Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)
fuck attractive people
that’s the plan
"When the movie releases, are you prepared to be a hero to thousands of kids? What would that mean to you?" [x]
im making friends with the netflix customer service guy
how sweet of you
I’M TALKING TO A DIFFERENT ONE AND TROY ASKED ABOTU ME
I FOUND TROY AGAIN A DAY LATER AND HE’S GONNA HIRE ME AS HIS PERSONAL PUBLICIST
Favorite gif set forever
today this guy told me that my dress made my ass look fat (he sad it as a 'compliment') and obviously since it was 8:30 I was too tired for that shit and I replied with 'saying my ass is fat wont make your dick any bigger' and when he tried to defend himself saying his dick was big enough I told him that it doesn’t count if he shoved two thirds of it in his personality and he just looked at me completely defenseless AND BASICALLY I STOLE THAT LINE FROM HERE BUT I SLAYED
do you ever just realize that you’re not a good person
I’m grossed out by the kind of stuff tumblr does to its users over an extended period of time
Grammar and punctuation is completely lost on some people, to the point where their posts are unreadable and irritating
And tumblr fosters and feeds this incredible narcissism and need to impress people- people who don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.
- strax sees clara as a boy, and usually identifies people by a wrong gender
- strax sees “young men” doing sports in clara’s subconscious
- you cannot convince me that clara oswald is straight thank u bye
This scene still breaks my heart each and every single time I watch it.
Azula was a terrible, horrible person. She would have set the world aflame and laughed over the broken carcass of her brother.
But she was fourteen.
She was so ruined and twisted by her childhood and by her nation, driven to insanity by the expectations placed upon her.
Azula was bad and yet I can’t help but feel so terribly sorry for her.
"I don’t have sob stories like all of you."
SHE WAS FUCKING FOURTEEN WHAT
"My own mother….thought I was a monster.
She was right, of course, but it still hurt.”
actually, i think one of the shows strengths is that they didn’t shy away from what a horrible tragedy this was. even though she was clearly a villain and did unspeakably awful things, this scene was still framed as sad. there was no celebrating- they just look at her sadly.
the music for the battle that leads up to this moment is sad too- it’s an epic battle, visually probably one of the biggest things done in the entire series, and they could have played it with thumping, energetic, dangerous music. but instead it’s quiet and somber. because the whole scenario is heartbreaking, and they know it.
i think the fact that a kid’s show had so much respect for it’s viewers and their ability to understand the complexity of this situation is what makes avatar great.
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