thepostmodernpottercompendium:

It was not, as some people supposed, that she did not know that the Nargles were not real. But it became easier, if you believed in Nargles, to believe in all kinds of other things and so, to remain serene and unruffled even in the most trying of circumstances.
If you can’t believe in six impossible things about the world, her mother would say, how will you ever believe all the impossible things that people will do?
And if you could believe in one impossibility, it became easier to believe in so many implausibilities. Little things that all added up to big things and people, with their odd inner live became less incomprehensible and all the more understandable. 
And in time, Luna found that of all her friends, it was she who believed that people, with all their follies and all their dark little cupboards full of secrets they would much rather no one knew, were not as averse to change (for the better) as they imagined. They could change; one only needed to give them a gentle push in the right direction. Luna, out of all of them, remained the gentle reminder that there is always hope, even when evil seems to overshadow everything, if only one knew how to believe in impossibilities.
If you could believe in Nargles, you could believe in people.

thepostmodernpottercompendium:

It was not, as some people supposed, that she did not know that the Nargles were not real. But it became easier, if you believed in Nargles, to believe in all kinds of other things and so, to remain serene and unruffled even in the most trying of circumstances.

If you can’t believe in six impossible things about the world, her mother would say, how will you ever believe all the impossible things that people will do?

And if you could believe in one impossibility, it became easier to believe in so many implausibilities. Little things that all added up to big things and people, with their odd inner live became less incomprehensible and all the more understandable.

And in time, Luna found that of all her friends, it was she who believed that people, with all their follies and all their dark little cupboards full of secrets they would much rather no one knew, were not as averse to change (for the better) as they imagined. They could change; one only needed to give them a gentle push in the right direction. Luna, out of all of them, remained the gentle reminder that there is always hope, even when evil seems to overshadow everything, if only one knew how to believe in impossibilities.

If you could believe in Nargles, you could believe in people.


(x)

(x)

(Source: harrypottzr, via shakeytime)


#ginny weasley is a great fucking character and if you can’t see that you probably only watched the movies 

boobiesmcfeels:

“Oh, Harry, don’t you see?” Hermione breathed. “If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!” 
- ‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’, Pg. 513

(via belovedcreation)

An Ollivander’s Wand is Not Meant For the Sea

thepostmodernpottercompendium:

image

Those wizards without their sea-legs scoffed at our magic. They laughed at our “substandard” wands made from merpeople scales, shards of sea dragon teeth, or the hair from a hippocampus. They chuckled because we used wood from sunken ships and far off places, wood that Mr. Ollivander had never seen.

“Not up to scratch, those sailors’ wands. Not made by Ollivander!” rang in our ears each time we went to shore.

Have you ever tried to barter with a mermaid for her scales while struggling to resist her song?

Have you ever tried to fight a sea dragon off your ship as its tail wraps around the flimsy wood and starts to squeeze?

Have you ever even seen a hippocampus?

No, our wands were not made from valuable wand woods or expensive materials, but they were wands, all the same. They were powerful in different ways.

They channeled the fear of the drowned. The peace and freedom of the vast ocean. The violence of the Maelstrom. The cunning of the merpeople. The grace of the hippocampi. The magnificent destruction that characterizes the sea dragon.

But our wands were powerful not because they were wands, but because they were not all we used to cast our sea-spells and water-magic. Our wands were never meant to be the end-all of magic, but a crude expression of far older, far more elegant sea-spells and water-magic.

In the tar used to seal the planks of the vessel together we mixed drops of our blood. We learned that from the hot ports of Africa. Our ship never leaked.

On our three masts and figurehead were carved harsh and jagged runes that spoke of the harsh waters of the Arctic. My mast was hacked and chiseled by a descendent of Leif Eriksson himself. My masts never broke; the figurehead would spring to life and tear apart the ships we overtook if I gave the word.

My first mate learned to stitch sails from a woman who spun the threads from the foam of the sea itself, from the kami of the ocean. My sails needed no raising and lowering, no trimming; that was for amateurs and landcrawlers. No, my sails reacted to the slightest wind, moving of their own volition and taking me where I wished to go.

And whenever a storm would approach, the crew would circle around the mainmast and begin a chanting, stomping dance we learned from the First Peoples of the West Indies. Somehow, the waves were never quite high enough to cause us danger, and the winds never fought against my vessel, however the storm raged.

Those fools that passed for wizards did not know or care about our magic on the sea, but their vaunted Ollivander wands are worse than useless on the swells and the troughs. That’s land magic. There are far older magics in the world, magics that tap into the very fabrics of the deep earth and vast fathoms. They try to control the world around them with magic, but the world will not be controlled. Their magic is puny compared to the fury of the ocean.

Sail through a hurricane with one of your wands.

I have some new deckhands that need good wands; the wood from your shattered hull would do nicely.

When it is you sailing against the vastness and power of Poseidon and Sedna and Mizuchi and Tangoroa and Njord all at once, you do what you must to survive.

The sea has no boundaries, no borders, and neither does our magic.

We ask we put to shore, wherever that may be, if there is some way to connect ourselves to the might of the sea and become one with the waves and winds. We seafarers learned long ago that to fight the sea is to drown. Our magic is from the sea, not from land. That, Mr. Rookwood, is how and why we survived.

- Captain Alanna Jones, famed wizarding pirate and great-granddaughter of Davy Jones

(Submitted by mastersamwiseofthefryingpan. Photo 1)

nearly-headless-horseman:

totalnerd666:

her-my-oh-ne:

#can we just stop and appreciate Harry’s face in this scene? #I mean, he’s literally waiting for someone to say something about Hermione’s blood status #she’s the only Muggleborn in the slug club full of purebloods and well known people #and Harry’s there just like “say something I dare you” #and if you look at her face, you can see the actual hesitation and somewhat fear of what will happen next after telling of her parents occupation #Harry truly is acting like Hermione’s big brother, which I absolutely love #i just adore this scene

I love that Neville looks genuinely interested in what hermione’s talking about.

Harry: I wish a mofo would talk shit right now
Say something, make my day
Das right

(Source: pottergifs, via shakeytime)

suzie-guru:

Imagine Harry and Ginny a few months into their marriage and they’re so happy and in love and then one day they go shopping for food and household items and Harry just casually grabs certain items before Ginny hisses at him to "Check the prices, Harry, God! That bed set is far too expensive, we’re not going to have anything left to get the food with!" And Harry starts to laugh and say "We don’t have to worry about -" and then he stops and he and Ginny look at each other. And Harry realizes that she’s grown up having to measure out all her money and decide what she can and cannot have for a certain week or month or year. And Ginny realizes that she is actually no longer obligated to worry about money ever again. 

Imagine Harry and Ginny eating dinner together and Ginny’s telling him about certain meals her mum made and teasing him about how he wolfs everything down and "Honestly Harry, you’re worse than Ron!" and Harry retorts laughingly "well old habits die hard, I had to fight Dudley for meals all the time, you at least knew you were going to eat every day!" And Ginny’s grin starts to fade and she asks "You…you didn’t get to eat everyday?" And Harry realizes what he said and he changes the subject quickly and Ginny looks at the plates in front of him and resists the urge to pile on some more potatoes. And the next day Vernon Dursley’s car is egged. 

Imagine Harry and Ginny both suffering from night terrors and PTSD and agreeing that maybe going to that therapist Hermione recommended isn’t such a bad idea, and that’s how Thursday night became Therapy Night when they go out to dinner or to the pub after each session and agree that  they need to talk to some Healers about introducing these sessions since therapy is still widely seen as muggle nonsense in the wizarding world.

And Ginny murmurs over her fire whiskey that sometimes she can still hear Tom Riddle murmuring in her ear, and Harry whispers that he dreams about running after his mother and father and Sirius and Remus as they disappear behind the Veil in the Department of Mysteries and he doesn’t know if he wakes from terror or regret about not making it through. And they go back home and hold each other closer that night and both wake up with raging hangovers. 

(via concentratedridiculousness)

stilesstays:

harry potter + social media [2/?] or in which ron is weirdly ok with his sister and best mate sucking face

art by burdge [x] [x] [x] [x] (do not remove)

(via marykatewiles)

imaginarycircus:

merlinwasslytherin:

misterkevo:

theadventuresofpam:

Harry was the favorite kid and he wasn’t even an official part of the family

Because Molly knows exactly how the Dursleys treat him. There’s no way Ron wouldn’t tell her. And Molly Weasley is a Mother. She gets a capital M because she is goddamn phenomenal at what she does. When she hears Harry Potter is on the train to Hogwarts in Book 1, her reaction isn’t to be starstruck. It’s to say “that poor dear had to come here all on his own.” Molly Weasley loves harder than anyone. She loves like it’s her sole reason for being. And when she hears there’s a poor boy who has never known love his whole life… how could she not?

Yes to all of this, but remember the small Easter egg Hermione got during 4th year because Molly read Rita Skeeter’s terrible gossip? I love her so much. That was such a protective mom thing to do, but she couldn’t skip Hermione entirely. I hope they laughed about that in later years and every year Molly gives her the biggest egg of all, which she knows Ron will eat half of anyway. I bet that every year she gets everyone together for a big birthday party for Harry.

(via belovedcreation)

Harry Potter text posts

(Source: chocolatefrogs, via belovedcreation)