EVERY SINGLE REBLOG
WILL GET A THING IN THEIR ASK
OF YOU ACTUALLY
247 REBLOGS, I HAD TO GO THROUGH. I HIT ASK LIMIT LITERALLY EVERY HOUR. AND MOST OF YOU DON’T EVEN APPRECIATE IT. AUUGH
HOW THE FUCK…
look at me at 00:30 bullshitting through an essay due for tomorrow morning
glad to know some things never change
I didn’t suspect anything for the six first years of my life.
First thing I started noticing was how people wouldn’t stop speaking french around me like it was the only language they knew… Why would they do this? Did they want to sound sophisticated or something?? It pissed me off so much. And there was this croissant thing too!! I just kept on seeing them everywhere like it was normal breakfast food???
But I remember the day I really freaked out and realised what I was. It was on a sunday. When I woke up in the morning earlier than usual because I heard my dad coming home. He likes going for walks in the early morning. That’s his thing. What a weirdo. So, I went out of my room and proceeded to ask him where he’d been.
And he looked at me. He looked at me and -I KID YOU NOT- he just told me he’d went out to buy a baguette for breakfast. A baguette. Here he was, the holy procreator of nerds, a baguette under one arm, a smile on his face. Like he was fucking proud of himself or something. He couldn’t see what he’d done.
Suddenly everything made sense in my head. The blue, white and red flag I was seeing everywhere. The general grumpiness of everyone. The huge metal tower that looked a lot like the Eiffel Tower I kept on seeing on postcards in shops. The complaining. The obsession with wine. The weird smelly cheeses.
"Dad" I said in a shaky voice "are you… are we…"
How no one managed to speak english properly. How my grandparents had once eaten snails in front of me. The awful dubbing of the tv shows. The azerty keyboards. The crême brûlée.
"Are we french?" I asked, tears in my eyes.
He could have denied it. He could have changed the subject. He could have laughed and maybe -maybe- everything would have just gone back to normal.
"Am I french?" I said again.
He could have lied. But he didn’t. He answered in a slow, deep voice :
Hermione’s last minute study crunch before exams!
okay I’m gonna reblog this again because last time I didn’t say what I thought about this picture
I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. This makes the universe of Harry Potter so much more magical than I ever dreamed it to be. In the movies and books it’s like an average library with magic books, but this picture shows a Hogwarts alive and brimming with magic. The shelves are impossibly tall because you can enchant stuff to help you reach, so why SHOULDN’T the shelves be huge? I love the girls walking on books like stairs, the cat who got caught on a flying book, Hermione sitting on a book like a chair, everyone’s casual confidence in their unbelievable magic because it’s natural to them. It’s part of their everyday lives. I love the Harry Potter world so much that it hurts, and this picture is gorgeous and makes me relive the magic I have loved since I was little.
OH MY GOSH I JUST REALIZED THEYRE ALL HERMIONE. THE ONE SLEEPING ON THE sHELF OMG
having a new laptop is awesome because it’s ready to work in less than 20 seconds
but then I only have the Notepad to write stuff yet