hedwig mine

you can rest easy knowing hedwig was well looked after in the afterlife; it was confusing and terrifying and sad at first but a little while after arriving she felt a light weight on her head and looked up to find her boy, harry potter, staring warmly down at her and smoothing out her feathers, just like he always did

except… he had hazel eyes? and he looked a bit older than hedwig remembered, and who was that red-haired woman with him?

hedwig is confused again. but harry is here, and all is well, so she tucks her head under her wing and falls fast asleep.

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JakeTheEscapologist > 10 Shows
Matilda The Musical | Hairspray | Evita | Cabaret | Phantom Of The Opera | Les Miserables | Chicago | Hedwig and the Angry Inch | Heathers The Musical | The Book of Mormon

youtube

This is a full video from the original run of Hedwig.. It’s super good

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Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - Chapter Three: The Knight Bus

There was a deafening BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light — 

With a yell, he rolled back onto the pavement, just in time. A econd later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screeched to a halt exactly where Harry had just been lying. They belonged, as Harry saw when he raised his head, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus. 

For a split second, Harry wondered if he had been knocked silly by his fall. Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard.“

Tip Toe

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

AU: Modern, non-magical, high school AU

Word Count: 1,223

Written For: muclbloods + the iconic yellow BMW


Draco has loathed Hermione Granger from a safe, perfectly practical distance for about as long as he can remember.

She’d shown up on the first day of sixth grade with her powder-blue Kipling backpack stuffed with five individually labeled plastic folders—fucking color-coded, too—and she’d proceeded to beat him at everything.

Everything.

If he got a 99 on an algebra test, she got a 100. If he was publicly praised by their English teacher for his astute use of simile in an essay, she was invited to participate in a district-wide writing contest. She took pristine notes on college-rule notepaper and she stole the state spelling bee trophy right out of his elegant, neatly-manicured hands after he misspelled the word ‘sanctimonious’ and she won the mock Continental Congress debate in their eighth grade history class—while playing as Alexander Hamilton.

She made him feel like the fucking coyote in those old Saturday morning cartoons; wily and arrogant and always just on the cusp of winning—until she inevitably arrived with her laminated book reports and her environmentally-safe highlighters and her ridiculous fucking ergonomically designed mechanical pencils—just in time to either push him off a cliff or directly into the path of an oncoming train.

He hated her.

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