sirius is innocent, his first thought was to breathe a sigh of relief because he didn’t burn his friend’s name off the tree. One year later Sirius was stuck in Grimmauld Place. He went to his room and looked at the back of the door where his family tree was drawn. He had made the effort of drawing little figures he thought represented each of them. For him and James were their animagus forms. For Lily, he drew a doe. Marlene had a lion. And for some reason he drew Remus a donkey. On October the 31st Remus popped by Grimmauld Place and Sirius immediately dragged him to his room. He told Remus to pull out his wand and together, the two of them burned off Peter’s name. Permanently. When Sirius died his name didn’t fade off the family tree. It looked even brighter than usual. When Tonks married Remus, her name appeared on the tree. He showed her the one in Sirius’ room and then proceeded to sob because out of the six of them, he had never expected to be the last one standing. After the battle of Hogwarts, the only living name was that of Harry Potter. Except he never knew about the trees. And so they lay in all of their hidden locations, undiscovered by anyone. Years later Minerva McGonagall was going through every dorm room ensuring everything was perfect. She didn’t doubt the house elves work at all. It was only because she had missed being able to roam freely around the halls and so she took the chance while no one was yet there. She entered the boys dormitory and looked around. There was something that wasn’t quite right about the room. Minerva McGonagall wasn’t a young woman but she remembered everything as if it had happened yesterday. And what she remembered was that there was no desk under the window. It would hardly be noticed by anyone, had they not known what the layout of the dorms were all those years ago. She swiftly moved the desk back in its proper place and was about to leave to the Slytherin common room when something caught her eye. She walked to the window and looked at the strange engravings in the wall underneath. The names Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, Evans, Marley, Harry and Nymph were marked in the stone. There was another name beside Prongs, but it had been burnt beyond recognition. Minerva McGonagall collapsed on one of the four poster beds and took a deep breath, containing her emotions. She was successful in doing so and was about to leave when once again, something caught her eye. On top of the three names and the burnt one read one more name. Old Minnie McG. And then she broke down. Because after all this time, after everything that she had gone through, she would always remember those three boys who defied everything society said, who didn’t allow anyone else to dictate how they would live their lives, who gave up their lives so the world could be a better place.