themistrustfulmistress:

okay but neville longbottom as head of gryffindor house and there’s all these stories of him going head to head with an army of werewolves, being tortured by death eaters and killing Voldemort’s snake with godric gryffindor’s actual sword but when the students see him he’s like cradling a pot plant and crying cause he saw someone lost their pet on the noticeboard and they’re like “that guy? are you sure it’s that guy” 

BONUS: one of the older student’s get dared to go up and ask him if it’s true and neville just makes direct eye-contact and says “voldemort was a punk bitch” and continues knitting a lil baby sweater for a mandrake

whenflowersfade:

avocadamnit:

aphoenixinwriting:

mrsmarymorstan:

kyrael:

gallifreyfieldsforever:

I sincerely believe that by 7th year Ravenclaws would just tell the door to their common room to fuck off and it would open for them

Q “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” 
A “You shouldn’t shove either up your arse.” 
“…Technically, yes.”

Imagine it, a poor First Year is waiting outside the common room, they can’t answer the riddle in a way to appease the eagle and must wait until someone else to answer it for them. It’s getting late, they’re starting to resign themselves to having to spend the night here. 

Suddenly, their saviour comes! It’s a seventh year! Back from a night finishing off their Araithmancy essay in the Library. They look angry, but our poor little first year squares their shoulders, waiting to see what will happen, and hope that they’ll keep the door open for them. 

The Seventh Year bangs the handle against the wall, and a slightly disgruntled voice asks the question again: “What is the truth?”

The Student Replies, “The Truth is that I am so fucking sick of all these mother fucking questions about stupid fucking topics like this you bloody fuck-witted bastard. Who in the name of Merlin’s saggy left testicle gives a fucking damn about all this shit anyway? I’ve been working my arse off in the library for the last seven hours now let me the fuck in or, truthfully, I’ll blast my way in and take you with me.”

The eagle knocker tutts, but allows the student entry anyway, and our little first year enters, eyes wide and in shock. They watch the seventh year go up to their bedroom, awe all over their face at their new hero. They did, indeed, learn something that day by waiting for someone to arrive, they learnt that swearing has a magic all of it’s fucking own, and that sometimes it is big and clever to use it. 

The only head canon I will ever accept. Its both perfectly witty and fantastically assholish

witty and fantastically assholish… pretty much quintessential ravenclaw traits right there

My favorite version of this headcanon is that there is one Ravenclaw who went all seven years by answering the riddles with some variation of “not a potato” and was only ever wrong once.

fluffmugger:

blaukrautsuppe:

hufflepuff-headcanons:

honestly the harry potter fandom is so wild like we’ve all collectively refused to accept cursed child as canon but some college kids tell us hufflepuffs are particularly good finders and we don’t even question it

I didn’t truly get the whole “death of the author” paradigm until I watched the harry potter fandom collectively divorce JKR

#also it’s not just cursed child#it’s also all the slytherin kids branded evil#it’s about ending a series with babies ever after#writing an epilogue designed for baby boomers in a series aimed at millennials#it’s harry naming his kid after two abusers#it’s about claiming dumbledore is gay for Diversity Points#but in a movie series featuring his life#and featuring the one he loved#there won’t be a trace of it#it’s about casting an abuser then making excuses for it#when hp is the story of an abuse survivor#it’s about everything to do with the american magical community#from cultural appropriation to the sheer pain of the term ‘no maj’#sorry rowling#you started us off#but now#our city now

wintersmith42:

violent-darts:

jumpingjacktrash:

loptrcoptr:

deadcatwithaflamethrower:

jumpingjacktrash:

citysaurus:

jumpingjacktrash:

citysaurus:

jumpingjacktrash:

citysaurus:

jumpingjacktrash:

nerdyzebradog:

jumpingjacktrash:

when i heard there’s only one wizarding school in america, i laughed incredulously, and i know i’m not the only one. one school for the whole huge country? obviously brits don’t have any idea how big america is! cue derisive anecdotes about visitors who thought they could visit hollywood as a day trip from new york.

but recently something’s occurred to me: what if ilvermorny IS the only ‘wizarding school’ in america, with ‘wizarding school’ being defined as a wizard-only establishment where they teach nothing but magic?

aside from how unprepared that leaves kids for the rest of life, there just isn’t the population density to support wizard-exclusive pocket-universe enclaves anywhere but the east coast and possibly los angeles. even chicago is more spread out than that, and when it comes to mid-size cities like minneapolis and st. louis, forgeddaboudit. not even wizards would choose to live crammed cheek by jowl on quaintly crooked pedestrian-only streets when they could have a three-bedroom prairie-style on a wooded half-acre in edina.

so i’m thinking, yeah, ok, most american magicals don’t send their kids to wizard school. kids go to regular school and have wizarding clubs and retreats and summer camps instead. gives new meaning to “one time at band camp.”

the pureblood prejudice never developed in america? well, of course not, no one but the hamptons set goes even a single day without interacting with muggles. most of your friends are going to be muggles. there aren’t enough magical jobs for everyone, so most people’s coworkers will be muggles. except we wouldn’t call them muggles, of course, and certainly not ‘no-maj’ – that sounds like something that was said for a while by one particular new york jet set clique in the 1920′s and got written down in an english etiquette book as ‘what americans say’. we’d probably call them ‘mundanes’ or ‘normals’ if we called them anything at all.

the stuff about wand permits and other odd regulations makes sense for a small bureaucracy that doesn’t really understand why it can’t control things the way european magical governments do. it’s kind of a cargo cult legislation. probably most americans don’t even use a wand most of the time. european wand-focused magic might be the Done Thing among the WASP contingent, but everyone else undoubtedly knows at least something about navajo healing ritual, haitian voodoo, lakota dance magic, chinese feng-shui warding techniques, etcetera. taking away a person’s wand doesn’t take away their magic. you can’t say ‘corn pollen permit’ with a straight face and they sell chalk at the corner store.

i expect american wizards look at the hogwarts set as kind of a weird sect with weird restrictions and weird costumes. like the amish, but instead of furniture and quilts, they export clueless young men.

if I lick your brain will I gain your creativity?

i don’t know but it’s worth a try

also no one else will be able to eat it because it’s got your germs on it, which will be handy if zombies

this has always pretty much been my whole exact understanding of the hp universe

i also figured a lot of american magic is in english instead of the pseudo greek/latin British spells since, unlike British schools, most Americans never study those, so our spells are like ‘Fire’, ‘Unlock", “Magic Missile’

also american wands have gun grips or are baseball bats

when i was a kid i made a wand out of a piece of copper pipe with brass end caps, and carried it around with me for most of a year; i know a lot of kids who had walking sticks from summer camp or hiking, and pretended they were magic. hell, i bet a lot of wizard kids learn to cast with a #2 pencil, just from idly messing around.

also, spells based on superhero powers: definitely a thing.

imagine some baddie trying to AK someone and getting hit by SHAZAM in return.

american wizards learn how to do spider-man webbing out of wands the way kids learn to do that one S symbol

source: remember those dumb/racist comics ron had in his room? that’s all they got. britwizards don’t know a single spider-man

spells based on d&d too, i bet. and not nearly as much distinction between ‘dark arts’ and the rest, largely because a lot of the nonwhite arts got classified as Ebil Scary Bad by anglos, and the rest of america wasn’t having it. in louisiana, knowing the voodoo lady can raise the dead just speaks to the high quality of her marching powder.

florida wizards can use pool noodles as wands

not a single british wizard has ever returned from florida

dude florida is just one big messy cryptid zone, the ‘florida man’ phenomenon is real and ‘hold my beer’ is a very powerful spell

edit: ok, wizarding america IS silly, just not the way rowling thought

THIS ENTIRE THREAD IS GOLD

In Chicago you must be careful not to diss deep dish pizza aloud as the entire city is imbued with enough inherent magical pride that you may incur a hex if you say “deep dish sucks” while walking too close to the lake. Lots of pizza-fond kappa dwell in there, and they can get nasty. The Chicago Cubs curse was very, very real and it took a united ward circle featuring two thousand souls holding hands, the length of the entire magic mile, and a fuckton of celery salt to finally rid our poor baseball team of its 108 year curse. As such Chicago magic-users are extremely wary of the power of Goat Magic© to this day.

It’s a city named “onion” in the vernacular of the Miami and Illini, built on a swamp: you know it is steeped in some serious ancient native magic. And no ordinary cow started a fire bringing the whole town down in one fell swoop, come on now.

Whereas, let’s be real, the majority of magic used in Los Angeles is either a) used to alter/improve appearance as it is the city of undying vanity or b) used to bypass traffic while invisible because screw taking the 101 and the 405, honestly.

Minnesota wizarding families use old Norse pagan and church sigils, as well as some Proto Norse runic magic (the uses and varieties of which they do not share with scholars who would really like to know how to use the runes properly thank you). Hot Dish is a traditional meal at magic conclaves. Last year a nineteen year old wizard claimed he cast a spell using a cheesy breadstick from Toppers, but the claim has yet to be substantiated.

In the early 2000s every young witch chose to practice her magic by using a feather gel pen as a wand. Summer magic camps devoted entire charms classes to making your tech deck levitate and do flips. Wizarding Pokémon cards feature Pokémon that jump off the card and perform tiny battles when played.

as a minnesota bear i can inform you that our magic is equal parts scandinavian and ojibwe. our weather magic is unsurpassed. oh, we don’t use it to control the weather – that would fuck everything up so bad you don’t even know. we just know things like when to plug in the engine heater overnight, and when the tornado sirens are for realsies.

snow golems: totally a thing. plow truck patronuses are not unheard-of.

whatever lives in lake superior, you do not mess with it. it’s nothing so friendly as homicidal merfolk. the lake itself is alive, and she has weird moods. all the other 9999 lakes, we can calm with the swirl of a canoe paddle, but gitchigumi you leave the hell alone. when she kicks up you apologize and gtfo. all magic can do is give you fair warning.

the edmund fitzgerald didn’t have a water witch on board. bad idea, guys.

Everything about this thread makes me happy.

Ohio is fucking RIFE with ancient native magics. Druids and Shamen abound. Every forest you go in it feels like your being watched but your not sure whether its good or bad.

The lake (Eerie) is just a massive gathering point for the magically inclined, but has been getting progressively weaker the more polluted it gets. Sometimes people find carcasses on those rocky shores and they don’t look normal, you know?

Lake glass used as foci and scrying stones, graffiti protective charms, and don’t even get me started on the possibility of magical gangs. Koolaid potions, “Knee high by the fourth of July” is a spell of good fortune, and corn can be used in any ritual because of its shear usefulness and significance.

Water witches and Druids flock here, as do many urban witches and wizards, but if you have anything to do with weather for the love of God go somewhere else. The entire state is alive. It shaped like a damn heart for a reason – it’s just as temperamental.

marauders4evr:

broadwaytheanimatedseries:

greymantledlady:

holmesianscholar:

jukeboxemcsa:

optimysticals:

timemachineyeah:

saywhatjessie:

tattooedsiren:

gvorgeblagden:

batcii:

how did jk manage to write ootp and not come to the conclusion that the only career w any true meaning for harry james potter was as a goddamn professor at hogwarts like how do u write the da scenes and say “nah he’d want to be a wizard cop”

#just let him dress in warm sweaters and have tea with neville in the staff room and help first years #harry james potter as hogwarts longest serving defense against the dark arts teacher fucking fight me (@batcii)

#but it would be so perfect??? #bc it would help normalize his life so much #like there would just be this generation of kids who are like #‘ugh who cares that he killed the dark lord he gAVE US HOMEWORK OVER BREAK’ #like the beginning of every year there would be the new first years who would freak out a little #but then it would calm down #and most of the students would literally forget #until like clockwork the fifth years would have their history of magic class on the second war #and they’d all show up to DADA looking a little awestruck and everyone would be extra quiet #and harry would give this kind of annoyed sigh—except it’s fake bc he TOTALLY knew this was coming #bc binns is a bro and he totally gives him a heads up every year #and harry wouldn’t have any lesson plans for the day and instead he would just sit at the front of the room and answer everyone’s questions #but otherwise everyone would just be like ‘professor potter!! i can’t get my patronus to work! help me!’ #and like they’d go home at the end of the year or for break and their parents—who ARE still starstruck by harry james potter #would pester their kids with questions#and the kids would just be like ‘merlin i don’t know?? potter’s such a huge dork you should hear him talk about proper wand movements’ #but they would all love him #and he would feel safe and normal and utterly accepted #AND I NEED THIS IN MY LIFE (via @cinematicnomad)

Not to mention it would be an ultimate Fuck You to Voldemort, who put a curse on the teaching position in the first place.

Like, Jo, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but COME ON

I already queued this but also, you do this, but still have Ginny become a famous Quidditch player. Imagine the first time Harry gets called “Ginny’s husband” before “the boy who lived” or “the chosen one.” Imagine how fucking pleased he’d be.

Imagine the first time a student comes up to him looking starry-eyed and Harry’s thinking “Oh no” because he doesn’t want to talk about Voldemort or the war but instead this little eleven year old is like “ARE YOU REALLY MARRIED TO WEASLEY FROM THE HOLLYHEAD HARPIES???!?? WHAT’S SHE LIKE?” and he’s like “oh thank god” because he could talk about Ginny all day. 

Yes. Good.

Actually, all three of them should have become professors. Hermione would have become Headmistress, of course–youngest Headmistress of Hogwarts ever, and the only one willing to turn the portraits of her predecessors to the wall if they gave her too much lip about her efforts to modernize the curriculum. (She probably started as Transfiguration professor after McGonagall became Headmistress, but it wouldn’t surprise me if McGonagall was grooming her for the Headmistress job all along.)

And Ron took over as flying instructor for Professor Hooch; everyone thinks he’s an easy A because he’s so mellow and silly and hands out candy for good performances and his brother and sister sometimes visit the class to show off some of their old Quidditch moves and give away Wizard Wheezes to the best fliers, and it’s not until they talk to someone else from a different school or era that they realize that flying is actually really difficult to learn and Ron just found ways to slip all the teaching in under the fun so that they didn’t even notice. Things that seemed like silly tricks or goofy jokes turned out to be mnemonics for complex maneuvers, and of course nobody ever wanted to skip a class under his tutelage.

thisTHIS

Okay all other canon epilogues can go home, this is the best.

Yoooooooo gimmie

Still one of the best AU-That-Should-Be-Canon posts that I’ve read.

batsarebetterthanpeople:

marauders70s:

accio-shitpost:

if harry was raised by sirius his first word would have been ‘motherfucker’

Harry leaned out of his high chair, spoon waving madly. Sirius was covered head to toe in orange glop that had supposedly once been carrots promised the Wee Whiz Wizard’s Whipped can, but smelled more like his mother after one of her binges in the lavatory. He wanted to cry. He wasn’t cut out for this. Remus was out at the market, for Christ’s sake, and all he wanted was a damn harpy’s motherfucking second of peace.

Harry gurgled with glee, and Sirius winced. He hadn’t meant to say that last bit aloud. “Uncle Padfoot loves you,” he promised Harry, who grinned several gapped teeth up at him between slightly crossed green eyes. Remus kept pestering Sirius to get him glasses, but it was a bit difficult, wasn’t it, on the run from Dumbledore. They were only 21 after all, well, now Sirius was… he couldn’t bear to think of his last birthday with James, and the lump rose in his throat again like it did almost every time Harry looked at him and tried to ask for what he was saying now.

“Ma-”

“Harry, please,” Sirius’ voice was raspy and harsh, the way it always got when he was choked up. He tried to bark a laugh to clear it, but it only came out worse.

“Motherfucker,” he said helplessly, completely defeated by orange carrots and tarps on the windows of their latest pop-up camp in the city just long enough for Remus to run to a muggle mart. And Harry grabbed at the air, searching for-

“Ma-”

“Mama isn’t here right now,” Sirius forced himself to say, trying to grin weakly. “Uncle Padfoot. Can you say ‘Padfoot’? Yes? PA-DA-FOOT?”

Harry giggled and flung his spoon hard at Sirius’ face, where it slid squelching down his unstyled bangs to stick in his hair. 

“Motherfucking good aim you’ve got,” he said bracingly, trying to smile again. “James will be furious if you turn out to be a chas-”

But it was no good. Even saying James’ name out loud had broken Sirius’ weak defenses. “I can’t keep doing this!” he told Harry wildly, springing up from the chair where he had been perched. The spoon clattered loudly to the ground as he picked up the back of the chair and slammed it satisfyingly into the ground. “I – (slam) – CAN’T – (slam) – keep – mother-” but his slams lost heart halfway through and he leaned heavily onto the back of the orange plastic. He had knicked it from a bin where it had been broken, only easily mended by reparo and a few parts Sirius had easily conjured up. At school, Dynamica and later Occultineering had been his favorite electives. Before the war he had wanted to go into spellcasting research but – 

“Motherfucker,” he said quietly, looking at the toddler covered in the same mess of orange paste he was. “All right,” he told Harry. “It settles it. No more carrots.”

“Motha-” Harry chirped. 

Sirius shook his head. Harry could say a handful of words – he was a year and a half after all – he refused to be like Remus and measure Harry’s life in asinine monthly segments. But Harry could really only make sense with his gestures. Mama. Dada. Baba. and of course yay! and no!

He had been asking for Lily all month. 

Remus had put up paltry decorations. “For Harry’s sake,” he had smiled wanly, but Sirius knew it was for his. To keep from going completely mad. Sirius stared unblinking at an actually frightfully sloshed looking Santa Claus with extra rosy cheeks before he swooped down with two fingers to pick up the spoon.

“Motha!” cheered Harry. 

“Not quite,” Sirius said with a forced smile. He threw the spoon towards the sink of the tiny kitchen and only because he was so angry did he miss it entirely, spattering the walls with more pureed carrots. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he swore.

“Fahk!” Harry screeched.

“Harry?” Sirius turned, spoon forgotten somewhere on the carpet of the den. “Oh Harry, shit, fuck, Remus is going to kill me. Go back to asking for Lily. Mama? Right? Mother?”

“Motha!” Harry crowed.

Even though it scored Sirius’ heart, he relaxed. “That’s right, Mother.”

“Fakha!”

“Errrr….maybe we can convince Moony that’s Father. Huh bud?”

“I’m home!” Remus called cheerily as he stomped his snow laden boots on the doormat. He was wearing two hats, earmuffs, and two scarves. Only his eyes were visible, and those were disguised behind thick, iris colored spectacles. It was precautionary, even in supposedly muggle-only area. 

“No more carrots, please,” Sirius groaned as Remus came into sight, jaw dropping at a smeared Sirius and an equally spattered but gleeful Harry. 

“No…” Remus said faintly. “They were out. What happened?”

“Harry doesn’t like carrots,” Sirius said promptly. “And we learned a new word.”

“Lily again?” Remus asked quietly, not meeting Sirius’ eye. His eyes were puffy behind the spell distortion of the glasses. Sirius didn’t need to ask if something in the muggle world had set him off. He could barely look at their godson without gagging on his grief.

“Motha!” Harry agreed.

Remus glanced over, only slightly bemused. “That’s strange,” he started. “Harry usually says-”

“FAHKA!”

Remus glanced quickly at Sirius who was desperately mouthing at Harry to say FATH-ER FATH-ER. The tot ignored him and using his immense powers of concentration usually saved for squeezing out truly rancid flatulence and sucking on orange peels, Harry pronounced: “MOTHA-FAHKA!”

There was a brief, interminable silence then: “SIRIUS!” and the bag of groceries burst apart over Sirius’ head, and the new family laughed hysterically, perhaps for the first time since Halloween.

That is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever read

americanbeautiies:

tiny small bisexual harry having a crush on oliver wood and 100% not realising it cause he never really consider himself bi at the age of 11, but many years later he runs into oliver somewhere just to realise “jesus fuck is that what that was??”

hermionehoe:

theauthoressdefiant:

did everyone just forget about when bill was attacked by greyback and he had a ton of scars and mrs weasley was like “oh better call off the wedding” and fleur was like “why the fuck would we do that” and mrs weasley basically said that fleur only liked bill bc of his looks and fleur totally told her and was like “i love him no matter what he looks like” and she turned out to be really cool
I feel like fleur is underrated

what she said exactly was “i’m beautiful enough for both of us” and honestly when has anything been more iconic