sounds for the houses:


  • the quiet crackle of fire in a warm room
  • her laughter after you finally kissed her
  • the first bird of the morning in a tent you set up by yourself
  • a train rolling by 
  • “i knew you could do it”
  • fall leaves underfoot
  • the soft padding of a wildcat
  • a tornado that’s too close for comfort
  • yelling yourself hoarse
  • hoofbeats


  • the quiet chime of the oven timer 
  • shifting your legs in clean bedclothes
  • lazy summer afternoons, cicadas in the distance
  • “i’ll wait for you.”
  • her happy gasp when she sees you
  • the shush of ribbon around a giftbox
  • sifting flour
  • an empty echo in a dark canyon
  • drumrolls
  • purring


  • the tapping of long nails on good wood
  • waves on a pebble shore
  • a crowd chanting your name
  • “you were right.”
  • her happy sigh when you pull her closer
  • the soft shush of a dancer’s feet 
  • good shoes clicking on tile floors
  • wolfpack howls
  • the silence of a snowy midnight 
  • a good engine idling


  • rain on windowpanes
  • old leather creaking
  • the quiet strum of a guitar
  • quietly whispered poetry
  • good coffee machines
  • a paintbrush on fresh canvas
  • “that’s an incredibly good idea”
  • footfalls on library carpets
  • the inhale of her breath when she ducks her nose into an old book
  • wingbeats

all the cursed child stuff is funny, but something that made my physically disgusted is the idea that harry james potter would ever tell one of his children ‘i wish you weren’t my child’