Harry Potter dreamcast
In one world, Tom Riddle dies on a summer’s day, killed by his own sickly green curse.
In another world, Tom Riddle dies on a summer night, as the German bombs claim Wool’s orphanage and everyone in her.
In yet another world, an unnamed baby boy is buried in the depths of winter along with his unidentified mother in the pauper’s section of a poor London churchyard.
In this world, Tom Riddle is born just like his counterparts, in London, on the thirty-first of December, nineteen-twenty-six. Like her counterparts, Merope Gaunt Riddle does not survive the night.
But in this world, Merope was never so deluded as to believe in her husband’s love, and, as all things change, Henry Thomas Riddle (Tommy for short), arrives in Little Hangleton, the home of his forefathers, on the fifteenth of January, nineteen twenty-seven.
“Well, then,” says his grandfather (the Henry for whom he is named), “We had better make the most of it.”
His grandmother sniffs, “At least the boy is healthy.”
In one world, Henry Thomas Riddle receives a Hogwarts letter. His grandparents are shocked. His father, with dawning angry revelation, is less so. Henry is less than impressed with the offered curriculum, and so heads for Eton as planned in September.
In another world, Tom Riddle is not wise enough to carry a broom the first time he visits the depths of The Chamber of Secrets, and his skeleton lies there forever.
But in this world, it is a baby girl born in the orphanage, and the name that is hissed on dying breath is not Tom, but “Maia… for my… mother.”
Maia is a quiet child, studious and neat. She is not a nasty, unfriendly, bullying child, for it is not ladylike to be so. Boys might be allowed to hide away to brew cruel thoughts, but it is the nineteen thirties, and the girls are kept busy with their chores – sewing, cooking and the laundry.
Maia finds her niche in the nursery. Here, she is taught patience and compassion. She is also taught to hide her remarkable intelligence, but never quite succeeds. She finds joy in first steps, first words, and that the orphanage children are some of the best behaved and cleverest in school.
She is surprised to receive her Hogwarts letter, but very pleased to meet Mr Dumbledore, for he looks terribly wise, and Maia does so dearly love to learn.
In one world, Maia Smith (not one of those Smiths, for she is Muggle-born) studies healing, founds a magical orphanage, teaches potions for many years, and becomes headmistress of Hogwarts.
In another world, Merope adds the ashwinder eggs to the Amortentia before she takes the potion from the fire - it is the last mistake she ever makes.
In one world, much like in the first world, Tom Riddle spends his first years in the orphanage, growing crueller by the day. He is a liar and a bully and a thief.
One winter’s day he steals from the right person. The professor is a canny man, an archaeologist used to the beggar boys of such foreign places as India and Egypt. He holds Tom’s wrist and remarks that they’d take his hands for theft, were they in the East. Tom is terrified and angry - he cannot burn this man, cannot bend him to his will (in the first world, Tom would feel much the same meeting Albus Dumbledore for the first time. In this world, Tom is but seven years of age and not yet set onto his path)… and he is intrigued. The professor knows of magic, but he is not a wizard. He knows of troubled young boys, for he was one. And he offers a home, even if it is the travelling kind.
Tom learns magic from shamans and wisemen the world around. He speaks ten languages (if you count the language of snakes – Tom does). He realises the value of people, rather than their labels. He learns to love and be loved, and most of all, he learns the horror of human suffering.
Tom returns to England as a young man, and discovers quite by accident in a book the description of his mentor’s prized amulet – a terribly valuable charm against magical attack.
(submitted by edenkings)
Being quite clever, Lily waited until a day when her father was thoroughly frazzled, beset on all sides by sycophants at an MLE affair, becoming shouty and very contrary, and certain to forget the conversation as soon as it was over.
"Dad, did you lose your Parselmouth abilities after you beat Voldemort?" she asked.
"Yes," Harry said, perplexed. "Why?"
"No reason. Oh, look. Is that James over there stealing the keys to the holding cells?"
And when Harry whirled about to locate the inveterate vexation that was James, she skipped off to the courtyard.
"It’s a bit worrisome," she said.
"Ssssomething of an underssstatement," answered the snake.
i can’t believe jkr doesn’t know remus lupin is queer do you think someone should tell her
once in an interview someone asked her if charlie weasley was gay and she gave them this look and said DUMBLEDORE’s gay like there’s only room for a single queer in the wizarding world
Harry Potter Mixology: My Favorites!
- 1 oz Vodka
- 1 oz Bailey’s Irish cream
- 1 oz Amaretto
- 1oz cream
- Chocolate syrup
- Top with cinnamon/crushed almonds
- Place martini glass in freezer to chill
- Add Baileys, amaretto, vodka and cream to shaker with ice
- Remove glass from freezer
- Rim inside of martini glass with chocolate syrup
- Pour contents of shaker into glass
- Top with almond crumbles or cinnamon
- 3 oz Nuvo
- 1 oz Vodka
- 3 Raspberries
- 1 Strawberry
- To chill Vodka: Add ice and Vodka to cocktail shaker
- Add Raspberries to bottom of champagne flute
- Strain chilled vodka into flute
- Add Nuvo
- Garnish with strawberry
Fred and George Weasley
- 1 oz Vodka
- ½ oz Chambord
- ½ oz Peach Schnapps
- Splash of Pineapple juice
- Strawberry Pop Rocks
- Fill martini glass with cold water and place in freezer for 2 minutes to chill.
- Pour all ingredients except candy in a shaker with ice.
- Rim martini glass with Strawberry Pop Rocks
- Pour in contents of mixer.Goblet of FireIngredients:
- 1 oz vodka
- 1 oz blue curacao
- 3 oz lemonade
- Splash 151
- Pinch of cinnamonDirections:
- Pour vodka, blue curacao, and lemonade into a goblet-type glass
- Top with a splash of 151 proof rum
- Light on fire
- Add the pinch of cinnamon to the flames (cinnamon will spark)
- *** Blow out flames before consuming! ***
- 1 oz Grey Goose Le Citron vodka
- ½ oz Elderflower liquor
- 7 raspberries
- 1 tsp sugar
- Pink lemonade
- Lemon wedge garnish
- Muddle 6 raspberries with sugar in a tall glass.
- Add ice.
- Top with vodka and pink lemonade.
- Garnish with lemon wedge and raspberry.
- 1 oz Tequila
- 1/3 oz Tabasco sauce
- 1 jalapeno pepper
- Muddle jalapeno pepper and Tabasco sauce.
- Strain into shot glass.
- Add tequila.
- Garnish with thin slice of jalapeno.
- 1 oz whiskey
- 1/2 oz cinnamon schnapps
- Splash of 151 rum
- Add whiskey and cinnamon schnapps to shaker with ice
- Shake to chill
- Pour into shot glass
- Top with 151 rum
- ***Put out flames before consuming!***
- 2 oz Vodka
- 6 oz Earl Grey or choice tea
- Dash Syrup
- 1 oz lemon juice
- Garnish lemon
- 2 mint leaves
- Combine all ingredients into a tall class.
- Garnish with mint leaves and lemon.
- 4 mint leaves
- 1 oz rum
- 2 slices lime
- 3 tsp sugar
- 3 oz champagne
- Muddle mint leaves, limes, rum, sugar in shaker until sugar dissolves
- Strain into champagne flute
- Add champagne
- Garnish with mint
The remaining members of the Muggle-Born Tutoring Society of Cincinnati  reflect glumly on the recent retirement  of Evangeline, their leader , already 18 years of age and a prodigy in the areas of potions, transfiguration, and Arithmancy. Evangeline being invaluable, what are they to do without her? 
 Named, horribly and normally and not-at-all-magically (a real giveaway at the top of the resume), Steph, Kate, Andrea, Mia and Nicole. No magical schools for them. They attend, respectively, the good Muggle Catholic school, the Muggle Catholic for a different sort, the private academy where all the rich Muggles sent their kids, the state-funded school nobody wants to send their kids to at all, and nowhere (Nicole isn’t much for high school, magical or non-magical). 
 Retirement to higher magical education. Despite her lack of formal training, she’s been accepted to the Armistead Theurgical Institute in the American South. 
 Society founder and queen of research, she is unknowingly a kindred spirit to a certain bushy-haired young heroine living across the Atlantic, excepting that Evangeline is less inclined to do other people’s homework for them. 
 This, like all questions decided in the United States, will ostensibly be a matter of personal choice and individual drive, explained away under the banner of Freedom. They are Free to continue their association. They are Free to recruit new members to the group. They are even Free to disband and live like nice, normal wizards and witches. 
 It isn’t that they weren’t accepted to magical schools. They all have letters for somewhere. But they also have friends they don’t want to leave behind, or little sisters who need them at home, or else they just want to keep their options open; they don’t like the thought of ditching the Muggle world for the magical one. Evangeline, who’s always known she was born different,  located them through the local registry and put to them a proposal: can we just do things our way? I mean, it’s not like American wizards and witches are strangers to home schooling. 
 A storied and historically black magical college, teaching those magical arts that would otherwise have been stamped out as wrong and aberrant,  where only her lack of wizarding heritage will make her strange. The rest of the Muggle-Born tutoring society despairs at her choice to attend, believing (erroneously) that they will be unable to follow her there, partly because they cannot not match her academic drive, but mostly because they are not black. 
 The competitiveness and overwhelming emphasis on individual success in the magical circles of the United States really cannot be overstated.
 The half, or mostly-pure, sort. Of course, as is oft-repeated in the United States, “No one is really pure here .” Puzzlingly enough, this does little to resolve the many issues arising from the nation’s intoxicating combination of personal freedom and personal differences.
 Most of the others — well — that they aren’t normal came as a total surprise to them, something they only learned when they turned eleven.
 See also: the magical marriage is a Mystical Monument crowd, the Charismatics, the various sectarian magical groups living in compounds in the Dakotas, and in fact any of the many splintered factions which came into being when magical persons encountered not one, but three or four Great Awakenings.
 Many of the sorcerous arts taught at Armistead today incorporate the magic and religions of West Africa , though they have undergone significant changes and additions, were added onto a latticework of Latin and Ango-Saxon spellwork, and by now are best described as simply American. Not to mention supplemented by a neat liberal arts curriculum.
 A common misconception. The eleven historically black magical colleges have long accepted persons who historically would not have been considered black. This is perhaps a nod to how race as defined by the United States is still not the whole story in the United States. Merely a very, very, very significant part of it; to be considered alongside blood purity, ethnic ties, historical association with half-breeds, region, religion, stance on the giant problem, name, age, economic means, stance on the goblin problem, what you’re born as, what you’d like to be, what you think of Dark magic, whether you plan on becoming a screaming radio personality, and in fact what you can become .
 “Though actually my great-great-grandmother was a Native American Shaman.”
 What? You think this oblique reference to the background of many American slaves is completely ridiculous, as 1. slavery is over and its ugliness quite resolved, and 2. wizards and witches are naturally beyond that, living isolated and aloof and special beyond the silly problems of the Muggle world? You think something as big as US slavery passed wizards and witches by completely, that some did not take sides, that some were not themselves born slaves? 
 Meritocracy! 
 Please. Don’t make me fucking laugh.
 “Meritocracy!” was in fact been the first line of Evangeline’s personal essay. Followed by a paragraph that can be best summarized as, well. As, “Please. Don’t make me fucking laugh.” Then several deftly-drawn personal meanderings suggesting that she might become the next great force of change for this her unruly nation — admissions officers loved that crap — concluding with, “I lay before you my image, myself encapsulated, like a photograph, moving in a constant loop, daring to reveal my internal patterns, as though what I have accomplished in the past will be some guarantee of the choices I make in the future . But behind every image, every photo, there are untold nuances and stories, ten million scattered footnotes that might have made the picture clearer. And so we cannot chart every choice, and I cannot make you any promises. I can only promise myself that my choices, informed though they are by my heritage and past, will be made by someone longing to break free from — and yet, more importantly, to learn from — the confines of her history.”
 Wow. Nice poetic touches there, Evangeline. You are completely ready for higher education. That is, you’re ready churn out fifty pages off bullshit and rhetoric  at three in the morning.
 The American Way.
Katrina Abel’s boy was capable of upending garbage bins over the neighborhood bullies, she reported. He taught her how to eat new things. He believed — just pretend! Of course it was pretend. How nice of his Mentor to be such an imaginative person — that in their fantasy-play, he might make a nice Gryffindor.
Finch-Fletchley’s girl, rather alarmingly, was partial to Slytherin. But Finch-Fletchley felt, in the interests of fairness, that one had to remember that she thought it was all make-believe at this point, and also that it was terribly far-sighted of her to want to enter the den of the snakes and reverse its thinking. Marvelously ambitious, that one. Full of promise. Shame she thought it was all a game.
Tremlett simply wrote: Tariq is more than ready to find out. For that matter, I’m more than ready to tell him.
This was the new development closest to Hermione’s heart, the program she’d crafted all on her own, the first thing she’d fought for and succeeded at, even if the more conservative relics of the old Ministry had exacted some concessions. And so she’d meant to sit and think it over that very morning — properly think it over, research similar approaches in other countries, determine how best to propose it to Kingsley. But she didn’t have the time to respond.
At the start of the work-day she’d had a screaming row the Prophet would later characterize as a “lively debate,” with Smith, over the issue of leveling any taxes at all on Gringotts’ vaults which were more than two hundred years old.Then came the problem of hag immigration. Travers, who handled that department, was of the opinion that it was a non-issue. No hags were emigrating. Thank Merlin. When she pointed out that this was due to his long-standing policy of awarding witches and wizards a slap on the wrist for killing foreign-seeming hags on sight, he took offense.
He’s offended! she thought, still fuming, going over her revisions to that particular MLE imbroglio, He is! I’ll show him offended!
Noon brought a goblin crisis to a head, which the stupider Undersecretaries seemed to think might be well solved if someone would just go out and procure the head of a goblin. Afternoon ushered in the oldest relic on the Wizengamot now that Dumbledore was gone, Crepusculus Nott, complaining of the educational resources siphoned away from nice, sensible children to be given to the werewolves. For roughly three hours, he stood in her office and threatened to turn Kingsley into a peach.
"I don’t believe that’s what impeach means," she’d told him, trying to keep her temper under check, "Or that we do that in our current political system."
“You don’t tell me what an impeachment spell does!” he’d cried.
Yes. It had been a headache day. And now — now memoranda shot in from every corner of the Ministry, exploding from her chimney and bursting from the desk drawers she really shouldn’t have given over to Secretarial Correspondence.
Horrifying! screamed one.
Despicable waste of the Minister’s time, to have him sign off on such a program! shrieked the Howler from Care & Representation Magical Creatures, a department which had never forgiven her for limiting their ability to control and regulate.
The Prophet will hear of this, vowed Games & Sports (which really ought not to have had any kind of opinion on it, but which was — and had long been — in the pockets of the Baddock-family-owned Baddock Broomstick Company).
You’ll overturn the Statute of Secrecy! cried Muggle Artifacts, which had been getting rather cheeky ever since Hermione had granted their senior-most member a generous severance package before he could do anything troublesome based on his shaky grasp of Muggle culture. (Given what working at the Ministry could drive a witch to, she would have had to murder him. And her husband would have been rather upset with her.)
She called in her junior secretary to deal with the mess.
"Well, news of the Muggle-born mentoring was bound to hit their ears sooner or later," said her secretary.
"Just as the children are coming along tremendously," she said, "Do you know what I think? I think they’ve finally realized that — that Dumbledore had the right of it all along. That children are powerful. That the way you shape them matters.”
"That was your lot that taught them that," said her secretary, "That wasn’t mine."
"And — and after complaining for years that Muggle-borns are stupid, that they don’t know anything—"
"Up until now they haven’t, and I shouldn’t think it’s been anything but lovely for some people, having all that empty space to shove revolutionary ideas into—"
"Oh, shut up, Greengrass," Hermione said, "You sniffed about it, too. You all did. But you didn’t do anything. You just laughed at these — these children who were torn from their world and dumped in yours, and you didn’t want to teach them anything. And now that we are—"
"Yes, yes," said Daphne, "Now they’ve lovely Guides to help them. Muggle-born helping Muggle-born. It’s sweet. It’s…"
Hermione shot down a memorandum rather ominously, daring her to say something dismissive.
"You’re going to need to put the MLE on it," was all Daphne said, "Let them know who to protect, now that these little darlings are in contact with our big bad world. And it’ll puff up Weasley’s chest a little more; he’s your robin ginger-breast, isn’t he?"
"Yes, turn this into an opportunity for a dig," Hermione snapped, "Just like one of your lot.”
"My lot does things like make a lot of noise about hag policies, and then slips in an awful new change for Muggle-borns when everyone’s caught up in the hag mess," said Daphne, "My lot is political. Don’t say you haven’t learned from us."
This was, regrettably, true. She had learned. If someone had told her, a very small her, that there was a world with people like Greengrasses and Notts and Smiths in it, she would have wanted not just to beat them. She would have wanted to learn from them, too. She’d been, in her own way, an ambitious marvel.
"Now they’re making noise about this," Hermione said thoughtfully.
"Yes," Daphne said, rolling her eyes, "Yes. Stars in your eyes now. We can push this, and let them worry over it enough to let us do something about the poor little house elves, or, knowing you, even the bloody centaurs. Then we’ll push that, and behind their backs—"
"Bend the Statute a little," Hermione said, "Maybe. Move forward, at any rate."
"Pretending to compromise, and then not compromising at all. I really don’t know why you Sorted where you did," Daphne grumbled.
Character Artwork by Makani
Help I’m Draco Malfoy.
I…. am Snape.
OF COURSE I’M RON WEASLEY. OF COURSE I AM RON. WEASLEY.
Draco. Slytherin. Yes.
Ugh I like to think I’m not a Hermione but essentially I am. INTP. I think I confuse Hermione with a lot of other nerd girl stereotypes, whom I don’t identify with because their thinking is too rigid (see: Ami from Sailor Moon) but Hermione ends up being very forcefully and at times destructively/deviously/ruthlessly creative and always (mostly) 100% sure of herself.
so JKR just released some notes she wrote in a copy of Philosopher’s Stone
“was invented in small hotel in Manchester after a row with my then boyfriend. I had been pondering the things that hold a society together, cause it to congregate and signify its particular character and knew I need a sport. It infuriates men, in my experience (why is the snitch so valuable etc), which is quite satisfying given my state of mind when I invented it.”
She had the trimmest waist in all the class, and the blondest hair. She was taller than all the other girls. She always knew everything about everyone, and she made friends with solid, moneyed boys who owned cars and could drive one to Manchester and back. She wasn’t too clever — those boys don’t like clever women — but she was clever enough to be accepted to that course in London after graduation, and she always seemed to know she was a cut above, good enough to ignore one if she felt like it, unlikely to write any of her mates or even remember their names.
Well, I’m not saying she was nice. I’m just saying she was the sort to draw people in with all her worst qualities, the closest thing we had to a queen bee sort. Someone you wanted to like you back, even as you knew they thought less of you for your secondhand clothes, and actually they probably never thought very much of you at all.
She’s got a lovely house and lovely husband now, and they say all her dreams came true. She never looked back at this town after she left it. Which makes sense. She always seemed to hunger after something else, always seemed a bit furious, had an inner anger to her.
She was someone who could be jealous of the angels if she took her mind to it.
If she had to be in class with the likes of us, well. Then she would dream of some far-off, better place, probably. She didn’t like Cokeworth much, that Petunia Evans.