Screw It Lets Do It

Jewels/19/This blog is officially a mess//Sometimes I write things//Basically a hp and wolfstar blog, but other things show up from time to time//if you're joining me in hell say hi

[shadowprince27-deactivated20200]

The Bisexual Hat

James: Oi! Black!

James: Roses on your hat? That’s pretty bisexual.

((OOC: I did a thing for the first time, I’m so sorry if it’s awful *runs and hides* Also, thanks to @chromat1cs for the inspiration since she proclaimed my hat to be The Most Bisexual™ today.))

[wot-an-idiot]

HP and the Year Hermione didn’t give a f***

April Fools………again! I actually am posting today! 

Take that @bookworm3741!!!

(The Great Hall, September 1st 1996)

Keep reading

[the-dam-chosen-one]

Supernatural will be ending after season 15. Can’t believe the show will have had a full 15 year run. Not going to lie, it’s bittersweet to hear the announcement, but it’s perfectly understandable. Here’s to what the show has given us, and the years to come with the wonderful content we have forever.

[the-dam-chosen-one]

“Prongs rode again last night... You know, Harry, in a way, you did see your father last night... You found him inside yourself.” - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

[marauders4evr]

Halloween is a time for children to be with other children. So when the holiday arrived, James and Lily hesitantly dropped Harry off with a family friend so that he could play with someone his age. They were both understandably nervous as they watched their fifteen-month old wobble around the unfamiliar kitchen, his eyes lit up as the other children eagerly showed him their palace. 

They knew that they shouldn’t take this big of a risk with the prophecy. Why had they listened to Sirius? Oh, right, because Remus had agreed. And James had nodded and had said, “If we’re going to keep Harry alive, we might as well give him a life.” And Lily had smiled and had given in. Still, she clung onto her husband, as they watched their child disappear into a crowd of hyperactivity.

“Not to worry, dears,” said the smiling matriarch, giving them both a hug. “He’ll be perfectly safe on my watch.”

And she was right.

When Voldemort arrived that evening, Harry was perfectly safe.

Instead of James and Lily, it was another set of parents who died, leaving their family behind. A family that needed a home…

There was no question from Lily, no hesitation from James.

And if anyone happened to see Lily on the sidewalk, with red hair that was almost as fiery as her eyes, well, who wouldn’t assume that the seven gingers following her were her biological children?

[marauders4evr]

*Grins*

It’s messy, at first, and the weeks fly by in a depressing chaos. James and Lily are initially racked with survivors’ guilt but Sirius and Remus urge them to both go to St. Mungo’s finest therapists. They have appointments twice a week. Peter escapes, and even though Voldemort’s gone, the knowledge that the slimy rat is still out there keeps the other Marauders up at night. Sirius has to undergo a trial to clear his name, barely making it through. Minister Bagnold steps down during all of this—evidently an attack on one of the largest wizarding families did not bode well for her career—and one Cornelius Fudge takes over with an undersecretary with a vendetta against werewolves. 

And of course, there are the kids. Their great-aunt, Muriel, initially wants custody and the Marauders (incl. Lily) have to fight tooth and nail to get them, all while two are facing extreme anxiety/survivors guilt, the third is going through the legal system to clear his name, and the fourth is dealing with discrimination laws. Of course, Muriel sees the children as interchangeable, mere puppets with red hair who can continue the Weasley name. But James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus see children, children who are all unique, with their own reactions to the sudden changes in their lives.

Bill, who was set to start Hogwarts next year, informs all of the adults that he’s more than happy to take care of his family himself, thank you, because who better to take care of six children than a ten-year-old? It’s fullproof.

Charlie, clearly a daredevil from the start, becomes even more reckless, with an almost self-deprecating carelessness that’s beyond what any nine-year old should experience.

Percy withdraws completely, barely saying a handful of words a week, burying his nose in his books, knowing that he’ll be able to stop the story if it gets too scary. He’s five and he’s already trying to control the story.

Fred and George, merely three, have enough sense to know that they want to go home and they’re willing to pull as many pranks as possible until someone takes them back to the Burrow and puts them in the arms of their parents.

Ron, it initially seems, doesn’t have much of a reaction. At first, this is chalked up to him being a few months older than Harry, certainly not old enough to understand what’s going on. With Ginny only a few months old and the other five having more overt forms of grief that explode on a constant basis, it’s no wonder that Ron is usually the last to receive attention.

And Harry, of course, is marked with more scars than the visible one, happy, confused, and sometimes overwhelmed by everything going on around him.

Like I said, at first, it’s messy. There’s a whole lot of everything and very few adults who can handle it all. But they do their best with what they have. James stretches out the small fortune he inherited from his parents. A small fortune. They certainly aren’t millionaires and having seven extra mouths to feed does hamper away at the funds. But they make it work. Slowly and surely, they make it work, tackling one issue at a time, until doing so has become routine, has become familiar, has become home.

By the time Christmas rolls around, there’s an awkward but endearing sense of familiarity as the eight children are pushed towards the tree that’s buried beneath red and gold packages. Bill receives his first Hogwarts robes and Hogwarts: A History. Charlie receives a ride-along dragon that can carry two children several feet into the air. Percy receives a set of books, chosen by Remus, called ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’. Fred and George receive their very first box of Dungbombs and other prank items, courtesy of a grinning Sirius. Ron and Harry receive new toy brooms. Ginny receives a Puffskein to snuggle with in her cot.

There were no sweaters and thus, a lot of tears, but there were also a lot of smiles. By the time the second Christmas rolls around, there were more tears, though they were out of joy as the family crowded in front of Remus’ new camera.

The year itself had been a whirlwind of emotions but, again, a routine did form, and with it came—well—the Marauders loved the children equally, of course, but they couldn’t deny that they felt drawn to specific children.

Lily and Bill had their first heart-to-heart rather early on, wherein she explained that she understood how important family was, but that it wasn’t his job to take care of his loved ones. She had to hide her tears when the ten-year-old bit his lip and admitted that he trusted her to do it.

Sirius and Charlie would often give Lily heart palpitations as they found new and exciting ways to have adventures.

Remus and Percy bonded over their love for a quiet retreat in the middle of the chaos. Percy would smile, feeling very grown up, when Remus would hand him a small mug of tea as they talked about their favorite books.

Naturally, Fred and George met their match in James.

Ginny, being the youngest, needed tending to by all of the adults but Lily (with Bill’s help/advice) was often the first to arrive at the crying infant’s cot.

Of course, Ron, having traits that were encouraged but nonetheless unremarkable, didn’t really connect with any of the adults as strongly as his siblings did. So Ron? Ron became Harry’s.

And Harry became everyone’s. James and Lily were initially fearful of how the siblings would react to him, especially when they were all old enough to realize that Arthur and Molly had both died to save him. But it seemed that the older the redheads got, the more they not only understood their parents’ actions, but were willing to mimic them. Every time a butterfly so much as went near him, seven children were on guard, determined to make sure he was okay.

Harry grew up protected (sometimes overly so) and loved (thankfully overly so) in a family that he loved/protected in turn. After all, they were his family. And he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt them. Which was why he was more than willing to stand up to the blond boy who took one look at his brother and said: 

“Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Potter.”

(Man, I really got into that one.)

[metamorph-magus]

“You know the man you truly are, Remus! This heart is where you truly live! This heart! Here! This flesh is only flesh!”

Photo by Soul Studios

[the-dam-chosen-one]

Miss Molly Prewett before she became a Weasley 

(Click for better quality)

[desicosplay]

Family Business

Mommy Dementor *shaking their head* Sucking souls is what we do, kid! It’s the family business!

Teenage Dementor:

(thank @thediariesofastoriagreengrass)

[the-dam-chosen-one]

Miss Molly Prewett before she became a Weasley 

(Click for better quality)

[fynnthebanished]

Fenrir please f*ck me

Bonus:

[the-dam-chosen-one]

So I’m watching Goblet of Fire because why not and I just heard a line I apparently always missed? When Skeeter takes Harry into the closet for the “interview” Harry remarks how they are in a broom cupboard her response is literally

“You should feel right at home then”

Bitch what?? Like damn okay then 

[askwhathasthiscometo]

We Finish Each Other’s...

((OOC: I finally did a remake of this old post. I’ve been wanting to do this basically since I made the first one, but it still worked somehow?? Well, now have your heart broken again but in better quality and with actual wigs.))

Keep reading

[asktheboywholived]

Almost ready to launch!

(( OOC: GUH! Okay, so I’m nearly ready to launch my Patreon. Like…. super fucking close, and I’m getting pretty excited about it. 

Bless you all for the continued encouragement and helping me through this process!!! 

I’ve been talking a lot about it, but I haven’t been explaining exactly what Patreon is… so for those of you who are wondering what the fuck is going on, here’s a video that can help you understand what I’m trying to put together and the platform a bit better:

WHAT IS PATREON?

And just to make it very clear, again, this blog is going to stay the same. I’ll still be posting gifs/threads/etc. … but my Patreon is going to focus more on video content. Exclusive behind the scenes stuff, tutorials, vlogs, and potentially scenes and music videos… and that content will (most of it) only be available to patrons. 

So if you’d like to see MORE of what I do as I start this new journey into different media platforms, and support me at the same time, Patreon will be a good place to go. ;) ))  

[asktheboywholived]

The scars are so ugly, dad. I look ugly.

[majorofmayhem]

I saw a really cool post but it was out of date and no longer running so I decided why not start my own. If you reblog this before Feb 20th you will receive a newly hatched Pokémon in your submit box inspired by your blog. Let’s have some fun togeather! 🧡

[thesweaterkittycollector]

:3c !!

[princenothinq]

:0!!

[someshittycosplay]

😄

[ink-splotch]

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.

Keep reading

[metamorph-magus]

“Your father is alive in you, Harry… How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.”