hogwarts will always be there

Molly Weasley watched her third oldest son turning his back to their family but never gave up on him.

Molly Weasley saw her husband at his weakest moment as he laid wounded in St. Mungo’s hospital. She never understood what muggles thought when they started praying to their god(s):                                                                         But that night as she sat at her husband’s hospital bed she couldn’t help but fold her hands, close her eyes and just hope that there was indeed a greater deity that could bring her husband back to her family.

Molly Weasley put a bandage around her fifth son’s head when he was bleeding onto her sofa, his ear ripped away. She did not let her heart and actions be ruled by panic and fear. She would not  risk her son’s life like that.

Molly Weasley saw her son that wasn’t her son dead in Hagrid’s arms and did not show how she broke inside. Instead, she gripped her wand a little tighter, bit her lip a little stronger and started to fight a lot grimmer.

Molly Weasley cried over her fourth son’s cold body, his last laugh still etched into his face. She witnessed her fifth son crumbling right then and there. She saw her family grieving and crying. She went through hell but reminded herself to keep going.

Molly Weasly got up and stared straight into the eyes of Narcissa Malfoy. 

Proud woman, blonde hair, pale skin.

Split lips, bloody cloak, sad eyes.

They did not exchange one word.

But one glance was enough.

Narcissa’s eyes darted to Fred, to Harry, then back to Molly. Her lean finger’s tightened indiscernibly around her son’s bony shoulder.

A nod.

The war had taken enough lifes. Enough children.

And as one mother to another, Molly Weasley nodded back.

One morning Sirius Black saunters into the Great Hall with his hair in a bun and tie loose as can be. And he plonks himself down at the table and everyone just stares. 

Because his neck is covered in hickeys. 

And he’s all grins and showing them off like nobodies business.

And all the girls in the Hall are eyeing each other up like ‘Which one of you bitches got to do that? Fuck you why wasn’t it me…’

McGoangall just stares for second before averting her eyes. She can’t think of any rules he’s broken but Jesus Christ should that be allowed?

And James walks in, hand combing through his hair before he see. And he just raises he eyebrow and smiles.

‘Merlin Remus, get a bit carried away did we?’

And Remus is just siting there, red as tomato, wanting to die because it’s so embarrassing and someone is laughing oh no.. 

But secretly he is really fucking pleased with himself. Like, damn. I did that.


I don’t know man.. Wolfstar with hickeys just makes me happy.

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much
—  Words that changed our lives 20 years ago

Y'all up here acting like Snape spent his entire life in Danger because of his spywork? No. He joined the Death Eaters willingly after Hogwarts and only worked as a Spy for about 9 months (probably shorter) during the 1st war and then 3 years during the 2nd war. He had a nice, comfortable life inbetween under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts. He was the only one to blame for any discomfort and unhappiness he experienced in those almost 14 years of safety. He was bitter and decided take it out on the rest of the world.

You know who did brave a horrible life full of loneliness, poverty, negligence and cruelty at the hands of those who wrongly feared and marginalized him? Remus Lupin. Who by the way also worked as a Spy for Dumbledore by living among werewolves (including the man who bit him) who supported Voldemort. Note, he LIVED among these werewolves. Always in danger of being torn apart and murdered on the spot, whereas most of Snape’s spylife involved him sulking around Hogwarts tormenting kids… Safe. And Remus lost EVERYTHING…but he smiled. Always smiled. Always put others first and never took anything for granted. It took tremendous amounts of bravery for Remus to just go about everyday life.

But no Snape’s the bravest of them all. I’m not bitter.

when she was sorted into gryffindor, she was excited and nervous, because she was a muggleborn and wasn’t quite sure what that meant. but everyone was smiling and clapping, and she grinned at the sea of smiling faces dressed in red.

she was given a place in the boys dorm, and that seemed right to her at the time. but in her fourth year, she began to wonder if the out-of-place feeling she had wasn’t just her anxiety and awkwardness, but something else. when she realised she was a girl, it felt like she had blossomed into the world, to face it as a finished person. she told people that summer - texts to her muggle friends, owls to the wizards, and everyone was happy for her. for days she couldn’t do anything without the beep of her phone, or the peck of an owl at the window.

when she came back to hogwarts, and went to her dorm, she turned the other way. towards the girls dorm, where she had a place ready for her, picked out by her friends. she felt that same tight nervousness she felt when she was sorted, the pounding in her chest, the shaky hands. but she told herself to be calm. she was going to do this.

she put her foot on the bottom step. and then the next. and then the next.

the voice inside her head that had been telling her that hogwarts wouldn’t realise who she was shut up. she whispered a thank you to the steps, a small word that only the castle heard. then she ran up the rest of the stairs, a grin emblazoned on her face, new robes swirling behind her, ready to start the next year at school.

-

he was fifteen when it happened. he had been questioning for a while, but he wasn’t sure. he didn’t want to call himself a boy, not yet. a part of him was urging himself to just go for it, because he knew who he was, if he really thought about it. but he was hesitant, and didn’t define himself.

then it happened. one night, when he was alone, he was going back upstairs, when he slipped. his hand steadied himself on the rough stone wall, and he looked down to see what had happened. one of the steps was slanted, just enough to make him trip. it wiggled a bit, then made itself into a step, as if nothing had happened. he frowned at it at the time, and went up to bed, but the memory of the incident lingered days after. and weeks.

he remembered it later, when he sat up all night thinking of how he didn’t belong here, in the girls dorms. he didn’t want to label himself, but he’d been more and more out of place, and he knew who he was, really. when he stopped telling himself that he wasn’t.

it wasn’t too long before he told everyone. he felt like shouting it from the rooftops, flying over the castle with his new name on a banner. he didn’t, though. he just settled for casual chats with the people he knew and an awkward owl to his professors.

and one night, after he’d settled in to the boys dorms, he put a foot on the bottom step of the girls staircase. instantly, the bricks flattened themselves into a slide. he grinned, and carried on up to his new room in the boys dorms.

-

they always knew they didn’t quite fit into any of the genders they knew. they weren’t quite a boy, weren’t quite a girl, but they didn’t have the words to express what they felt. it was only after a few years at hogwarts (and a lengthy google search one night at home) that they learned the word ‘nonbinary’, and realised that there was a word for it, after all.

they decided to be casual about it at school. the people that they trusted knew, and some of the teachers. but it wasn’t as though they had a separate dorm just for them, so 

except…

one day, when they were heading up to sleep, they saw a door. it was on the stairs to the dorms - girls went one way, boys went the other, with a blank wall in the middle. except it wasn’t blank, not then. there was a door. they asked their friends about it, but just got strange looks in return. but every time they climbed those stairs, the third door was there.

the next year brought a new wave of first-years, and they joined a group helping the kids out with navigating hogwarts. they were showing a group the way to the dungeons when one asked them what the third door was for. you know, the one between the girls and boys dorms. they froze, and looked down at a nervous first-year who was, even then, getting odd looks from their classmates.

they opened it together, the first-year and them. turned out it was another dorm. the beds were made, light shone through the windows, and the whole room seemed to beckon, invitingly. the first-year was ecstatic, and they found themself smiling too. the pair of them moved in the next day, and began to set up their own little space.

after they moved in, everyone could see the door. and slowly, the dorm began to fill up. kids from all years claimed beds there, older kids who had been too nervous to try the door, younger kids who were thrilled that it existed. they were the first, so they were looked up to, and they were happy they had.

-

help will always be given by hogwarts, you see. even for those who don’t know they need it.

  • Professor McGonagall: Especially you Mr. Potter, I expect more from you.
  • Sirus: What, you don't expect more from me?
  • Professor McGonagall: All I'm hoping out of you is a haircut.
The fallen

Some say that the trees whisper their names. That you can hear their fading laughter on the wind.

Footprints sometimes appear in the moist grass or mud and their steps echo through the halls.

The paintings on the wall tip their hats to the shadows dancing through the corridors and a cooling breeze gently caresses the curtains.

On photos you think you see a third person but they quickly disappear after a second look.

Sometimes the couch is still warm from someone else sitting on it , even though it’s three in the morning. And the house elves sometimes talk and wave at thin air.

The professors might call you by the wrong name and suddenly they have to blink tears away but can’t fight the small but sad smile that flickers over their face.

Countless cats and owls without an owner wander the school and sleep on the abandoned desks in empty class rooms. And sometimes, they freeze, lift their head and cry out. Whining until someone picks them up and reassures them.

Still opened books are gathering dust in the library. Nobody could ever bring themselves to store them away.
But sometimes a light winds picks up a page and will turn it ever so gently.

And every year on may 2nd , when the sunlight hits the surface of the lake, you can see the backs of fifty six people standing side by side. Facing the sun. They shimmer in the air and their feet don’t touch the ground.

One of them has red hair and the pupils could have sworn that they have seen someone who looked just like him when they were shopping in Diagon Alley.

Next to him, a married couple. You can tell by the way they are holding each others hands. The woman has bright pink hair and her husband seems to radiate warmth and kindness.

Then there is this younger kid. A vintage camera in his small hand. He always tries to take a picture of the sun, but he has never managed to catch the right moment yet.

Next to him stands a blonde, pale girl with a rose ribbon in her hair. She always lays a hand onto the boys bony shoulder and squeezes it gently.

They are surrounded by fifty other people.
The pupils can never actually see their faces. Only their backs. Like a wall of light and warmth they stand united at the lake. Enjoying the sun. Protecting what is left.

And there at the end of the line. There is a man, standing on his own. He is wearing all black. It suits him in a bizarre way. He is yellowish and pale and has black hair. He never looks at the sun. Instead, he stands in the shadow of a tree. Watching the others.

It took years. But after nineteen winters the married couple flowed towards him, took his hand and pulled him to join the others.
To stand together by the water. Between the wild and the school.

As guardians.
As patrons.
As a promise.

Not another child would die on this ground. Not here. History might be written with blood, but not at a place of ink. Not at this school.

Not at hogwarts.
Not at home.