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.)Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickasslavenderpatilbecause everyone should read it
Officers continue to not wear their name badges
did you ever become friends with someone so beautiful? and then they started telling you about the douchebags in their lives that did horrible things to them, like cheat and lie. and the only thing running through your mind is “who would ever want to hurt someone like you?”
This is the young man that was walking with Mike Brown,
cause the world needs to continue to see
this is the saddest and most terrifying shit ever.
This breaks my heart.
This is the true story. Don’t believe anything the news has reported. This is legit.
Sorry if this doesn’t fit my blog, but what is happening in Ferguson, Missouri is no laughing matter. Our first amendment rights to free speech and peaceful assembly are being thrown out the window. Our police force is becoming increasingly militaristic and it is time that we assert ourselves as American citizens, we are NOT animals to be corralled through excessive force, we will NOT stand idly by as our basic human rights are violated, we will NOT let the police prevent journalists from keeping us informed. We demand JUSTICE for those murdered and injured through police brutality.
Raise awareness on social media #Ferguson
Enough is enough.
The photos and information coming out of Ferguson, MO this evening are shocking.
SWAT teams clearing out fast food restaurants, journalists arrested, full-scale police-as-military response to non-violent protest.
And yet perhaps the most amazing thing is that there seem not to be any elected officials willing to tell this police force to stand down.
Despite all our differences I think we can all agree on one thing
Robin Williams was a fucking gift to humanity
"paint me like one of you french girls"
- Un prime-time
Plutôt qu’une heure de grande écoute.
- Un airbag
Plutôt qu’un coussin gonflable de sécurité.
- Un after-work
Plutôt qu’un petit pot entre amis après le travail.
- Checker des trucs
Plutôt que les “vérifier”.
- Du marketing
Plutôt que mercatique.
- Un one-man-show
Plutôt qu’un spectacle en solo.
- Un has been
Plutôt qu’une ancienne gloire.
- Un best-of
Plutôt qu’un florilège.
- Un thriller
Plutôt qu’un film d’angoisse.
- Un sponsor
Plutôt qu’un mécène.
- Un remake
Plutôt qu’une nouvelle adaptation.
- Un squatteur
Plutôt qu’un occupant illégal.
- Un story-board
Plutôt qu’un dessin préparatif.
- Un best-seller
Plutôt qu’un succès en librairie.
- Une guarden-party
Plutôt qu’une sauterie en plein air.
- Un gag
Plutôt qu’une blague cocasse.
- Un brainstorming
Plutôt qu’un remue-méninges.
- Un pull-over
Plutôt qu’un chandail.
- Un briefing
Plutôt qu’une réunion préparatoire.
- Un debriefing
Plutôt qu’une réunion bilan.
- Un sitcom
Plutôt qu’une comédie de situation.
- Un dancefloor
Plutôt qu’une piste de danse.
- Un scoop
Plutôt qu’une exclusivité
- Un carjacking
Plutôt qu’une piraterie routière.
- Un hit-parade
Plutôt qu’un palmarès des chansons.
- Un disc-jokey
Plutôt qu’un animateur dans une boîte de nuit.
- Un coach
Plutôt qu’un mentor.
- Un after-shave
Plutôt qu’un après-rasage.
- Un brunch
Plutôt qu’un buffet matinal.
- Un strip-tease
Plutôt qu’un effeuillage.
- Un racket
Plutôt qu’une extorsion de fonds.
- Un peep-show
Plutôt qu’un mirodrome.
- Un pacemaker
Plutôt qu’un stimulateur cardiaque.
- Un open-bar
Plutôt qu’un bar à volonté.
- Du gloss
Plutôt que brillant à lèvres.
- Un flyer
Plutôt que prospectus.
- Un hooligan
Plutôt qu’un vandale.
- Un lobby
Plutôt qu’un groupe de pression.
- Un jet set
Plutôt qu’un gratin mondain.
- Un open-bar
Plutôt qu’un bar à volonté.
- Du fair-play
Plutôt que du franc-jeu.
- Un boycott
Plutôt qu’une mise à l’index.
- Du bluff
Plutôt qu’une esbroufe.
- Un big-bang
Plutôt que boum originel.
- Une banana split
Plutôt que banane chantilly.
- Un audit
Plutôt qu’une vérification.
- Un attaché-case
Plutôt qu’une mallette.
- Un cutter
Plutôt qu’un tranchet.
Plutôt que rétro.
- Une check-list
Plutôt qu’un pense-bête.