all my stars aligned

Happy International Women’s Day

Emma Watson becomes the Rebel Belle for Vanity Fair 2017 [x]

It’s all right, Ginny. It’s over. It’s just a memory.

Oliver Wood appreciation ☆

Legally Blonde (2001) dir. Robert Luketic

Bonnie Francesca Wright (b. 17 February 1991)

The Long Night is coming, and the dead come with it.

James Potter Minimalist [x]

My reign has just begun…

There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too treacherous to pass, but being learned in the magical arts, the three brothers simply waved their wands and made a bridge. Before they could cross, however, they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. It was Death, and he felt cheated. Cheated because travelers would normally drown in the river, but Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers on their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus

There it is. There’s the look. I’ve seen it for seventeen years on face after face. You all despise me. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. A man without honor. You’ve heard of wildfire, of course? The Mad King was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. […] So we opened the gates and my father sacked the city. Once again, I came to the King, begging him to surrender. He told me to… bring him my father’s head. Then he turned to his pyromancer. “Burn them all,” he said. “Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds.”

Feminism is not here to dictate to you. It’s not prescriptive, it’s not dogmatic. All we are here to do is give you a choice. If you want to run for President, you can. If you don’t, that’s wonderful, too.

I’m sorry. I never wanted any of you to die for me.

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.