After I Came Out Of Hospital Everyone Ignored Me, Shut Me Out Other Than, That Is, The Boy Who Had Everything

After I came out of hospital — everyone ignored me, shut me out — other than, that is, the boy who had everything — who came across the Gryffindor common room and challanged me to a game of Exploding Snap. […] The love I felt from you that day...

I actually love this so much. It's perfect

Gryffindors are bright mornings, leaves dripping in gold. They’re the trailblazers, unafraid of the road ahead. They’re laughing so loud your stomach hurts, the knowledge that your friends are right behind you wherever you go. They’re ice skating with someone you love, clinging on to them for dear life. They’re make-believe games with quests and dragons and swords pointing at the sky. They’re rosy cheeks, winter winds and freezing hands. They’re the adrenaline when a plane takes off, the drop at the top of a rollercoaster. They’re delighted screams and freedom, the wind through your hair. They’re panting, pillow fights, feathers bursting into the air. They’re finger painting and festivals and burning sunsets. They’re the burn in your lung after chasing something you’ll never be able to catch. 

Hufflepuffs are honey and flowers and the soft autumn sun. They’re knitted jumpers and scarves and soft tan boots. They’re fresh air and nature, the sound of birds singing. They’re rolling down a hill in the spring, grass stains on your knees, daisy chains in your hair. They’re waving at someone across a crowded room, bright smiles and laughter. They’re coming home after a long day and seeing your family. They’re playing fetch with your dog, your cat weaving between your feet. They’re fluffy socks and song birds and kraft notebooks with hand drawn patterns. They’re throw cushions on a bed, a tiny cottage surrounded by wilderness. They’re the ground beneath your feet, the air that you breathe. They’re the light you chase when you thought you’d never see the morning. 

Ravenclaws are leather bound books and overstocked libraries. They’re waking up at two am to google that thing that’s bugging you. They’re journals with half the words crossed out, scribbles and ink stains and missing pages. They’re stretching when you’ve been hunched over all day, rolling off the edge of a bed, burrowing in blankets. They’re torch light and held breaths and reverent whispers. They’re the entire night sky and everything beyond it; the embodiment of the universe. They’re desperate searches and hidden castles and ghost stories by firelight. They’re the mystery of a dark corridor, the force of a whirlwind. They’re the excitement of discovery, the rustle of crunched up paper. They’re the last whisper before you fall asleep. 

Slytherins are foggy hillsides and picturesque landscapes. They’re hand written love notes and subtle glances across a classroom. They’re black boots, long coats, buttons done up to the top. They’re tipping your head back to breathe the air, kicking up stones on a deserted path. They’re mirrored lakes, everything below the surface. They’re the confidence to get something right, the feel of magic in your fingertips. They’re holding your breath underwater, pretending to be a mermaid when you swim. They’re finding that one song that makes you want to create a storm. They’re the chill in the breeze, the force in the tide. They’re enchanted forests and lingering glances and long drives. They’re the lightning and the thunder and everything in between. 

I thought straight jackets were required clothing for large groups of Eurovision fans. You're telling me they let them lose on the streets of Stolkholm without them? Oh, the poor people of Sweden...

It's fine, really, my heart is a pretty useless organ tbh

imagine: remus lupin, after the events of prisoner of azkaban, silently going up to dumbledore’s office, and throwing a frickin tantrum. “you told me not to pursue it! you told me he was guilty!”

“i did not know,” answers dumbledore, “no more than you did, remus.”

“I - DID - KNOW! I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU HE WAS INNOCENT AND YOU TOLD ME TO LET IT GO! you - i - TWELVE YEARS HE ROTTED IN THAT CELL! TWELVE YEARS, AND YOU DID NOTHING! you - you………”

he draws himself up, stops shaking, and takes a deep breath.

“i quit,” he says bluntly, then turns and walks away.

“What colour is you’re life?!?!” black as my soul. And your nail polish, apparently.

I am genuinely confused as to what just happened. but nvmd well done Ukraine xoxo