harry potter,

“I love you” 😣 (This edit was made by babydaddydean_ on instagram so please go and check her out! I repeat this is her edit and NOT mine)

Ah Hogwarts, the beautiful castle on the beautiful hill, perfectly decorated for the spring dance. Students milling about- Why, I do believe I see Molly Prewett over there! Hello, Molly Prewett!

Don’t you look nice!

Are you ready to have a good time, Molly?

I’ll bet you are. And- My goodness, is that Arthur Weasley over by the punch bowl?

Why yes, Molly, he does look nice.

And are you going to ask Arthur to dance tonight, Molly?

That’s a little too scary for you, huh, Molly?

Well, would you like to dance with him, if he asked you to?

How are you going to get Arthur to ask you to dance, Molly?

Why, Molly Prewett, are you going to bust your best moves, in the hopes that Arthur will spot you across the dance floor, be overwhelmed by his love for you, and take you in his arms in a fit of passion?

Get it, girl.

…He doesn’t appear to be noticing, Molly.

Your flower just landed in the punch bowl, Molly. Now he’s trying to figure out where the flower came from.

It isn’t working, Molly. You may need to do more.

No good.

That one only really works when your partner is looking at you, Molly.

It’s safe to say that that’s not working for anybody, Molly.

You’ll not get a dance with Arthur Weasley if you do the twist, Molly. Be bold! Shake your groove thing!

Keep reading


-All OTPs may not be cannon but must be respected.
-Fans must wear colors relating to their fandom on Fandom appropriate days.
-Fandom Fellowships (like Superwholock) must come to each other’s aid in an attack
-Crying in public is socially acceptable only if characters have died or OTP gives you feels.
-No complaining about adaptations- unless you are in the PJO fandom, then have at it.


female awesome meme: [3/5] female antagonists→ Bellatrix Lestrange
“ Potter, you cannot win against me! I was and am the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant. I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete!”


On the rough coast in the south of Cornwall, where the land clenches itself to granite walls, and yet shies away from the storm of troubled water, generations of fishermen once scoured the beaches for flotsam. 

One of them, Harry, one day wandered around in the cliffs below his hut and was looking out for washed up treasures.                                                           After a little while, a weak cry cut through the rumbling of the waves, so low it almost didn’t reach Harry’s ears. He followed the sound to a shoal amidst scattered boulders.                                                                                       When it was high-water, the waves would crash violently against the rocks, but when the water was low, running towards the ocean, it left the shoal a pool of muddy sand, separated from the sea by a few green-stained rocks.                  

Harry peered into the pond and his gaze fell upon silver-grey eyes. They seemed to draw him in, inexplicably, and Harry found himself unable to look away. They were fearful eyes in a beautiful, pale face, framed by and half-hidden behind white-blond hair.                                                                           From top to core, this -creature, was it? - was without doubt a young man, but from the waist down, he had a long tail, smooth-looking and sparkling in the sunlight. 

“Help me!” he pleaded. 

“Take me back to the sea, please.” 

He wriggled around in the pond. Harry nodded, throat drawn so tight he couldn’t speak, and walked carefully to his side to pick him up. He was surprisingly light. The merman wound his arms around Harry’s neck as he carried him across the rocks. 

Where the sea was violent enough to splash against the cliffs and form a white blanket of foam, Harry stopped.                                                                       The merman looked up to him, silver eyes so wide and Harry bit his lip, wondering whether he would see him again.                                                       

“What’s your name?” he murmured, low, not wanting to scare him. 

“Draco.” He said, voice low and soft, breaking a bit.                                                                                                                                                                           Harry waded out into the sea, until the water was lapping at his chest. The rocks underneath his feet were slippery and the water was rough that day, so rough that Harry felt like he was being pulled in different directions by ropes.     Draco touched a tender hand to his face and it was the purest touch he’d ever experienced, heating his skin up and burning its way through his body.             He let the merman down, set him free in the water, without breaking the gaze held between them. Draco began singing, his voice roughening, low in his throat and Harry felt himself drawn to those eyes, scorching hot silver swirling around and he stretched a hand out, almost touching Draco, but not quite. 

“Take me with you.” he whispered, tasting salt on his tongue. 

Draco just smiled, and it lit his face up, making him appear even more ethereal. He stretched his hand out, webbing glittering green between his fingers, and took Harry’s.                                                                                   He pulled him, strong for somebody so light, out into the sea, and underwater. Burning water filled Harry’s lungs, his head felt like it was going to explode, but for some reason, it didn’t hurt as it should. It’s silent, too silent. But there was that burning hot touch at his wrist, where Draco pulled him down, down to where not even the sunlight could reach, and it was the only thing he felt. 

my contribution to #mermay, yas!