“What,” Granger says, her voice ringing out from the doorway, crisp and curt and mostly, understandably incredulous. “Are you doing?” A splintering crack rifles through the air, and chunks of mealy gray stone—from one of the medieval gargoyle statues, decorative, ostentatious, positively seeped in centuries of Slytherin scheming—fall to the ground. “Exactly?”

Draco flicks his wand, sending another spray of sulky, rust-orange sparks blasting towards the wall. “I’m busy,” he says, no, he mimics, gratingly petulant, even to his own ears. “Go away. This is none of your business.”

Granger looks around at the mess, biting her lip, teeth really digging in. Leaving a mark. The buttons on her blouse are all done up tonight, right up to her throat. She’s the only girl he’s ever seen do that, ever seen make the effort to do that, and there’s something so despicably, dumbfoundingly virginal about it—about the contrast, the contradictions—about her ink-stained fingertips rubbing at her starched white collar, about her carelessly rumpled cardigan sleeves laid out on top of her neatly pleated skirt. She tries so hard, still, still, to be careful and reasonable and kind and obliging, and she’s not. She isn’t. She’s never been. 

Not truly.

[ read on ao3 ]

Hermione Granger, I’m being bossed around by Hermione Granger. And I’m mildly enjoying it.

@hogwartsonline​ march quidditch: magical women

the truth is that you don’t think a girl would have been clever enough! (insp)

harry potter rewatch ϟ the goblet of fire;

Anyone wishing to submit themselves to the tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame before this hour on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly. lf chosen, there’s no turning back. As from this moment, the Triwizard Tournament has begun.

Quick art of Hermione and Crookshanks

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low-cut.”
Ginny glanced round, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again.

you might belong in hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal. those patient hufflepuffs are true, and unafraid of toil.

Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Lily laughed. The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son’s thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him… The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry’s hand was still raised in farewell. “He’ll be all right,” murmured Ginny. As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead. “I know he will.” The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.

harry potter rewatch ϟ the prisoner of azkaban;

Your mother was there for me at a time when no one else was. Not only was she a singularly gifted witch, she was also an uncommonly kind woman. She had a way of seeing the beauty in others… even, and perhaps most especially, when that person could not see it in themselves. And your father, James, on the other hand… he…he had a certain, shall we say, talent for trouble. A talent, rumor has it, he passed on to you.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer… he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.“Good luck, Harry,” he murmured. 

(art featured in the upcoming MinaLima edition of PS)