Sirius stood on the entrance of the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes were following Remus around the room as he, oblivious to Sirius’s presence, paced from one bed to the other with a book in his hands, closing his eyes now and then and muttering something repeatedly, trying to memorize whatever it was he was reading.
Sirius watched, with an amused ghost of a smile on his lips, as a cup of steaming tea followed Remus around, and the boy reached for it now and then to take a small sip and then put it back into the air. There was a soft melody in the air, coming from Remus’s muggle “turntable” or whatever, and Sirius closed his eyes, letting the music fill him as he freeze framed the scene in front of him in his mind.
After a few minutes, he walked up to Remus, as silently as he could, and took the tea cup from the air to put it safely on one of the bedside tables. He then slipped his arms around Remus’s waist from behind him, tightening them when the werewolf jumped slightly from surprise.
“You’re wearing mismatched socks” Sirius muttered against the back of Remus’s neck. He could feel Remus sigh contentedly and close his book, and started to press small kisses on the base of Remus’s skull.
“When do I not, though,” Remus answered softly, and Sirius grinned against his hair.
“You’re a nerd,” he whispers.
Remus swatted at one of Sirius’s arms, and turned around in them, looping his own around Sirius’s neck.
They started to slowly sway with the music, some jazzy thing that allegedly helped Remus concentrate. They slow-danced around the room, grinning stupidly at each other, completely out of rhythm, book and tea completely forgotten.
“Moony,” Sirius whispered against Remus’s cheeks. “My Moony.”
Remus closed his eyes briefly, taking in the words, and rested his forehead against Sirius’s shoulder.
And for Sirius, that was more than enough.
Here are just some of the ways Bill Weasley shows he is the absolute cat’s pyjamas. Which, in case you were wondering, is far better than the ghoul’s pyjamas…
“Bill was – there was no other word for it – cool.” Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
He’s a curse-breaker for Gringotts
The job title alone sounds pretty awesome. Not only does Bill have goblins for colleagues – notoriously tricky customers – but he also gets to do the majority of his work amid the pyramids of Egypt. He’s pretty much the closest the wizarding world has to Indiana Jones.
He showed us that it’s cool to be clever
Obviously we already have Hermione flying the flag for bookworms everywhere, but Bill is a very smart fellow too. He also seemed a little more cavalier about his intellect than Hermione, who has a Boggart that tells her she’s failed all of her exams and literally turns back time to make all of her lessons count.
Meanwhile, Bill has O.W.L.s coming out of his ears and a Head Boy badge under his belt with seemingly no stress whatsoever. No big deal.
He has style to boot
Mrs Weasley may be in a constant battle with her eldest son regarding his aesthetic choices, but when Harry first claps eyes on Bill’s long ponytail, fanged earring and dragon-hide boots, he deems that his clothes ‘would not have looked out of place at a rock concert’.
Just imagine, for a moment, being Bill Weasley’s rock concert companion; you’d score so many cool points just by being near him. Imagine the inevitable crowdsurfing.
He mocks Percy’s cauldron bottoms
Only Percy Weasley could discuss the topic of cauldron bottoms with such regularity and still manage to keep a straight face.
Naturally Fred and George can be counted on to relentlessly mock Percy and his stiff-collared approach to his new Ministry job, but it is in fact the eldest Weasley brother we can thank for first mocking Percy’s cauldron bottom report – and he even manages to do so while having a mid-air table battle of epic proportions. Classic Bill.
He’s patient with Mrs Weasley’s fussing
We all know how annoying it is to be fussed over by your family, and Mrs Weasley’s niggling of Bill for his appearance must get irksome. That’s if you’re the sort to be irked though, which Bill clearly isn’t.
During one such conversation with his mother, when Molly protests that Bill’s earring isn’t appropriate for work, he puts paid to her argument with a simple, ‘Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure.’ Bill one, Molly nil.
He knows when it’s time to spring into action
Though he’s Mr Laidback the majority of the time, Bill still knows when it’s time to act. When the Death Eaters make an appearance at the Quidditch World Cup, Bill is immediately ready to aid in opposing them.
In the aftermath, although injured, his arm bleeding ‘profusely,’ Bill’s only concern is if the person who conjured the Dark Mark was caught. That’s our guy.
Even Rita Skeeter doesn’t get to him
Some of our toughest cookies have taken the cruel words of Rita Skeeter and her poisonous quill to heart. Hermione, who rarely takes notice of what idle gossips say about her, was reduced to tears by Rita’s slander; Hagrid, the man who befriends bloodthirsty beasts of all shapes and sizes, resorted to hiding out in his hut thanks to her unkind words.
But Bill? Please. He brushes aside being branded a ‘long-haired pillock’ with the greatest of ease.
His wife is amazing too
Almost every other guy in the series had fawned haplessly over the beautiful Beauxbatons student and Triwizard champion Fleur Delacour, but the second she sees Bill Weasley, it’s game over.
As Fleur is ‘eyeing Bill with great interest,’ is he all a dither? Of course not. By playing it far too cool for school, Bill gets the girl effortlessly. Well played, Weasley, well played.
He’s calm in the face of adversity
When Voldemort returns and everyone is, understandably, going to pieces just a tad, even Dumbledore doesn’t seem as brimming with joy as usual.
While Dumbledore enlists people with their duties, worried about the logistics of getting word to Arthur, Bill cuts the Headmaster short with a simple, ‘Leave it to me,’ followed swiftly by a clap of the hand on Harry’s shoulder, a kiss on his mother’s cheek, a swish of his cloak and an admirable striding exit. Now that’s how it’s done.
He took a brutal werewolf attack in his stride like an absolute champ
When Bill is mauled by Fenrir Greyback, he’s scarred for life. This would be enough trauma to drastically alter even the strongest of people.
However, while paying visits to the recovering Bill, Harry observes that ‘in personality he seemed just the same as ever. All that appeared to have changed was that he now had a great liking for very rare steaks.’ Fenrir who?
*vigorously shakes a magic 8 ball* will i ever understand why jk rowling loves and romanticizes severus snape, an abusive adult fully aware of his toxic actions and yet hates draco malfoy, a child who is very scared and surrounded by some of the worst influences possible
I don’t think about Harry Potter a whole lot, typically, but today I saw a video that featured Harry wearing some cool shades and I started wondering: what if Voldemort’s killing curse had struck Harry just a little lower? What if, on the first of November, 1981, the Dursleys had discovered on the doorstep their infant nephew - not with a conspicuous jagged scar, but instead with eyes the colour of electricity? How would blind Harry Potter’s life differ from the story we already know?
The first divergences are small and predictable. On his eleventh birthday, Harry’s letter from Hogwarts is written in delicate braille and the signature of Minerva McGonagall is elegantly embossed. At the Hut-on-the-Rock, the newly-revealed wizard boy is impressed not by Hagrid’s size but by the unusual depth of his voice.
Arriving at Hogwarts, we get no description of Draco Malfoy’s appearance, but instead learn the self-important scuffing sound of his footsteps, plus the fact that Crabbe and Goyle smell of old oatmeal, too much candy, and something that reminds Harry of grumpy toads.
Instead of learning “Lumos”, our blind Harry learns spells like “Oros” - which makes books and letters whisper their contents to him in their papery voices - as well as “Divinus”, which causes his wand to hum like a tuning fork the closer it gets to the object he’s thinking of.
One very notable thing has changed, however. In this world, no-one will ever tell Harry that he has his mother’s eyes. It’s hard to tell how much this changes Harry’s story; perhaps, without Lily’s eyes to stir up such emotion, Professor Snape won’t inflict Harry with the sadistic cruelty of a jealous lover - though he still treats the Potter boy with the same distance and hostility he felt towards Harry’s father, James (this, plus the acrid fumes and addling, humid vapours of the potions classrooms, continues to make the subject one of Harry’s least favourite).
With eyes that mark him as “The Boy who Lived” he may not be able to see the reflection of his desires in the Mirror of Erised, but upon placing his hand on the mirror’s cool surface Harry’s head is filled with the murmurs of familiar and comforting voices - his uncles, grandmothers, great-aunts and second cousins - and he is taken by an overwhelming sense of belonging, of being home.
Our sighted Harry always relied on the help of his friends to overcome challenges, and this remains true through the challenges to reach the Philosopher’s Stone. Hermione will still fend off the devil’s snare and solve the potion riddle, while Ron’s command over the chess board will still get the trio through the fourth chamber. Unable to see, Harry may yet be able to capture the winged key in the third chamber; instead of chasing the key like a daring snitch-seeker, he rises cautiously on his broom into the middle of the whirling, fluttering cloud and waits patiently until his keen ears distinguish the slow and clumsy flapping of the injured old key, grabbing it cleanly out of the air as it lumbers past him.
In his second year, Harry’s blindness is if anything an advantage in the fight against the basilisk, making him immune to the serpent’s petrifying gaze as he follows the sound of Fawkes’ voice to rend it through its head. (Incidentally, the repercussions of Dobby’s meddling this year will be slightly lessened, as who could blame a blind twelve-year-old for knocking over a sugared violet pudding - although the Dursleys will try - or bumping into a wall at Central Cross station?)
Professor Trelawney’s classes in third year could only be incredibly tedious for Harry, being unable to read tea leaves or see into crystal balls. What’s more, the Divination professor makes near-constant references to “blind prophets” and “third eyes”, which Harry can’t help but feel is somewhat offensive. Hermione will be very patient with Harry when they sit down to practice their astrology readings and Harry has to ask “Where are the stars, Hermione? The stars? Is Mars in the house of Jove right now? What’s the moon doing?”
With all the talk of The Grim this year, all Harry notices is the lingering ‘shaggy dog smell’ that seems to follow him around whenever he’s outside the castle.
Will a blind boy be allowed to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Of course he will! Wizards don’t understand ‘safety’. Our Harry may not be a confident flyer, but he still has command of the Accio charm, as well as an entire stash of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products under his bed in his dormitory. Even a Hungarian Horntail can’t see you through Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, not can it smell you once you’ve detonated a few dung bombs. After being tricked into devouring an entire case of Skiving Snackboxes, any dragon is going to feel like taking the day off.
Harry doesn’t recognise Hermione at first when she attends the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum: her improved posture changes the sound of her footsteps, and her voice has taken on a new lilt and clarity after Madam Pomfrey shrunk her teeth to undo Malfoy’s hex. Masking her characteristic smells of library books and toothpaste, she carries with her the flowery scent of the cosmetic potion she put in her hair.
Harry will be incapable of seeing thestrals, even at the start of his fifth year; after hearing the clopping of hooves from his carriage and remarking that “regular, horse-drawn transport seems rather mundane for Hogwarts”, he will be drawn into a very awkward and illuminating conversation with Luna Lovegood about the nature of death.
Umbrige will be described to us not as “toad-like”, but in terms of her voice “like an indignant budgerigar stuck in an expensive vase”. Her classroom smells strongly to Harry of talcum powder and too-sweet tea, with an undertone of vinegar and hints of nightshade.
With a fragment of Tom Riddle’s soul trapped within his eyes, Harry’s visions of Voldemort are stronger than ever, and he rushes as always to confront the Death Eaters - a group of determined friends by his side - at the Ministry of Magic.
Of course this Harry will succeed in hunting down the remaining Horcruxes and tracing the paths of the Deathly Hallows. How could he not, with his magical talents, his powerful capacity for empathy and love, and the endless help of his his allies and friends?
Coming to in a spectral representation of King’s Cross Station, Harry recoils from the whimpering fragment of Voldemort’s should before being greeted by the figure of Albus Dumbledore, whom Harry recognises from his distinguished voice - like a grand old oak tree, its branches bowed under the weight of a thousand stars. Harry’s figment of Dumbledore smells like soap and gold wire, like ink, polished wood and lemon sherbets, and very faintly of kind and humble tears. Occasional wisps of the old man’s expansive beard brush past.
Harry has the same conversation with Dumbledore about life and death, about his own plans and foils, and about Voldemort. Harry is offered the same choice: to go back to the land of the living or to board a train into the beyond. Harry still chooses to return to Voldemort’s camp in the Forbidden Forest, for the sake of his friends, whom he knows and loves by sound and smell and touch.
Harry - The Boy Who Lived - the boy with eyes like lightning, duels Voldemort without ever seeing his snake-like features or the contempt and malice in his red-ringed pupils, and defeats the dark lord just as he does in the original story, because the sum of one’s strength is more than any one sense, just like a community’s strength is greater than that of any one person. Beside the skinny boy with the dark glasses held together by Spell-o-tape stand a frizzy-haired muggle girl who has read every book, two of redhead siblings from a huge and loving family, a forgetful boy raised by grandmother, a girl who still carries around a battered pair of Spectre Specs, and countless other witches and wizards who know that love, acceptance and cooperation are the most powerful magics of all.
i’m sorry but i’m afraid i have to tell you that ronald weasley is probably one of the bravest boys to have ever existed and i can’t believe his friendship with harry is the most precious thing to have been produced in literature
We all know Slytherins got a bad rep, right? Right. Well hear me out.
What if like little first year Slytherins are super duper excited to start life at Hogwarts because let’s be honest, we all would be. And in the midst of their freaking out and awe, they get told that they’re disliked by all other houses.
And being the stubborn little tater tots they are don’t believe them and walk around Hogwarts trying to befriend everyone only to find out that they really were unliked. And when they run back to question why, the older Slytherins build them up and tell them how the other houses are beneath them, and how Slytherins are the purest to shield them from the feeling of abandonment and explain that Slytherins will always be there for Slytherins. And that’s why Slytherins are snobby and rude.
Because if you think about it, Slytherins weren’t the only ones downing people. The other houses would talk badly about Slytherins as a whole too. I mean, it’s like a horrible thing to be sorted into Slytherin….and don’t you dare sit there and tell me that they didn’t make up jokes about them either. “You’re being awfully Slytherin today.” “Ugh, you’re sounding just like a Slytherin.” Wouldn’t you eventually get sick and tired of hearing all these insulting things about who you were as a person and your house turn sour?
I see Slytherins as outsiders. They have this preconceived notion that they’re evil, mean, rude, and only care about purity. No one wants to be their friend because they seem shady and untrustworthy. They only have each other, the only people they can turn to. So, what’s your only defense when you’re cornered?
It goes back generations and generations of Slytherin, so don’t get me wrong. I’m sure there were hella of a lot of little shits that were little snot heads before Hogwarts but you can’t possibly tell me that all of them were.