wand raise

19 years ago today Fred Weasley and many others lost their life to make the world a better place for future generations.
Raise your wands for all those brave man and women who died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying regain control. He should have brought something to give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents’ grave.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

One of my favorite scenes.

Slytherin house.

One thing I absolutely cannot forgive J.K. Rowling for is how Slytherins were treated in the end. Not one Slytherin was given the benefit of the doubt. I’ll always think the scene where Professor Mcgonagall sends the entire Slytherin house away should have gone differently.

We deserved better. Slytherin deserved that chance of redemption. But no, apparently Pansy Parkinson is the Slytherin spokesperson.

How brilliant would it have been? To have a group of Slytherins stand still and say “No, we’re not moving, we’re fighting as well. This is our school too.” and have Minerva look at them sympathetically, asking “Do you know who you’ll be fighting against?” ‘possibly your relatives’ left hanging in the air. The group of Slytherins nod fiercely and join the battle.

Give me scared Slytherins that know they have to do the right thing. Give me Slytherins jumping infront of Harry when he’s running the corridors to shield him. Give me Slytherins buying their classmates more time. Give me Slytherins shakily, but bravely raising their wands and attacking.

“Potter, what is that?” Draco asks with urgency, his chest constricting in pain as he catches a glimpse of something dark coiling up Harry’s forearm.

Harry shoves his sleeve down and jumps up to meet Draco, his wand clattering to the floor. “Nothing. How did you find – “

“Show me.”

“I don’t – “

“Show me. Now.” Draco demands. He can’t believe this is happening. As if it isn’t horrible enough seeing it on his own arm every day.

Harry pulls up his sleeve slowly to reveal it – The Dark Mark – etched into his flesh. Draco holds back a gag.

“It’s not what you think,” Harry says.

Draco’s eyes dart between the mark and Harry’s face. “It’s – how did – why?”

“I wanted to practice removing it,” Harry says slowly, his meaning clear. It only makes Draco angrier.

“So you gave yourself a Dark Mark? You reckless idiot. What if you can’t remove it? Did you even think about that before you – “ Draco stops himself. Of course he didn’t. He’s Harry fucking Potter. Draco sighs and tries to calm himself. He’s not responsible for Harry’s idiotic antics. “How did you even manage to replicate it?” He asks, his voice measured.

Harry smiles weakly. “Well, a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was inside me for most of my life and his magic left a pretty big trace. I just… accessed it.”

Once again Draco holds back a gag. The thought of Voldemort’s magic, so dark, so cruel, inside of Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Saint, is too much. It’s horrifying.

Draco takes a breath and asks Harry the question he already knows the answer to: “Why do you need to know how to remove a Dark Mark?” He needs to hear the idiot say it.

Sure enough: “So I can remove yours.”

Draco grits his teeth. He’s furious that Harry has put himself in danger for him. Again. “You don’t owe me anything, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry says. But he doesn’t.

“You can’t just go around saving people all the time!” Draco’s raised voice echoes throughout the room.

“Why not?”

“Not everyone wants to be saved,” Draco points out. He doesn’t want Harry risking anything for him. How could he ask that of anyone, after all that he’s done?

“You don’t want the mark removed?” Harry questions, his eyes falling down to Draco’s left arm.

Draco’s mark is covered but he tugs on his sleeve regardless. “It reminds me of who I am.”

Harry frowns. “That’s exactly why you need it removed. That’s not who you are, Draco.”

Draco blanches, surprised at the use of his first name and Harry quickly corrects himself. “I mean Malfoy.”

Draco lets his eyes fall back down to Harry’s mark, taking in the harsh lines of the coiling snake and skull, and the red raw skin beneath. He shudders. “Looks like you haven’t had much success anyway,” he says as casually as he can manage. But inside, his heart is tight. Because now Harry will have to live with the Dark Mark the rest of his life. Just like Draco, he’ll be forced to carry the weight of the inescapable dark magic within his skin, forced to feel it crawling through his veins, through his every spell, with no relief and no hope of salvation.

“I’m getting close. Before you came in, I could feel it moving.” Harry retrieves his wand from the floor and points it at his Dark Mark, eyebrows tightening in concentration.

“Go on, then. No other Wizard has been able to do it, but I’m sure even a Dark Mark will be no match for the great Harry Pot – oh.” Draco’s knees buckle. “Oh.”

Against all logic, Harry removes the Dark Mark as if it is nothing more than a muggle tattoo. The head of the snake recoils into a rapidly shrinking skull until all that is left is smooth, untainted skin.

Malfoy yanks up his sleeve and holds out his arm to Harry. Despite all his protesting, he wants to be saved. More than anything.

Harry’s hand wraps under Draco’s arm holding it in place and he raises his wand. Draco screws up his eyes in anticipation - he cannot bear to witness the removal in case it doesn’t work properly. What if his Dark Mark is worse than Harry’s, having come from Voldemort himself? What if – Oh.

Draco doesn’t need to see it happen because he feels it. He feels the darkness extracted from his body, feels strength returning to his limbs. And he feels light. Lighter than he can ever remember. As if he might just float away. He opens his eyes and stares down at his clear, unmarked skin.

There’s a sense of twisted deja vu when Draco looks up from his arm. He remembers looking up into Voldemort’s eyes after he was given the mark, and feeling colder than he’s ever felt before. But now when he looks up into his saviour’s eyes, into Harry Potter eyes, it’s warmth he feels, from the smooth skin on his forearm to the centre of his heart.

He blinks back his tears. “Thank you.” They’re the same words he was forced to say to Voldemort but their meaning couldn’t be any more different this time. Voldemort had stolen his life, and Harry Potter had just restored it.

For all those who fought bravely this day 19 years ago, to those that lived, may they live well and happy, and for those that died, may they rest in peace.
This day is not just to remember those who died, but to remember what they died for.
Love, loyalty, friendships and family stands above all, and to attain happiness there’s a need for sacrifice.
Sometimes, the good die young so the others can live longer. The ones who die for us, live through us.
They will always be in our hearts forever.
I raise my wand to Severus Snape, Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown and the Fallen Fifty.

anonymous asked:

What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?

It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.

Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”  

“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”

“Be taught what, Albus?”

But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.

Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.

When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.  

“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”

“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”

Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.

Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.

In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily…  strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”

Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.

“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”

He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.

Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.

Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”

Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.

“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.

“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.

“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”

Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.

When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.

They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.

As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?

Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.

The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.

Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?

Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.

Please, thought Harry. Don’t send me back.

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anonymous asked:

Okay but wait if it was Lily's willingness to sacrifice herself to save Harry, why the hell did James's willingness to sacrifice himself to save both Lilly AND Harry not qualify???

ok but imagine it did save both of them and lily had to raise harry alone

  • she emerges from the rubble of her home, limping, her crying son in her arms
  • but otherwise they’re both ok
  • when sirius and remus find her sitting numbly in the front yard she can’t bring herself to tell them about the lifeless body she had to walk around in order to get her son out of the smoldering house
  • they do it for her
  • they pull james’ body from the wreckage, and summon a blanket to lay over him
  • with him laid out like that, lily wonders if harry thinks his dada is sleeping
  • distantly she can hear sirius and remus arguing
  • “i’ll kill him”
  • it takes a glare from lily to shut them up
  • “do you think” her voice is raspy- probably from how much she screamed when she heard james hit the floor
  • she holds harry tighter and reminds herself that, no matter how much it already felt like she’s dead without james, she isn’t and she has someone to live for
  • “do you really think,” she starts again, “that he would want you to do that, possibly get yourselves arrested, and leave harry and i alone?”
  • the boys nod
  • and slowly they sit down on either side of her
  • dumbledore and mcgonagall show up shortly after and usher them all to a new safe house
  • they explain james’ sacrifice 
  • how his love saved them both
  • they didn’t need to though- lily knew that was what saved them
  • they bury him in godric’s hollow, just a few spots away from his parents
  • and they try to continue living 
  • peter is found and sent to azkaban but it still doesn’t feel right
  • nothing feels right to lily
  • except harry
  • so she clings desperately to her son
  • she sends him to muggle school and gets a job at flourish and blotts
  • “i need to do something, remus, i’m so bored while harry is at school”
  • she reads harry stories before bed
  • they have play dates with the weasleys
  • sirius and remus come over every day and eat dinner with them
  • and teach harry how to ride a broom
  • marlene baby sits when lily has to work late
  • they go for walks in the park
  • they get a cat, much to sirius’ dismay
  • and when harry’s letter comes lily wonders if she shouldn’t send him
  • but for all that it took from her- the wizarding world gave her so much too
  • best friends, the wonders of magic
  • james
  • and harry
  • so she takes a deep breath and sends him to hogwarts because she knows it’s where he belongs
  • she meets hermione and the two bond instantly
  • harry writes her every week
  • she goes to every quidditch game 
  • and almost punches dumbledore for allowing her son, this little boy, to remain in the triwizard tournament
  • and finally, when she’s at bill and fleur’s wedding, lily sees- despite the polyjuice potion disguising him- a determined expression on harry’s face is so familiar
  • so much like james
  • so lily lets him go again
  • the next time she sees him is at hogwarts
  • and then again in hagrid’s arms
  • and her heart is on fire because she did not lose her husband, raise harry alone and go through hell just to lose him too
  • so she turns to the man who started all of this
  • but just as she’s raised her wand to finish him, who steps forward but neville longbottom
  • and soon after that it’s over
  • lily holds her son in her arms, strokes his hair like she did when he was little and cries because she truly thought she had lost everything
  • “there’s someone you all need to see” harry whispers
  • they find sirius and remus, he leads them into the forest, and turns a stone three times
  • and there’s james
  • lily is vaguely aware of choked sobs coming from behind her- remus or sirius or both, she can’t quite tell
  • james smiles at her and reaches out his hand to gently brush her face
  • she can barely feel it but at the same time it sets her world on fire just like the very first time he touched her
  • “hiya, prongs,” remus murmurs
  • “boys- you’ve aged well”
  • “shame you haven’t” sirius says
  • james smiles sadly at them before turning back to lily
  • “we never got our proper goodbye”
  • “don’t be a fool james potter- how can i say goodbye to you when you’ll never leave me?”
  • he gives her that look
  • the one that always meant “i love you”
  • “i love you too,” she whispers
  • and then he’s gone again
  • but lily leaves the forest with a small smile on her face because after all these years she knows that he never really was

For you, @drsallysparrow, several months late.


“Georgie,” Fred whispered, arching a brow and digging his elbow into his brother’s ribs as soon as they poured out of Filch’s office. “Have a look.”

“Well then,” George remarked, eyeing the worn piece of parchment in his twin’s hand. “A whole drawer of confiscated items and you thought the blank bit of parchment was probably best?” He reached for it, giving it a skeptical once-over. “For this I wasted a dungbomb?” 

“A dungbomb at the inconvenience of Filch is never a dungbomb wasted,” Fred told him smartly. “Anyway, considering the drawer, there’s obviously more to it. Unlike you,” he added, nudging him. “Who possess nothing beneath your stunningly handsome facade.”

“A handsomeness that I wear better, by the way,” George assured his twin, not looking up. “Hm,” he murmured to himself. “If it were me, I would- ”

He stopped, frowning in thought.

“Oh good,” Fred said, fighting a yawn. “I was hoping you’d come to an abrupt stop.” He leaned against the wall, kicking one leg out to cross it over the other. “Frankly, if it weren’t for your unerring mystery, I’d have run off a long time ago.”

George raised his wand and tapped it against the parchment. “Revelio,” he muttered, and then watched as a series of words began to spread across the page.

No, it said. Don’t feel like it.

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Some Ilvermorny headcanons
  • First and foremost, every day is cranberry pie day
  • While students do have robes, the clothes they wear underneath the robes are not uniforms. There is an eclectic mix of tastes, from the very serious horned serpent who wears button-downs and ties every day, to the wampus who has enchanted their graphic t-shirt to move, to the thunderbirds and pukwudgies who mutually exist solely for sweater weather.
  • Every year on James Steward’s birthday, there is a school-sponsored cranberry pie bake-off. Pukwudgie house nearly always wins. Once, thunderbird won and good lord you would think it was the civil war all over again
  • There are a lot of local professors, of course, so you get some really thick Boston accents, but there are also professors with southern belle accents who serve iced tea in class, professors with Canadian accents, professors with midwest accents, several Native American professors with smooth, lulling accents, and some Mexican professors who slip into Spanish when they get super excited about their subject. There was a visiting professor from Ireland once, and 96% of female students (and some male students) had major crushes on him.
  • Wampus house is where you go to get body-crushing, soul-lifting hugs
  • Horned serpents may be scholars, but they are also some of the keenest observers. They watch the whole school from afar and quietly play matchmaker to all of their friends. No one suspects them because - what, horned serpent? No. They don’t know about emotions. Meanwhile, the house president makes a killing on the bet she made to predict the homecoming king/queen. 
  • Thanksgiving at Ilvermorny is a spectacle that has to be seen to be believed. It’s almost bigger than Christmas. The thanksgiving feasts at Ilvermorny put Hogwarts to shame. Turkey, ham, real cranberry sauce, pies - oh my god so many pies. They’ve got cider, and tea, and cocoa like you wouldn’t believe. There are New English dishes and Southern dishes and Native dishes and Mexican dishes and Canadian dishes and West Coast dishes - essentially it’s a gigantic continental potluck, and it goes on all day long. Also, their pumpkin juice tastes 1000 times better.
  • While things like dueling and fighting with wands may be frowned upon at Hogwarts, at Ilvermorny it’s kind of just assumed that stuff happens, and the profs are very chill about it. “Just don’t kill each other okay” “just take it outside” “no casting destruction spells indoors” “bring some band-aids with you” “if you break your nose don’t bleed on your homework”
  • Pukwudgies are a pretty agreeable house over all, if not a bit salty and surly around the edges, they’ll still help you with your homework and bring you soup when you’ve got a cold. But all bets are off when they step onto the lacrosse field. Maybe its a pride thing, but pukwudgies are frikkin animals when playing lacrosse.
  • Wampus beats pukwudgie at lacrosse fairly often. They don’t actually practice that much, they just kind of win.
  • This fact has fueled a sports rivalry - friendly in wampus’ eyes, bloodthirsty in pukwudgie’s eyes. 
  • At wampus/pukwudgie games, horned serpents sell special blends of popcorn. Thunderbirds purchase, hoard, and eat 89% of this popcorn.
  • Horned serpents and pukwudgies often, though not always, end up having an unspoken rivalry in potions class.
  • Contrary to popular belief, wampus is not full of athletic jocks. However, they are the most body-positive of all of the schools, and, somewhat ironically to the stereotype, will never judge anyone for their athletic ability. They want everyone to be able to enjoy athleticism and bravery and adventure in the ways they are most able and gifted.
  • That being said, they do have the kind of student body who, if called upon, could become a minute militia.
  • When there is a freak hurricane or tornado headed headed for the school, it will be a wampus student who is patrolling the halls and telling students where to go for safety. If there is a bully in school, you had better bet your bottom dollar that s/he will be beaten to a pulp by the next day, and it will be a wampus student sporting mysteriously bloody knuckles.
  • Pukwudgies are the ones who patch up the bully; they might accidentally wind the bandages a little too tight.
  • Thunderbirds love a good game of hide-and-seek. They have a tradition of, every halloween, playing hide-and-seek in the dark in the woods.
  • Horned serpents are the students least often caught for sneaking in contraband into school. Caught being the key word. Most students learn at some point in their education that if you want a nice stiff drink, you go to horned serpent. During secret designated holidays, horned serpent common room turns into a speakeasy. 
  • Unexpectedly, it is pukwudgies who carry the most weapons and dangerous materials on their person at any given time. If a group of Ilvermorny students were going through a security check, it would be the pukwudgies held at the line while they emptied their pockets (bigger on the inside, of course) of various poisons and weapons. When asked, they would just shrug and say “just in case”.
  • The town around Ilvermorny is home to several franchised chain restaurants that, although they are no-maj brands, have been taken over by Ilvermorny alumni and thus serve predominantly wizarding patrons. Cups levitate to customers in the Starbucks, there are magic-only options on the menu; the chik-fil-a floor sweeps itself; at dominos the pizzas assemble themselves while the one clerk waits, bored, at the register. There are in-house cues for magic patrons whenever a no-maj walks in. The clerk rings a bell or taps loudly on the counter, or yells out an order than is actually a code word for stop doing magic stuff. It’s like red light green light.
  • There are some old service tunnels beneath the school left over from WWII and the Cold War. They’re like a labyrinth, and Thunderbird has a monopoly on the maps to the tunnels. Some of the more obscure tunnels have large rooms that are perfect for parties and impromptu speakeasies (lookin at you, horned serpent). Thunderbirds will rent out these rooms to fellow students at a fair and competitive rate.
  • Unlike hogwarts, Ilvermorny students are more apt to use modern technology. Electrics can be weird around witches and wizards, but they still enjoy a lot of no-maj programming. They use computers instead of quills (but still have to print off their essays, ugh,) and listen to music, and watch TV.
  • Star Trek has long been a school cult favorite. Pukwudgies have adopted Bones as their pop culture mascot; Kirk is Thunderbird’s, Spock, horned serpent. Wampus vacillates on which of these three they like most, though it must be said, when they start watching Next Gen, many wampus students find themselves enamored with Worf,
  • There has only been one no-maj to ever make it past the magic shields of Ilvermorny unaided. This instance was in 1985. His name was Chad, who at the time was 1) stoned out of his mind and 2) delivering chinese takeout to a horned serpent pulling an all-nighter. School admin found out later, and there was hell to pay. They never did track down Chad to wipe his memory.
  • Pukwudgie house does have more than its fair share of healers, so they are definitely the ones to go to for cold remedies, home made soup, the best cures for menstrual cramps, and really good back rubs.
  • However, they are also the ones to go to for less medical remedies: the best hot cocoa, the most gourmet teas, and home made food.
  • Each house has a class president who is elected for a two-year term (unless they’re a final year student, in which case they will serve one before being taken over by their VP). They have some influence within their houses, but never as much as they’d like. For instance, the thunderbird president once attempted to institute mid-day dancing parties, but school admin said no.
  • Pukwudgies are usually not super athletic, but are often very good at things like darts, archery, and waterbaloon fights.
  • Wampus takes ultimate frisbee very, very seriously.
  • Thunderbird hosts an ongoing scavenger hunt throughout the semester.
  • The women of horned serpent blow off steam and the stuffy acadmic pressures of their house by making pillow forts and watching rom coms with each other.
  • Back in the eighties some wizard created a magic version of D&D, and it has become a weekend favorite of many students across all of the houses.
  • After graduation, instead of having a class ring, it has become tradition for Ilvermorny students to make a pendant out of their golden cloak buttons.
  • Ilvermorny may be separated by inter-house squabbles much like at Hogwarts, but at the end of the day, they all leave school wearing the same blue and cranberry robes, sporting the same skill with a wand, raised to the same scrappy, witty, mod-podge tenacity that American witches and wizards embody so well.

Chapter five: Diagon Alley

The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
‘Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.’
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, ‘Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious …’

2

Raise your wands for Sam Beazley, he passed away at age 101 /*


He portrayed Professor Everard in the Harry Potter movies

‘‘When Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini in the Department of Mysteries in late 1995, Albus Dumbledore, then Headmaster, asked Everard to go to his portrait at the Ministry of Magic’s Headquarters in order to warn others that Mr Weasley was injured at the Department‘‘
‘Oh my - !’ shrieked Hermione, as she and Ron caught up with Harry and gazed upwards at the giant now trying to seize people through the window above.
'DON’T!’ Ron yelled, grabbing Hermione’s hand as she raised her wand. 'Stun him and he’ll crush half the castle - ’
— 

This is so important. Like, this tiny moment demonstrates the way these two think, and how they think differently. (And that doesn’t make either of them smarter or dumber. (ง︡’-‘︠)ง)

But like - Hermione approaches this situation in a very problem-solution way of thinking: Giant is threat to people around him, so get rid of giant. Ron - and I would expect no less from a person who’s been playing chess for so long, and so well - has more of a cause and effect way of thinking. And in this moment, he thinks a step further than Hermione - he realises Stunning the giant will come with consequences as well, and these must be taken into account. 

Classic chess player.

4

Harry understood at last that he was not supposed to survive. His job was to walk calmly into Death’s welcoming arms. Along the way, he was to dispose of Voldemort’s remaining links to life, so that when at last he flung himself across Voldemort’s path, and did not raise a wand to defend himself, the end would be clean, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric’s Hollow would be finished.