I will literally riot if anyone even suggests pitting Jon against Sansa, or any of the Starklings for that matter. No NOT AFTER Sansa remembering her father’s words NOT AFTER Arya spent her whole fucking life trying to get back to her pack because WHEN THE SNOWS FALL AND THE WHITE WINDS BLOW, THE LONE WOLF DIES BUT THE PACK SURVIVES.
interviewer: do you think you have talent in acting? eunji: of course not. but over time, acting has become fun. although singing is my priority and the only thing that makes me happy, acting helps me understand myself better.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place is no longer hidden. It sits neatly between Number 11 and Number 13, its wrought iron polished and shiny, its windows clean of dust and grime. Muggles can see it, though they rarely give it more than a moment’s glance; wizards and witches will occasionally approach cautiously to lay down a wreath of flowers, or a handwritten note addressed to The Boy Who Lives Still. Their wary respect is well-intentioned but unnecessary- Number 12 is second only to Hogwarts in the number of protective spells and wards place around it.
It is empty most of the year.
Fall winds blow and disturb no one’s slumber inside. In winter, snow gathers on the steps and railings; the windows remain dark and the curtains drawn. No flowers peek out from the windowsills to celebrate the arrival of spring.
In the summer, they arrive.
From the outside, there is nothing to unite them. There are loud, boisterous teenagers and shy, quiet children no older than twelve; there are some dressed in the latest Muggle fashions and some whose jeans are patched and worn. They are of all races and ethnicities, all shapes and sizes, from all parts of the British Isles; they can be heard chattering in accents that clash and meld and somehow become harmonious. From the outside, they have nothing in common. But since when has someone’s outside reflected who they really are?
Molly Weasley was the first person Harry told about his idea. She and Arthur help him expand Number 12′s interior, adding bathrooms and reading nooks and bedrooms. Ginny chooses the squashiest armchairs and sturdiest furniture, tracking down bargains with a fierce glint in her eyes. When he realizes he needs an outdoor space, Hermione helps him to link his back door to an empty field. Ron helps Bill put up Quidditch hoops while Neville transplants trees and Hannah stations benches beneath their shady branches. Parvati paints the rooms in swirls of bright colors- green and red and blue and yellow mingle on the walls.
In the summer, Number 12 Grimmauld Place becomes a refuge for lost children. They are the ones with no home to go to when the term ends, the ones who don’t have someone waiting to pick them up when the Hogwarts Express pulls into Platform 9 ¾. They are the ones whose homes are not safe, who grow anxious as June approaches and spring turns to summer. They are the ones who are no longer welcomed by those who share their blood, who have had to make family out of friends.
Harry Potter greets these students at Kings Cross and he takes them in.
In the summer, former DA members stream in and out of Number 12′s brightly polished door. Luna brings suitcases packed with odd creatures she’s discovered on her travels; the students sit in the sunny field as she pulls them out one by one and tells of hiking up mountains and wading through marshes. Ginny gives flying lessons and organizes Quidditch matches; the Harpies donate their old brooms when they switch sponsors (something that happens far more often than any other team in the league). There is a greenhouse where students with a green thumb can tend their own plots and assist Neville with his herbology experiments. Justin and Hermione drill them on Muggle subjects; Justin teaches algebra, geometry, and basic sciences while Hermione covers history and literature. George always spends a memorable week showing off his newest inventions while Ron drops by almost every evening to play chess. Students entering their fifth year can spend the summer shadowing people in careers that pique their interest; the Trio rarely use their fame for their own gain, but they wield it with fierce determination in the service of others.
In the summer, these children are fed by Molly Weasley, hugged by Hannah Abbott, told bedtime stories by Luna Lovegood. They can spend all day reading under a tree or playing Exploding Snap in the kitchen or arguing about how best to make a phone work at Hogwarts. They can wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and make their way down to the kitchen, where Harry will meet them with a mug of hot tea and a listening ear. They can stay in bed on days when the world is too cruel and lonely, when the emptiness in their body is too heavy to bear. They can see others who struggle with it too and realize that family is not limited by blood, that being lonely doesn’t always mean being alone.
In the summer, Number 12 Grimmauld Place opens its doors wide and vibrates with life. It becomes a place where Sirius Black would be welcomed along with Severus Snape, where Harry Potter and Tom Riddle could spend their summers side by side.
In the summer, Number 12 Grimmauld Place becomes a home.
After many months of being squashed by the stresses of my last year of graduate school, my muse has come roaring back with a vengeance. No promises on when the next update will be, but I hope you enjoy this piece
Let me tell you something about wolves, child.
When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but
the pack survives. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each
other warm, share our strengths.
aries rising: matchstick heart coloured in black and white. as young as the morning with creative vision ingresses into the future taurus rising: slow to love and sprout as daisies over the winter. but from a pure venus heart. affection is enduring. five key senses gemini rising: as bright and cheerful as the sun, as changeable as the moon, as mischievous as mercury, as curious as pluto, as logical as saturn, as hilarious as jupiter cancer rising: a cardinal inferno snowflake blowing in the winter winds, a warming embrace, a channel into pure creative essence, they peel the tapestry of life to reveal true beauty leo rising: eyes and heart are wide open, sensitive, and ready to be touched, cherished, and adored. mango swirls of naked sunshine, every corner is an alter, every star is a spotlight virgo rising: sacred geometry joins every scar and freckle like constellations of maths and magic. the mercury lamp, swift and sweet, humble and modest libra rising: wind blows through a dandelion, planting flowers in peoples hearts like strawberries and cream splendour, writing lyrics in every crevice scorpio rising: a gemstone carved in the underworld sparkling with esoteric wisdom and longings. a bound presence, like being tightly wrapped in infinity. she will blow the particles of your body away until the soul shrieks nakedly sagittarius rising: an ocean bathe, a mountain wind, a universe kiss, thread lovingly with woven laughter, glow, jupiter philosophy, and fortune cards capricorn rising: resplendent and quaint, a wavelength of ambition and inspiration, earth bound architect, a celestial CEO with the heart of an old soul aquarius rising: an electric blue dance, losing yourself in the sway of held hands and psychedelic beats, time traveling light years away to reunite you with your existence on many dimensions pisces rising: tear stoked and a heart coloured in idealism and spiritual worship, wind chimes of delicate soul paint and a vessel back to heaven
Gryffindor is laughing at your jokes and not caring what others think. Gryffindor is falling in love with life every day when you wake up when the sun touches your face. Gryffindor is emptying a water bottle over your head on a hot day and not changing your wet clothes. Gryffindor is always telling the truth even if it hurts. Gryffindor is knowing that brave doesn’t mean not being afraid but doing something despite experiencing fear. Gryffindor is kissing strangers at a party. Gryffindor is blasting music and singing the lyrics wrong. Gryffindor is the strong wind playing with your hair as you’re leaning out of the window. Gryffindor is crying with the rain and screaming with the thunder. Gryffindor is the friend who takes you by the hand when you need them to. Gryffindor is staring at fireworks with wide-opened eyes. Gryffindor is stargazing with that one person and feeling eternity. Gryffindor is the smirk you give someone right before you punch them in the face. Gryffindor is the one person you’ll always remember for being loud and strong yet always there when you needed them. Gryffindor are the memories of your youth that never fade. Gryffindor is the song stuck in your head that you associate with something that happened to you when you heard it for the first time. Gryffindor is slipping into sweatpants and an old t-shirt and not getting out of them for the whole day. Gryffindor is the red and yellow leaves in Fall that rustle beneath your feet. Gryffindor is the river flowing so fast and reckless taking everything with it. Gryffindor is dancing around a fire and singing songs from old days. Gryffindor is staying up all night to talk. Gryffindor is belonging to no one and everyone at the same time. Gryffindor is running so fast that your legs hurt. Gryffindor doing without thinking and living with the consequences.
Slytherin [by Tory]:
Slytherin is hanging an old diploma that belonged to a
long-deceased family member you’ve never met in a place of honor in your house.
Slytherin is clutching smoke and loving the feeling of it slipping through your
fingers. Slytherin is turning off all the lights in your house and letting the
last glints of the setting sun peek in through your window. Slytherin is
smiling and laughing and never letting on that you secretly want to hit the
person you’re talking to over the head. Slytherin is weaving in and out of traffic. Slytherin is the sunlight that ripples
down onto the floor below you when you’re submerged in a pool. Slytherin is
sometimes lying to others, but never to yourself. Slytherin is playing up the
shadows and contrast when you’re editing a picture. Slytherin is dressing up on
your days off. Slytherin is expecting the very best from those around you, and
yet also turning the other cheek when the ones you love hurt you. Slytherin is missing
the school bus and, instead of calling a friend or family member for a ride,
walking home instead. Slytherin is falling in love with historical figures.
Slytherin is skimming through photo albums by the light of a fire at Christmas
time. Slytherin is wanting the freedom to change your mind whenever you want,
but not actually doing so. Slytherin is a Venetian mask. Slytherin is a velvet curtain
on a stage. Slytherin is an instrumental music track that pulls at your heartstrings.
Slytherin is a piece of refreshing mint gum.
Slytherin is the pair of eyes that says much more than a mouth ever
Hufflepuff [by Jinxy]:
Hufflepuff is sweaters with fraying sleeves and fading covers. It’s skipping stones sending up ripples as they sink in a lake. It’s the last dandelion seed clinging to the stem and a half-written letter. Hufflepuff is hair escaping a braid. It’s extra buttons collected in a jar on the bookshelf. Hufflepuff is empty birdhouses and open windows. It’s a garden of sunflowers reaching for the sun. Hufflepuff is the moment of anticipation right before something exciting happens. It’s trumpet music and untied shoelaces. Hufflepuff is old, flowery wallpaper. It’s singing along to a song, but only knowing the words to the chorus. It’s waiting, but not giving up hope. Hufflepuff is the nostalgia of entering a childhood home. It’s thunderstorms. Hufflepuff is forgetting a word mid-sentence. It’s a smile hiding tears, blurred family photographs, and the kitchen in wake of cooking. Hufflepuff is glasses clinking together in toast and friends reuniting after too long apart. It’s a long exhale and the first step into a new adventure.
Ravenclaw [by Abigail]:
Ravenclaw is the quiet patter of rain at night, leaves falling in fall, finding a geode, converse, hair falling onto the floor after being cut. Ravenclaw is purple flower petals blowing in the wind, glitter, the smell of hot chocolate in the winter, the sound of water flowing over rocks in the creek, trying new ice cream flavors, stupid puns, new sheet music, the seat heater in the car. Ravenclaw is scribbling with a brand new pen, quiet giggles at a campfire, spinning in a dress, the new book smell, space, lavender, newly painted nails, fluffing a pillow right before bed, making a fresh cup of tea, Ravenclaw is the moment you get something perfect after working hard on it, snowflakes falling on your nose, petting a dog after a long day, a half smile, water dripping on your nose after a shower, a perfectly baked treat. Ravenclaw is catching fireflies once the night has gone completely dark, the wind in your face and hair while walking, dark lipstick, a new pair of heels, curly hair. Ravenclaw is staring up at the stars on a summer night with a friend, the feeling you get after learning something new, crazy socks, perfecting the messy bun. Ravenclaw is standing on the beach as the waves come up and hit your knees, the sound of a clock ticking, the feeling of when you just jump in without thinking.