hand drawn patterns

Gryffindors are bright mornings, leaves dripping in gold. They’re the trailblazers, unafraid of the road ahead. They’re laughing so loud your stomach hurts, the knowledge that your friends are right behind you wherever you go. They’re ice skating with someone you love, clinging on to them for dear life. They’re make-believe games with quests and dragons and swords pointing at the sky. They’re rosy cheeks, winter winds and freezing hands. They’re the adrenaline when a plane takes off, the drop at the top of a rollercoaster. They’re delighted screams and freedom, the wind through your hair. They’re panting, pillow fights, feathers bursting into the air. They’re finger painting and festivals and burning sunsets. They’re the burn in your lung after chasing something you’ll never be able to catch. 

Hufflepuffs are honey and flowers and the soft autumn sun. They’re knitted jumpers and scarves and soft tan boots. They’re fresh air and nature, the sound of birds singing. They’re rolling down a hill in the spring, grass stains on your knees, daisy chains in your hair. They’re waving at someone across a crowded room, bright smiles and laughter. They’re coming home after a long day and seeing your family. They’re playing fetch with your dog, your cat weaving between your feet. They’re fluffy socks and song birds and kraft notebooks with hand drawn patterns. They’re throw cushions on a bed, a tiny cottage surrounded by wilderness. They’re the ground beneath your feet, the air that you breathe. They’re the light you chase when you thought you’d never see the morning. 

Ravenclaws are leather bound books and overstocked libraries. They’re waking up at two am to google that thing that’s bugging you. They’re journals with half the words crossed out, scribbles and ink stains and missing pages. They’re stretching when you’ve been hunched over all day, rolling off the edge of a bed, burrowing in blankets. They’re torch light and held breaths and reverent whispers. They’re the entire night sky and everything beyond it; the embodiment of the universe. They’re desperate searches and hidden castles and ghost stories by firelight. They’re the mystery of a dark corridor, the force of a whirlwind. They’re the excitement of discovery, the rustle of crunched up paper. They’re the last whisper before you fall asleep. 

Slytherins are foggy hillsides and picturesque landscapes. They’re hand written love notes and subtle glances across a classroom. They’re black boots, long coats, buttons done up to the top. They’re tipping your head back to breathe the air, kicking up stones on a deserted path. They’re mirrored lakes, everything below the surface. They’re the confidence to get something right, the feel of magic in your fingertips. They’re holding your breath underwater, pretending to be a mermaid when you swim. They’re finding that one song that makes you want to create a storm. They’re the chill in the breeze, the force in the tide. They’re enchanted forests and lingering glances and long drives. They’re the lightning and the thunder and everything in between. 

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|| 𝗛𝗢𝗚𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗔𝗥𝗗 : 𝑯𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒖𝒇𝒇 —— ❛ Hufflepuffs are honey and flowers and the soft autumn sun. They’re knitted jumpers and scarves and soft tan boots. They’re fresh air and nature , the sound of birds singing. They’re rolling down a hill in the spring , grass stains on your knees , daisy chains in your hair. They’re waving at someone across a crowded room , bright smiles and laughter. They’re coming home after a long day and seeing your family. They’re playing fetch with your dog , your cat weaving between your feet. They’re fluffy socks and song birds and kraft notebooks with hand drawn patterns. They’re throw cushions on a bed , a tiny cottage surrounded by wilderness. They’re the ground beneath your feet , the air that you breathe. They’re the light you chase when you thought you’d never see the morning.

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Yule Ball outfits ( ´ ω ` ) from Chapter 9 of [LLSHP AU]

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So Iโ€™m very proud of the coat I made for Lup, of the IPRE patch that I designed and embroidered, the makeup that I psyched myself into actually doing, but THIS! This is my most favorite thing Iโ€™ve ever made.

The Phoenix Fire Gauntlet, made to look like itโ€™s made of cracked, glowing lava. If you look closely, you can even make out a subtle phoenix motif in the plates.

Read under the cut to see what itโ€™s made out of!

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Always

The last Hogwarts quidditch match that Harry and Draco would ever play was nearing its second hour when everything went to Tartarus.

A badly coordinated move, an absentminded scratch on the back of a head and the not-skilled-enough reflexes of a black haired seeker turned what should have been a glorious ending to eight years of education into the reason Draco Malfoy screamed Harryโ€™s name at the top of his lungs loud enough to scare away some birds seven miles away.

โ€œHARRY!โ€ Without thinking twice Draco propelled himself off his broom to the ground where Harryโ€™s body was heading towards after a heavy collision with a bludger. The crack of the saviourโ€™s skull was possibly even louder than Dracoโ€™s piercing cry.

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