what she means:
Ok, but, like...who owned the Potters’ house after they died? Why didn’t it go to Harry? James and his family were wealthy, and the Potters had been well-established in Godric’s Hollow for a long time, so presumably their modest little house was not bank owned or under mortgage. I feel pretty confident that they owned it outright. And there was a war going on, they knew they were targets...there’s no way they didn’t have a will. Why didn’t their house go to Harry? Did the Ministry just, like...take it? Because they wanted it to be held in stasis as a memorial? That's creepy af. But what gave them the legal right? Is it because baby Harry didn’t pay property taxes for a few years, so the Ministry used that as an excuse to claim it? Who was the executor of the Potters’ will? Why didn’t someone take care of that and ensure the house was held in trust for Harry until he came of age? Was it Dumbledore who screwed this up? I bet it was Dumbledore. It's always Dumbledore... And what about all of their belongings??? Harry might not have wanted the house, but you can be pretty damn certain that he would have wanted some of his parents’ things...James’s old quidditch gear, Lily’s jewelry, family recipes, old photo albums...where the hell did everything go?? Is it...is it all still there....? In the house....? Oh god, that's a terrible creepy thought! Is it all just sitting there, in Ministry-owned suspension, while Hagrid has to beg James and Lily’s old school friends to send pictures because 11 year old Harry doesn’t know what his parents looked like??? What the hell is wrong with Wizarding society, and why did everyone treat literal angel child Harry James Potter this way???!!
remember during 1d’s infinity performance for telehit harry held his arms out open to the crowd during his lil vocal moment and then went wild on the music drop…. bc i think about this moment every day
He came to the conclusion that waiting was the biggest waste one could do with their life.
And he had wasted a lot of his life already.
He had waited for his father to acknowledge him, to show him he was proud of his son.
He had waited for his mother to stand up to his father, whenever he had talked her down, whenever he had treated her like less than his wife.
He had waited for his friends to come to his rescue when he had needed them most, to save him from himself.
And he had waited for the stupid prat to notice him. Really notice him. To look beyond the petty insults and his sneering.
For years Draco had been waiting.
He had waited in vain. But not anymore.
Draco was sick of waiting.
What had he even waited for? For him to come to the right conclusion, when Draco hid his true intentions so well? For him to realise what was really going on?
He probably would have to wait forever.
No. He would have to take matters into his own hands. And whyever should he not?
Yes, it was time to act.
Draco focused on the mop of black hair across the Great Hall.
He was sick of waiting.
He got up, marched over to the Gryffindor table and grabbed Potter by his robes. Without waiting for his reaction, Draco started dragging him out of his seat.
There was a yelp and shouts of protest, but Draco didn’t care.
He was so sick of waiting.
“Malfoy, what are you doing?” Potter shouted, shoving at Draco’s hands.
Draco ignored him and dragged him out of the Great Hall.
He could hear Weasley and Granger shout something at him. He heard footsteps behind him, indicating that several people were following him. Potter was still trying to get out of his grip.
Draco had wanted to find a more secluded place to do what he wanted to do next, but when the shouts behind him only got louder, he turned around and glared at them.
“You want to watch? FINE! I don’t even care anymore!”
He tightened his grip on Potter’s robes as he pulled him towards him forcefully.
Because he was so tired of waiting.
His mouth crashed with Potter’s and suddenly everything went silent.
Draco had thought it would be rougher, that Potter would try to fight him more. Apparently he was just shocked. He stiffened as Draco moved his lips against the other boy’s. He buried his hands in his hair like he had dreamed of so many times.
He had waited for this so long. This was it.
Or was it?
Draco suddenly noticed Potter moving and braced himself to be pushed away at any second. Instead, tentative fingers curled around his hips to pull him closer.
Draco was sure there were gasps and murmuring, but he didn’t hear any of it.
His whole mind, his whole body was so consumed by Potter. Potter, who was kissing him back.
Yes. This was what he had been waiting for all this time.
I have recently become utterly smitten with the Society of Gentlemen book series by KJ Charles. The book covers are so disappointing and bland and do not do these characters justice AT ALL so I needed to draw the boys myself.
If you like Regency-era stories about gentlemen who like other gentlemen then you should check this series out; it’s got some lovely romance and friendships and supporting-each-other-through-hardship and era politics and scandal and drama and pining. Not to mention bi and demi and trans characters, and none of the conflicts revolve around anyone being ashamed of their sexuality. Oh, and they all have HAPPY ENDINGS! Also people actually communicate and it avoids so many stupid misunderstandings that are so common in love stories.
(Basically everything I’ve ever wanted in historical romance and more)
i just.. . can’t get over sign of the times. there is so much feeling in it - hope, desperation, strength, vulnerability, pain, love, bravery - and all of it is so palpable, i feel like i can taste it in the air while the song’s playing. he pulls you in at the very first note and tangles you into his soul with every note after that. the energy in his voice just. it washes over you, wave after wave, like an ocean of electricity and emotion.
I don’t think one can really articulate their thoughts on life through writing, but I’ve been asked to try, so here it goes. I think we’re all connected. Maybe not in a way that makes much sense, but I don’t think anyone is ever truly alone. You, reading this, are not alone. We may never meet, I may never be more than a character in a story to you, but that doesn’t matter. I think that when we pour a little bit of ourselves into paper and ink, those stories pour a bit of themselves back into us, too, and that makes us closer than you can imagine. Life is strange and difficult. You’ll sometimes feel completely lost. You’ll fall in love with the voices in your head. You’ll look in all the right places at all the wrong times for something that you think will make you happy. You’ll be forced to go through so much pain. But just know that, through it all, you are not alone. I’m with you, the character in the story that you poured a bit of yourself into when you took the time to read. I’m with you.
(Maybe we can never completely separate fictional characters from our own perspective and understanding—can we ever separate anything from that, really?—and they may not really reciprocate what we feel about them (be it love or hate), but that feeling itself is enough to change us. The more we pour our life, our time, our perception, our love and hate into the characters, the more we feel about them, then the more we are different from our past selves who had not poured and had not felt. And who knows, maybe that will lead to other changes. Maybe we’ll one day feel differently towards another incident, or make a different decision, because of what we’ve read and felt before? The characters are with us and we are not alone. I feel very blessed, or loved, to have met the characters I love.)