ach harry

HUFFLEPUFF: “The secret is not to dream,“ she whispered. "The secret is to wake up. Waking up is harder. I have woken up and I am real. I know where I come from and I know where I’m going. You cannot fool me any more. Or touch me. Or anything that is mine.” –Terry Pratchett (Tiffany Aching: The Wee Free Men)

Dating Fred would include…

-tickle fights
-always getting into trouble with him and George
-Molly knitting you a sweater for Christmas
-sneaking around at night to get a midnight snack
-a game about who of you can talk to Snape for the longest amount of time until he leaves
-Fred calling you “bird”
-kisses on your nose
-bellyache because of so much laughing
-you and George colouring Fred’s face when he falls asleep with his head resting on your knees
-Fred kissing the top of your head because you’re so much shorter than him

Credence Barebone

“Just a lost little boy who doesn’t matter and doesn’t think he ever will.” ( x )

“I don’t want to be a loser.” ~ O. Hoover


=D So I was peeping some of the tags and comments from the last Blackout drawings, and I saw that someone wondered how the Dursleys would react to Harry’s new look.

C’mon. Obviously they’d love it. LOL

He had thought Shiloh haunted, its beauty sinister like flags.
Now, drifting between memory and narcotic sleep, he saw that Shiloh was not sinister; it was indifferent. Beautiful Shiloh could witness anything. Its unforgivable beauty simply underscored the indifference of nature, the Green Machine. The loveliness of Shiloh mocked our plight.
He roused and watched the mindless clock, but he couldn’t stop thinking:
In the Green Machine there is no mercy; we make mercy, manufacture it in the parts that have overgrown our basic reptile brain.
There is no murder. We make murder, and it matters only to us.
Graham knew too well that he contained all the elements to make murder; perhaps mercy too.
He understood murder uncomfortably well, though.
He wondered if, in the great body of humankind, in the minds of men set on civilization, the vicious urges we control in ourselves and the dark instinctive knowledge of those urges function like the crippled virus the body arms against.
He wondered if old, awful urges are the virus that make vaccine.
Yes, he had been wrong about Shiloh. Shiloh isn’t haunted–men are haunted.
Shiloh doesn’t care.
—  Thomas Harris, Red Dragon