30 Day Bookstagram Positivity Challenge

I practically grew up on #bookstagram. Believe me, I know what it is and I could define it if asked. However I am not here to make it a dictionary term. What bookstagram is and what it is meant to be are two different things at the present time.

My mother, @heathermaccreates, started her Instagram account back in 2012. Since then she has gained a following in the thousands and has loyal customers. She has shared her bookstagram journey with me and included me in all her favorite books, posts, quotes, art, and so on.

I have only joined the bookstagtam community recently but I have grown up around it. My mom used to wear a “#bookstagram made my buy it” shirt almost every other day, believe me I grew up with it.

However, the bookstagram I thought I knew then is nothing like the bookstagram I have come to know now.

When I was younger I used to be able to scroll down my mother’s Instagram feed and read all the great book synopsis’s and reviews. The comments were enjoyable and full of cool discussion and respectful debate.

Now however if you look up #bookstagram, there are descriptions of negativity, condemning any opinion in a book that diverges from the readers own. Comments are practically screaming arguments. People tag other bookstagramers only to criticize them.

What happened?

Here is what happened. Micro-aggressions happened.

A micro-aggression is when someone says something they think and someone else disagrees and attacks them for it. 

An example? A bookstagramer says they enjoyed the main character’s point of view. Someone comments “The main character describes the female lead as incompetent! The book had a pro-male agenda and was sexist”. The rest of the comment thread goes back in forth on what the bookstagramers believed and what was wrong with them if they enjoyed or hated the book, whether the book was sexist, racist, or homophobic, and what the author had done that made the book not worthy of reading.

As readers, we choose what we read. We choose what we enjoy in a story and we choose what we hate as well. We choose what we take out of the book, and we choose what we leave behind.

That is what reading is all about!

If a reader chooses to share their experience with a book on bookstagram, it is not to promote their own personal supremacy. It is so that they can share their thoughts with people like them. Other readers.

No matter what colour, gender, race, creed, or religion, we all have one thing in common. We are readers! We love a good story. We all cry when our favorite character dies, we all have to put the book down at the big plot twists, we all have the same emotional trauma after we finish a book, and we all have the same ecstasy when we start a new one.

Can’t we talk about how great it is that we are all readers? That we love the written word? That we couldn’t survive without it?

Let’s make bookstagram a positive place again. 

I’ve created a 30 Day Bookstagram Positivity Challenge and I encourage you to try it out. It is simple to do and I hope you will take the first steps to making #bookstagram a better place.

Boxing Day At Baker Street

I take real pride in calling myself a true Sherlockian. And when writing this Christmas Sherlock fanfic, I studied how Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote John Watson’s writing about his and Holmes’ adventures. I have done my best to replicate this and stay TRUE to the characters as Doyle wrote them. I hope you enjoy this light hearted story! 💛

In all my days of knowing Sherlock Holmes, I have perceived many things. His need for order in all things is both his strength and his weakness (though he would never willingly acknowledge the fault.) His calculating and organized mind is at all times active. 

Like a high speed mechanical device, the many cogs and gears are always turning, keeping the machine alive and working. I, who have been his companion for many a year, often have the opportunity to observe this thinking rotary. Holmes himself calls his brain “an attic” in which he keeps “the tools which may help him in doing his work” and “all in the most perfect order.” However, in my small observations, his brain, which he takes such pride in, has never been so.

As I have said to Holmes many times before, a mortal man cannot rightly decide what he is and is not to know. “It’s not our place,” I say. Yet Holmes chooses to forgo my words and might comment that he is no “mortal man.” 

And on another and more prevalent note, Holme’s mind is anything other than “perfect order.” He values order, yes, and does his best to keep it. But, as is our modern society, order cannot always be kept. And when the inevitability of disorder comes knocking on the door of 221B Baker Street, the place where Holmes and I reside, the former is nothing short of unnerved (I here add “in the best sense of the word” in respect for my friend’s pride.)

Christmas time at Baker Street was a jolly one for those of us who participated. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Baker Street, made a roast beef to put Her Majesty’s cooks to shame. The honorable lady (Mrs. Hudson that is, not The Queen) also accompanied me to place a tasteful bouquet on the grave of my late wife, Mary.

All the while, however, Holmes remained in the rooms we shared.

“It is unadulterated foolishness, Watson,” Holmes told me, “To celebrate nothing.”

“Nothing?” I exclaimed. “By Jove, Holmes, Christmas is far from celebrating nothing! Christmas is for the human ability of joy and co-existence. The birth of Christ for His sake!

He raised a sharp eyebrow as a bemused smile began to play on his lips. “As I sad, nothing.”

I was aware of Holmes’ frankly blasphemous thoughts on religion, particularly the one I and the whole of modern England shared. I opened my mouth to defend either the holiday, Christianity, or myself (I had not then decided which) but Holmes spoke before I could. He was rather good at that.

“You are a Christian, Watson, are you not? Then as a Christian attempting to acknowledge this manufactured holiday known as Christmas, you are indeed celebrating nothing. In those days when pagans were the majority, did they not too deck their houses with the evergreen botanicals, such as holly and ivy? I believe these were to keep away the imagined ‘evil spirits.’ And you tell me you do as they did in the name of God? Show me the logic behind this, for I am quite certain that there is none. I do not say I will join in these festivities of religion in which no physical evidence has been produced, for I am no man of faith, but if you feel the need to justify your standing of a Christian who celebrates a pagan Christmas, by all means attempt to prove me wrong.”

I did not retaliate in anger, as many other God fearing Englishmen would have if spoken to by the offensive and disagreeable man before me. I did not roll my eyes, I did not steal a breath, I did not steady my nerves. 

Rather than showing these signs of irritation, I chose to laugh.

Holmes was thoroughly taken aback by my reaction. His head turned sideways slightly and his eyes seemed to take in every feature of my face, pondering the meaning behind my jovial attitude. I recognized the signs of confusion that I often saw when I assisted him in his works of detection and deduction. 

“Why, Holmes,” I said merrily, “You forget that you have told me the exact same speech every year since I first came to Baker Street! My good man, show me the logic in that.” 

“If I have made such an error, which I doubt, it is only because I do not find the memories priority.”

“Or it is because you dislike what I have to say next.”

“And pray tell me what that should be?”

“The same speech in which I have responded, and perfected, I might take the liberty of adding, to your pessimistic diatribe every year in this season.”

I paused and then continued, “It is true that the traditions of Christmas are rooted in less than holy places. I know the history that you have taken the time to explain to me so thoroughly. But allow me to give you a lesson now. Tradition and religion…these are man made and often times artifice. However, even you acknowledge the beauty that God has bestowed upon mankind. I recall you once said to me that “our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to rest in the flowers” and that “it is only goodness which gives extras, and that we have much to hope.” You know there is some higher power, Holmes, do not deny it. And you know that in this world of chaos and ill will there are still those who sew and reap good and praiseworthy values. Mankind is a folly kind, indeed. But on this day, we might folly in a better sort. We might extend a hand to those less fortunate than ourselves and gift that which our very flawed and human hearts lead us to give. There are aspects of beauty in that, no? Why there is even logic enough for you in these things! Now, I’ll allow you to display if you have changed at all in the past year, since the last time I gave you this same lecture. A single remark will do, Holmes. Not one? I thought not. Happy Christmas, good friend.”

And turning away to spare Holmes the slight humiliation of me seeing him at a loss at how to counter, I walked from the room. 

I shall leave him a Boxing Day present by his door tomorrow, I thought with an amused smile in my head.

That night, Mrs. Hudson, myself, and the Misses Hawkins and Hooper, two respectable ladies who shared the flat opposite 221 B, sat in the parlor playing a round of Whist. Miss Hawkins headed the conversation the majority of the time, commenting every so often on the number of Penny Posts she had received from young and eligible men. This was endurable, but only just.

Mrs. Hudson and Miss Hooper were much more versed in polite conversation and the evening had been modestly enjoyable. Though it occurred to me how much more lively the evening might have been had my friend Holmes been there with his uncivil tongue and unpopular ideals. I managed to turn my snigger at the thought into a small cough. 

My mind must have somehow summoned him, because just after the idea had crossed my mind, the devil came through the sitting-room door. 

“My cap, Watson!” He cried, dashing about this way and that. 

“Holmes!” I declared. “Come, sit and join us!”

The three other ladies nodded in agreement with me and invited him to the table in their soft, feminine voices.

Holmes did not seem to hear us. “My cap, it is here somewhere. Watson, find my cap!” 

“Why do you need your deerstalker, fellow? Are you going out?”


“Man, it is freezing outside!”

“That statement would conclude as to why I need my cap! Aha!” He exclaimed with a laugh as he ducked under the table where we had been playing our card game (making the ladies present cry out in surprise.) He came out as soon as he had gone under, however, and brandished his deerstalker cap with a flourish. “Success!” 

He looked at me and at the company I kept, seeing them for the first time. “Ah, people.” 

And with that last statement, he left the room quicker than one could utter “Elementary.”

I apologized for his conduct as I often found myself doing. Mrs. Hudson, who knew Holmes almost as well as I, excused my apology with a smile. Miss Hawkins however asked, “You don’t suppose he’s going caroling?”

I quickly excuse myself from the room as to hide my laughter at the mental image of Sherlock Holmes singing “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.”

I had no plans for Boxing Day. After whatever exertions I had taken on Christmas Day, I often found myself staying inside on the holiday, reading the Strand and enjoying multiple cups of tea. Holmes, whom I had seen the previous night leave the flat with such flurry, had not made an appearance to me since then. And that was most strange seeing as he did so like to torment me on the pointlessness of Boxing Day.

Last year  I had participated in the work of the church in making poor boxes. Mrs. Hudson volunteered her time annually and I thought I might do the same. Holmes immensely enjoyed quoting one of Dickens’ rude misers whenever entering my presence.

Reflecting on this, it was strange that he was not in my view. Had he rushed off on a case? This was uncharacteristic seeing as he wanted for my assistance whether or not I was inconvenienced or not. More often the former than the latter.

I tried to pay the matter little heed. Holmes was as unpredictable as the criminal classes he worked against. 

I spent the hours reading a title which turned out to be easily forgotten and in a few episodes of polite conversation. I was just about to think about luncheon when I heard the front door’s knocker alert me to the presence of a visitor. 

Curious to see if Holmes had spent the whole night away from Baker Street, I opened the door expecting to see the detective. Alas I was mistaken…though not so very much. 

A different genius child stood at the doorstep. I recognized the boy as Wiggins,  a street urchin who was occasionally employed by Holmes. 

He must be here for work, I thought when contemplating the boy’s motives. 

“Is Mister Holmes here, sir?” Wiggins asked, pulling off his wool flat cap and smiling in a way I had not been accustomed to associate with him. 

“No…leastwise, I don’t believe he is.”

“I just wanted to thank him again, sir.” The boy said, excited.

“Thank him?” I inquired. “Whatever for, lad?” 

“For the oranges and half crowns, sir! My family will feast today! Give him my thanks, please, sir?” And in his energetic state, he ran onto the street, kicking up snow as he went and whistling a Christmas tune. 

I stood for a moment, looking down at the place Wiggins had been only moment ago. Then amused realization began to slowly creep up my person. 

Sherlock Holmes…giving gifts to homeless children on Boxing Day? Had my yearly tirade finally made an impression? 

I deduced that Holmes must have been out all night finding the members of his so-called “Baker Street Irregulars” and gifting them with oranges and half crowns. And the reason I had not seen him this morning was consequence of his late evening endeavors. Might he be asleep in his rooms? Or was he still out tracking down those lesser fortunate than himself?

I recalled him saying to me in the case of the Mazarin Stone, “I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix.” 

Maybe so, Holmes, old friend, I thought, shutting the door against the chilly holiday air, But a heart is in there somewhere as well.

NOTE: This story is NOT a licensed work. The author does not own any copywrite, trademarks and/or license. Absolutely all trademarks, licenses and copyrights are the sole property of the authors and/or publishers. All of this writers works and stories are “fan made”, and are NOT to be assumed as being licensed and/or official work. The production of this story is not intended to mislead or to confuse consumers. No infringement on the publisher/author’s name and trademark are intended. This product is purposed for Fan Fiction only.

Writing Advice From An Awkward Adolescent

I do believe writing is one of the truest art forms still around. There is something special and even sacred about words forming in one’s head and traveling to one’s pen and paper. When my oral words fail me, the written ones, whether my own or someone else’s, rarely do.

I cannot give you any huge secret to writing. If you are like me, writing is beautiful yet frustrating at the same time. Writing can make you feel as high and as bright as the sun or like a dumb mole alone in the dark with nothing but a lot of worthless dirt. 

There is no secret to writing. There is no one way to do it. There is no potion that will wake you up in the morning like a Disney princess, that will enable you to sit in front of your typewriter or computer and churn out the perfect story effortlessly. I can assure you writing is NEVER like that. 

If anyone tells you writing is easy, they are treacherous liars who don’t deserve the life of a struggling writer (you know, the glamorous ordering the wrong type of printer ink online and waiting in the too-long line at a trashy Chinese restaurant.)

I cannot give you writing hacks, brilliant prompts, or one-size-fits all advice. The only thing I can give you is what I have learned.

The only advice writers should share is that which they have discovered themselves. When one writes as a hobby, as a career, or as a blogger hoping that someone somewhere is reading their probably bad work, they make for themselves a new journey of literary experience that has never been ventured before! 

From this journey, a writer gets exclusive writing content generated from their unique experiences. Discovering and sharing this content is a choice they have to make on their own.

Moving past this explanation, I would like to share my own “content.” These few tips are what I have learned in my few years as a writer. I know there are many more years of discovery out there in my future writing journey, but this is what I have now so…enjoy?

Be a Savage

If you write mostly fictitious works as I do, never be a nice person. On the page that is. When writing your characters, spare them no mercy. It may brake your heart to see what your little “mind babies” have to go through but do it anyways.

When good things happen, the reader gives an itty bitty hooray and then moves on. However, if you act as devil’s advocate for your characters, it leaves a big impression on your reader.

Here is my philosophy; if you make a reader cry or depress them…good job. You are a good writer.

Here is a writing exercise: Think about your plot. Now make it WORSE. Make a list of all the wicked, evil, twisted, and monstrous deeds you can do to your characters and then multiply it by eleven billion. If you have an idea that is merciless yet realistic in the story’s setting, do it. 

Had Had

I am not just a writer. I am also a reader. Most writers are and if they aren’t then they’re fakes. As a reader, I have a pet peeve.

Never EVER write “had had” in a sentence. Do it and I’m sorry, but I will have to deal you with you later.

I almost found myself writing “Despite the little sleep Sybil had had that night….”  in “Ravenclaws and Their Bad Omens” but stopped myself. Instead I wrote “Despite the little sleep Sybil had that night…” 

It makes just as much sense, if not more, to use just one “had.” Reading “had had” always trips me up and I’m sure others feel the same way. 

Years of writing, and that is the most valuable advice I can give you. Use ONE had, never TWO.

Don’t Have A Plan

I have a close friend who is a writer. She is a younger writer and has not yet perfected her style. That’s okay, neither have I. But she, no matter how many times it messes her up, makes a huge critical mistake when starting a new story.

She plans it out.

You know those little diagrams that demonstrate rising action, climax, falling action and resolution? The ones your English teacher used to give you to map out a story? They look like a melting caution cone…maybe that last one is just me. Those diagrams lie. They will never make a good story.


If you plan out your story, you have set in your mind the exact events that will happen. You leave no room for surprise. 

When I begin writing a new story, I keep my general theme in mind but I keep just that. General. Don’t put to much stock into the order of events in your story. Keep your theme in mind, but just write. 

Let the plot lead you. Don’t lead the plot.

Some writers claim to have a fully formed plot before they start writing, complete with climax and resolution. In the movie Knives Out it is said that the mystery author in the film had his plots come into his mind, fully formed. 

How dull.

When I write I know only the characters. Or I think I know the characters. If reading is an adventure than writing is a journey. I write knowing little about what I am about to encounter. Is my main character really the main character? Or will another take their place? What changes about the scene that leads to a captivating story? 

I started writing this post when I wrote my “Ravenclaws and Their Bad Omens” story. I had no idea what Sybil and Pandora where going to get into. I had only a vague idea on how they would talk and act. Would Pandora believe Sybil’s predictions or would she laugh at her friend’s silliness? Do the Marauders enter the story? I hoped they did, because I love them, but I had not one clue. 

At this point of the post, I do not know where I will end up. What will my resolution be? I still don’t know.

But I do know that I want you to know that when you are writing, you don’t need to know everything. There is only one person who knows everything and I can safely say that is not you. But, hey, that’s okay.

Have a Goal

What’s the point of writing if you don’t know what you’re writing for?

Sure, you might have a brilliant story or a flawless plot, but where does your motivation come from? 

Motivation isn’t “I want to write for a career” or “I don’t want to die alone and unread.” That has to do with you not your writing. Writing shouldn’t be about you.

Motivation is what you believe in, what keeps you ticking. What do you put your faith in? How does it inspire you? This motivation doesn’t focus on you, or at least it shouldn’t. If you are truly motivated, you should want to share this belief with other. You can do this with a theme.

Theme is paramount to a story. If your new rider or just aren’t fluent in writing lingo, a theme is the basic idea of your story. Maybe you want to convey that fate is inescapable or that love conquers all. 

Because I am a young Christian who puts her faith in God, that becomes my motivation. When I have a story, my themes come straight from scripture. These scriptures stay in my mind when I am writing. Whenever a character speaks or whenever a new scene begins I ask myself “Does this line up with my chosen scripture?” If it does not, I need to scratch it and try again.

Maybe you don’t feel led to use scripture as your themes. That’s your own choice. As long as your motivation is pure, true, and praiseworthy, the writing will speak for itself.

Find Your Own “Content”

Keep learning, keep discovering. Whether you’ve just written the first paragraph in your first story or if you have been writing for seventy years, don’t suppose you have learned everything. I promise you haven’t.

I may have these few tips for you now, but seeing as I intend to never stop walking in my personal writing journey, I know I will find many more. And I will share them, as it should be.

Share what you learn with others whenever you can. Who’s knows? Maybe one day your writing will make its way into some else’s heart and impact their life.

What could be a greater honor?

Slytherins and Why They Can’t Loose

Why is it that Slytherins put so much expectation on themselves? And I’m not just talking about good grades or bright futures. But when they think something, even in passing, it sticks like Spell-o-tape. If they have an opinion of themselves or others they will do anything to prove that said opinion is right. The only thing about Slytherins is that when they are really tested do their true natures come out, no matter what they think, their real selves are revealed. And that can be negative or positive. Or both. Slytherins are people of action but their thought processes have a lot of influence on how they act. This combination of overthinking and overdoing tends to lead their days like this…


Regulus Black woke up with a start to the sound of his name being yelled with the utmost fury. You haven’t woken up on the wrong side of the bed until you have woken up to Felix Rosier screaming your name in a frenzied fury. 

At first, Regulus did nothing, just remained laying down. Then Rosier’s voice met his ears unpleasantly again. “BLACK!” His voice was becoming clearer, yet Regulus still did not move.

He felt a rush of air next to his head as his four poster curtain was opened. 

“Black,” Rosier grunted in disdain. “Explain!”

Opening his eyes finally and seeing Rosier standing above him, Regulus said in a bored voice, “‘splain what?”

Rosier pointed at the dormitory door as if this explain his mania. Most unwillingly, Regulus sat up to see what all the fuss was about. 

After getting dressed, Regulus, escorted by Rosier, went down to the Slytherin common room. At first glance it was easy to see what had made all this commotion.

The common room, which was normally dawned with the green and black colors of Slytherin and lit with the green reflections of the Black Lake, was…unusual this morning. 

The traditional grim decoration had all been replaced. In their place were crimson and gold banners, lion crests, bright lanterns and floating candles. 

Regulus closed his eyes and sighed in irritation. “Why would you think this is my fault…oh, that’s why.”

On one of the walls was a banner with the message;


“Idiots,” Regulus muttered, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and frowning. 

“How in Salazar’s name did your blood traitor brother and his menace friends get in here?” Rosier glared at Regulus. “Unless you let them in, you little-“

“I didn’t let them in, alright? I hate them.” 

Severus Snape, a fifth year, was vanishing red and gold glitter from the walls. He spoke in the third year’s defense.“Regulus would no sooner allow Gryffindors entry than I would, Rosier,” Snape said in a calm monotone though his face was livid at the sight of the “Marauders” vandalism. 

Regulus shot Snape a contemptuous glance but the other neither noticed nor cared. Rosier looked at the both of them before announcing, “I’m telling Slughorn that they broke into the dorms…again!” He growled. “I have my eyes on you, Black. You too, Snape.”

Once he left in pursuit of Slughorn, Snape rolled his eyes. “Prefects.”

“I don’t need you speaking to Rosier on my behalf,” Regulus spat at Snape. “So keep your big nose out of my business”

“How much like your brother you sound. I suppose the family resemblance goes farther than looks.”

“I’m nothing like my brother and…” Regulus’ comebacks died halfway through. He wasn’t all that great at back talk. 

Snape raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“You’ve got glitter on your robes,” Regulus said, hoping it sounded insulting. He turned and walked back up to his dormitory, leaving Snape.

“We just can’t tolerate this any longer!” Rosier was giving a pep talk to the Slytherin table. Regulus listened half heartedly, spooning his oatmeal and letting it fall back into his bowl. “This is the fifth time. The fifth time! If they walk all over us like this, when will it stop?”

Bellatrix, Regulus’ cousin (much to his dislike), fingered her wand and smirked, “I could take care of them if you just let me.” 

Avery, who sat next to her, inched away warily. 

“I say we give them a taste of their own medicine,” Mulciber interjected. “See how it feels to be on the receiving end of petty tricks.”

Several students nodded in agreement. Regulus himself felt up to the idea, though doubtful. Gryffindors were supposed to be the mischievous ones, not Slytherins. Slytherins were more cross me and die. If something like this got carried too far, it could end up dangerous. 

“We could get into their common room!” Avery piped. “Mess with their stuff!”

“One problem,” Regulus pointed out, “We don’t know their password.” 

Rosier looked at him. “So how did they find out our’s, pipsqueak?”

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. “How should I know?”

“He’s your brother,” Bellatrix leered. 

“And he’s your cousin, Bella,” Regulus countered.

She snarled animal like in return. Regulus grinned. “We always have such lovely conversation.” He turned to Avery. “There’s no way we can get past that fat lady picture, no Gryffindor would give us the password. Unless Snape’s got Veritaserum on him.”

Every head turned to the boy in question. It took Snape a moment to realize everyone was waiting for him to answer.

“Don’t be thick,” Snape drawled. “Veritaserum is classified as a professional exclusive potion. Such mixtures cannot be brewed without regulation in Hogwarts.”

“There goes that idea,” Avery muttered in disappointment.

The Slytherins ate in silence. Soon, Sirius, the blood traitors Pettigrew and Potter, along with that son-of-a-Muggle Lupin, went walking by their table. 

Without much effort, Mulciber aimed his wand at Sirius. “Levicorpus.”

Turned upside down and hung by his ankles in the air, Sirius cursed and threw a croissant he had been holding at Mulciber.

Potter was laughing jovially but ceased once he saw that the Slytherins were doing the same. 

“No magic in the Great Hall,” Lupin said strictly as he helped his friend down. “Three points from Slytherin.” 

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius said, sticking his tongue out at Mulciber. “Make it an even five.”

“Lucky you have a prefect to hide behind,” Regulus snapped. “Aye, Sirius?”

His brother glanced at him but looked away just as quickly. The look on Sirius’ face made Regulus’ insides twist. 

“Back off, Reg,” Potter said. “Anyway, how’s your common room doing? Nice glitter, by the way, Snivillus.”

Snape glared at Potter but ignored him. Wisely in Regulus’ opinion. 

“You’ll pay for our common room, the lot of you,” Rosier said. “You can bet on that.”

Potter laughed. “All you know are Dark spells and how to sneer. Good luck getting back at us.”

Lupin shepherded them away from the Slytherin’s. Regulus watched as they left. 

There was little Regulus was truly thankful for. But in that small list was this; he was thankful he was not in his brother’s year. Facing him every single day, even having to interact with him, was something he could never do. 

It was different when they younger. Regulus had once looked up to Sirius. There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to be just like his elder brother. When he began to grow up his attention divided between Sirius and their parents. Somewhere along the way, that brotherly affection was diverted. Somewhere along the way he gave into the ideology that was taught to him from infancy, and could never understand why Sirius didn’t believe what him and their parents believed.

Regulus was more perceptive than he let on. He was aware of the real reason he didn’t want to face Sirius. He knew that if he faced Sirius, he would have to make jibes at Sirius and his friends’ blood status. Would have to hex them and sneer at their moral compasses. And why? To confirm his place in Slytherin, as a pure-blood, and as a supporter of the Dark Arts. 

He had been doing this for so long, he wasn’t sure if he actually believed what he said he did. But it didn’t matter. It was too late for him to change. If he changed, he would be rejected from the status he had put so much faith in. 

He would rather be the persecutor than the persecuted.

These thoughts shot through his mind for a split second but he pushed them aside just as quickly. He did this several times a day. His conscience would not allow otherwise. 


The voice echoed through the nearly empty hallway of Regulus’ way to class. It took a short moment for Regulus to remember the latest Gryffindor v. Slytherin prank war. And Regulus didn’t duck in time.

He spun around to face Marlene McKinnon, who’s wand was out and who’s mouth was split into a greatly amused smile. Sirius, who was next to her, was practically barking with laughter. “Nice hair, Regulus!”

Regulus growled and caught sight off the end of his hair from the corner of his eye.

The strands, once a deep raven, were now a bright bubble gum pink. 

He pulled out his own wand to retaliate but it was too late. Sirius and the McKinnon girl had already run off.

“This isn’t going to work,” Regulus muttered to Snape. They were in free period and on a mission to get back at the four troublemakers. 

“It will work. Trust me,” Snape said. 

Regulus looked at him. “Why would I trust you? You’re not my friend.”

“Of course not. Just do it.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You better be right or I’ll hex you.”

“I’m terrified. Now go.”

Regulus walked away, glaring at Snape as he went. He headed towards his brother and his friends who were near the Black Lake, goofing around. 

“Hey, Lupin!” Regulus called. 

The Gryffindors looked his way.

Lupin, confused, answered. “Yes?”

“Just ignore him, Remus,” Sirius muttered.

“You can do a corporeal Patronus right?” Regulus asked. “We learned about them in class and someone told me you were the only kid in school who could do one.”

Pettigrew glanced between Regulus and Lupin. Lupin nodded, starring at Regulus quizzically. “Yes, I can produce a Patronus. But I’m sure Slughorn could too, if you’re curious about them…”

“Could you do one right now?” Regulus asked. He wasn’t sure why Snape said this was the way to get back at them.

“You’re a git, you know that?” Sirius spat at Regulus.

“I just want to see if he could do it,” Regulus said, surprised this was actually working.

“W-well, he doesn’t want to!” Pettigrew defended.

“I don’t think I asked you,” Regulus looked at Lupin. “Well?”

“I’d rather not…”

Snape came up from behind Regulus. “And why not, I wonder?” 

“Shove off, Snivillus,” Potter said, taking out his wand. “Or do you fancy being strung up by your ankles?”

“It’s an innocent question,” Snape said, smirking. “Lupin? Could we see a Patronus?”

Lupin’s gaze shifted. He took out his wand. “Expecting Patronum.” A small silver light came from his wand. Several people nearby clapped. They had attracted a crowd.

“We meant a corporeal Patronus,” Snape said.

“Too bad, that’s all he can do,” Sirius’ face was absolutely livid.

“No, I asked if he could do a full bodied one before and he said yes,” Regulus countered.

“Come on, Remus!” Shouted Marlene, who had joined the crowd around them, “Go on!”

“Let’s just go…” Pettigrew said under his breath.

Sirius and Potter stood on either side of Lupin, looking daggers at Regulus and Snape. Regulus felt that this might have gone too far.

Snape turned his head to the side. “Why can’t you just show us, Lupin? What have you got to hide?”

Lupin looked around at the others, all starring curiously. He looked at the ground and waved his wand whilst closing his eyes. “Expecting Patronum.”

A large hulking animal shot out of his wand. Snape’s smile grew even more satisfied while Potter and Sirius’ frowns deepened with dislike. Regulus caught sight of the Patronus; a wolf. It cantered in and out of the student’s legs and stopped to howl once.

Once the Patronus faded, the students clapped and patted Remus on the back before dispersing. 

“Thank you,” Snape jeered. “That was more than satisfactory…very educational.”

Potter advanced on Snape and shoved him backwards. “Dumbledore made you promise, you greasy bat!”

“What’s going on?” Regulus asked, genuinely confused and even concerned. 

Snape took out his wand and pointed it at Potter threateningly. “Go ahead,” he dared.

“James,” Lupin warned though he did not look up. 

Potter looked at Lupin and took a step back from Snape. “I told Evans I wouldn’t fight him.”

“Well I didn’t!” Sirius roared as he stepped forward and swung a punch at Snape.

“Sirius!” Regulus, Lupin, Potter, and Pettigrew all cried in unison. 

Levicorpus!” Snape cried, flicking his wand at Sirius.

“Oh, not again!” 

For the second time that day Sirius hung in midair. Regulus went forward to help but-

“Stop!” Potter roared at him, pushing him back. “Go on!”

Regulus looked to Snape, but the other Slytherin was already trudging away. Walking slowly backwards, his eyes still on the four Gryffindors, Regulus made his way warily to the castle.

Regulus felt like jinxing himself. It wasn’t as if any real harm had been done. Nothing all that serious at happened. So why was he so on edge about it?

It was the looks on Sirius face that had taken hold of him. Not looks of dislike, but of disappointment and even surprise that his little brother turned against him. And acceptance that this was how Regulus really was and there was nothing Sirius could do about it. Regulus saw that face often and it hurt all the more each time.

If he asked me to change, would I do it? Regulus wondered. I’d want to say yes…but I’d never give him the satisfaction. He sat in the Slytherin common room (now reversed to its original state) pondering this and becoming even more depressed just thinking about it.

What a tangled web we weave, he thought. 

The moment he saw Snape, he stood up and approached him. “That wasn’t a prank. What was that?”

Snape looked at him, expressionless, and walked away.

Regulus seethed. “Snivillus!” He called after him in contempt.

He heard laughter behind him and turned. Rosier, Avery, and Mulciber had just entered the room.

“You’ll never guess what we just did!” The heckled.

Regulus caught sight of green and silver glitter speckled on their robes and couldn’t help but smile. “Oh no…”

The next morning, the Gryffindors woke up to find their common room quite changed…

Gryffindors And Their Bad Days

Gryffindors have complex personalities, just like the rest of the Hogwarts Houses. Besides being brave and true, they are also headstrong and ambitious. They often expect too much of themselves but never appreciate the little things. Gryffindors live higher paced lives than the other Houses and can easily miss the little things in life. They too often envision the big picture but overlook the significance of the now. They are quick to resent, rarely relent, and judge situations quickly. But when given insights, they readily accept truth and positivity. Here is what a normal day looks like for a typical Gryffindor…

A soft rustling woke Seamus Finnigan up, which was not unusual. He didn’t have to look outside his four poster to know what the noise had been. Ron and Harry were sneaking out…again. Seamus, Dean, and Neville had all gotten way over stopping them after four years of school together. 

Several whispers, recognizably Harry and Ron’s voices, could be heard. Seamus sat up. Had Dean been woken up? Probably. Once he heard the footsteps, followed by the door closing, he sat up and moved one of his curtains. 

An idea, not brilliant but not bad either occurred to him and he smirked. Swinging his legs off the bed, and stretching for a second, he grabbed a pillow and crept over to Dean’s four poster. 

The sound of soft snoring was coming from the other side of the room and Seamus sent Neville a quick apology before-

Seamus ripped open the curtains as fast as he could and raised the pillow into the air, ready to slam it across Dean’s sleeping form. However, he wasn’t quick enough. 

Aguamenti!” Seamus’ best friend’s voice was audible just before water shot straight at his face. 

Seamus yelped and brought up a hand in an attempt to guard himself from the water, but it was too late. He was soaked. 

Dean laughed loudly and Seamus cursed. They had been in the same perpetual prank wars for two years, and Dean always seemed to get the upper hand. 

“Could you let me get one on you once, mate?” Seamus said, starting to chuckle as he shook his head violently, sending water drops across the room.

Dean threw the pillow Seamus had dropped back at him. “And miss that stupid look on your monkey face? Never.”

“Guuuyssss,” came Neville’s sleepy moan from his bed.

“Sorry, Neville!” Dean and Seamus said together, laughing and not sorry at all.

Breakfast was a dull affair. There were no good subjects to look forward to, like Defense Against the Dark Arts or Charms. History of Magic was on Seamus’ schedule followed by Double Potions…yay. And even worse, he hadn’t seen a single Quidditch match let alone a single broomstick since the World Cup (Go Lynch!).

“I miss Quidditch,” he grumbled as he swallowed his toast. 

Dean rolled his eyes, “I know, you’ve told me only a hundred times.”

“Well, I do!” 

“The Triwizard Tournament is ten times as exciting as Quidditch-“

“Bite your tongue!” Seamus interrupted, scandalized. 

Dean didn’t bother to finish, knowing Seamus was not one to back down. Instead he waved at someone over Seamus’ shoulder. 

“Hey, Ginny!”

Don’t come over, don’t come over, don’t come over! Seamus repeated in his head. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ginny. She was dead nice and worth a good laugh, but Dean had gotten into the habit of inviting her into every single conversation and it was a bit annoying. A lot annoying. Very annoying. Forget it, he was livid about it these days.

Ginny obviously wasn’t a legilimens, seeing as she didn’t hear Seamus’ mental cry for her to ignore them. That or she just didn’t care.

“Hey Dean, hey Seamus,” she walked over and caught sight of Lee Jordan, who was sitting next to them. “Lee,” she nodded politely.

“Hey, Ginny,” Seamus said in a monotone. 

Dean didn’t notice the unenthusiastic voice, but Ginny did. Because of course.

She smirked, “Bad morning, Seamus?”

Seamus couldn’t help but smile. Ginny was a sport. “You’d be in a bad mood to if you were having Quidditch withdrawals.”

“Tell me about it!” She said, sitting next to him, across from Dean, and grabbing a nearby croissant. “And I was going to try out for the team this year.”

“Really?” Dean asked, interested. 

Ginny nodded but said no more, choosing to eat her food. Lee decided to join the conversation in her silence. 

“Keeper, right? You were going to try for Keeper now that Wood’s gone?”

Seamus considered Ginny as a Keeper. He couldn’t see her as a Keeper. A Seeker, maybe, but Harry was already the perfect Seeker and that was something no Gryffindor would deny.

Ginny nodded but shrugged her shoulders in response to Lee. “Ron would have killed me though. He’s wanted to be on the team ever since Harry got in in their first year. It’s a Weasley tradition, being on the team.”

Lee nodded, then said. “But you could break that seeing as your-“ 

Seamus and Dean both turned their heads to him. Rest In Peace, he thought as he crossed his chest as if rebuking something sacrilegious. Ginny’s eyes turned to slits, daring Lee to day another word.

“Since you’re the YOUNGEST!” Lee finished in defense to Seamus, Dean’s, and now Ginny’s own (frankly frightening) look. “I was going to say since you are the youngest!”

Dean started laughing and Seamus shook his head. Ginny continued to look daggers at Lee, who had ducked his head down. 

Once finished eating, Seamus said his goodbyes to the others and set off back to the dormitories. Dean, though he had finished his plate, stayed, animatedly talking with Ginny about the Weird Sisters. 

It was bound to happen sometime, his best friend finding a girl’s attention more engaging than his own. He was pretty sure Harry, who kept company mostly with Ron and Hermione Granger, didn’t realize he was the third wheel in their group. 

He let the reverie pass. He wasn’t one to hold Dean’s crush against him. His only worry was that Dean would talk Quidditch with Ginny instead of himself.

“Parkinson and Patil…Goyle and Thomas…Granger and Brown…” Professor Snape’s drawl echoed around the silent and dark dungeon walls, listing off pairs of students to work on the day’s overly complicated potion. “Malfoy and Weasley…” 

Seamus heard Ron, who stood next to him, curse. Better you than me, he thought, smiling a little guiltily as Ron picked up his potion ingredients and cauldron and went to where Malfoy was sitting. He cast a gloomy look back at the Gryffindor’s as Malfoy began to mutter something to Ron that they couldn’t hear. 

“Finnegan and…Mr. Potter.”

Snape took a good twenty seconds to drown out the last two words, glaring at Harry all the while. Seamus groaned. Next to Malfoy, Harry was the worst partner to have in Potions. 

It wasn’t that Harry wasn’t a good friend, quite the contrary when he wasn’t getting into trouble, but he wasn’t the best student. Especially in Potions. Snape and Harry had their own special civil war and more often than not, innocent Gryffindors got caught in the crossfire. Usually Ron.

Being paired with Harry was a sure way to get points taken from you by Snape, a minimum of twenty per lesson. The chances of detention were raised by a whopping sixty percent. On top of that, Harry was dead awful at Potions so any effort was basically pointless.

“Hey Seamus,” Harry greeted, not really looking at him as he unloaded his cauldron.

“Hey-ya, Harry,” Seamus replied, slightly awkwardly. 

They started out in silence, writing down Snape’s instructions on their pieces of parchment. Seamus missed a few of the steps that Snape had said too quickly. He wasn’t about to ask him to repeat it. Hopefully, one of the Slytherins would ask.  Alas, no such luck. 

“Hey, Harry, did you catch what we do after simmering the toad’s brains?” He asked in an undertone as the rest of the students in the dungeon began to heat their cauldron’s.

Harry looked up, as if interrupted from a reverie. “What?” He asked.


Ever since he had somehow snuck his name into the Goblet of Fire (Seamus and Dean were still debating how he did it), Harry was distracted all the time. It wasn’t as if he had been the most social person to begin with, but now chances of talking to him was slim to none if your name wasn’t Ron or Hermione.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seamus noticed Hermione and Lavender Brown. Hermione was standing over the hot cauldron, hair wild, and concentrating as she carefully added a few drops of this and a dash of that. Lavender meanwhile was sitting nowhere near her partner, and reading something under the table. Witch Weekly if Seamus were to guess.

“And what…is…this?” 

The potion master’s voice made Seamus drop the dried mandrake leaves he had been holding. He didn’t have time to answer before Harry’s defiant voice came from beside him.

“Sleeping Draught, Professor,” the disdain in his voice dripped of dislike. Seamus glanced around for the nearest escape route.

“Really?” Answered Snape skeptically. “A Sleeping Draught contains the bark of aspen and is never heated beyond boiling point. Now, tell me Mr. Potter, is this a Sleeping Draught?”

Silence hung in the air. Seamus caught Dean’s eye and his friend mouthed “uh oh” from across the room. 

“We’re not done yet, sir,” Seamus cringed at Harry’s sarcasm.

“Is…that…so…?” The pauses between Snape’s words felt like walking up to the gallows. “If you and Mr. Finnegan are so…confident in your abilities…” His dark eyes fell on Seamus who forced a weak smile. “Twenty points will be taken from Gryffindor if this potion is not perfection by the end of the lesson.”

“How are we supposed to get the potion right if you don’t even teach us properly?” The words came out of Seamus’ mouth before he could stop them. 

Snape’s eyes burrowed into him. The following silence was worse than the previous one, stretching into a thousand eternities. 

Finally, Snape broke the tension. “Ten points from Gryffindor for you and Potter’s insolence, Mr. Finnegan.”

And, uncannily like a giant bat, Snape turned and trod away to torment Hermione and Lavender next.

“Brilliant day, just brilliant!” Seamus groaned, falling into his crimson coloured comforter. “Water in the face, no Quidditch, and thirty points down. Just brilliant.”

“What you on about?” Dean asked.

Seamus looked at him. “What do you mean what am I talking about? Forget Harry’s Horntail, my day has been the worst day in the history of bad days.” 

Dean didn’t answer, merely shrugged and dumped out his school bag on his bed. Neville however, walked over. 

“Bad day, huh?” He asked curiously.

Seamus rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

Neville nodded, his brow creased as if pondering something. Seamus didn’t second guess it, just ignored him.

After a little while, Neville said, “Ginny told me you talked with her about Quidditch at breakfast.”

Seamus sat up, “When did you talk to Ginny?”


“Wow…I didn’t think you could talk to girls, Neville.”

Neville smiled a little, embarrassed. “Ginny said she didn’t think you liked her before today. But talking Quidditch with you made her feel like a friend.”

Seamus blinked and opened his mouth to say something but Neville continued.

“And Harry wasn’t singled out in Potions today because you talked back to S-Snape,” Neville stuttered over the name slightly. For a moment, Seamus thought about Neville’s Boggart-Snape from when Professor Lupin was their teacher. “I mean…you did loose Gryffindor points but it would have happened anyway, right?” 

Seamus thought about this. He looked up at Neville with a smile. The other smiled back. 

“And what about when Dean and I woke you up? What’s the upside to that one?” Seamus asked.

Neville considered this. “At least I wasn’t the one who got Aguamentied in the face.”

Seamus and Neville both laughed and Dean joined in, even though he had no idea what the two had been talking about.

“Never a dull day in Gryffindor, aye?” Seamus chuckled as he sat down on his bed again and blew out the lights.

If you enjoyed this story be sure to follow along on Instagram for a brave and true GRYFFINDOR GIVEAWAY that is up for grabs HERE. You can find me on Instagram @bookishblinddate.

NOTE: This story is NOT a licensed work. The author does not own any copywrite, trademarks and/or license. Absolutely all trademarks, licenses and copyrights are the sole property of the authors and/or publishers. All of this writers works and stories are “fan made”, and are NOT to be assumed as being licensed and/or official work. The production of this story is not intended to mislead or to confuse consumers. No infringement on the publisher/author’s name and trademark are intended. This product is purposed for Fan Fiction only.

Ravenclaws and Their Bad Omens

Ravenclaws are honestly the most frustrating House. They are haughty but have low self esteem. They are intelligent but ignorant. They are witty yet dull. Why this walking talking contradiction? Because they can talk the talk but it takes a lot of effort and insight for them to walk the walk. Like Slytherins, they often put unreasonable expectations on themselves. But unlike Slytherins, they are often discouraged when they do not immediately reach their goals or live up to their hopes. Ravenclaws need opposing personalities to keep them in check, though they will never admit it nor seek it. Luckily, when given facts and evidence they will work hard to change themselves or their situation. Ravenclaw’s curiosity and intelligence tend to give them days like this…

“Sybill, maybe this isn’t such a good idea-“

“Worry not! We are almost there!”

“But if we get caught…”

“Then it’s as the Fates want it to be and who are we to deny Fate?”

“At least let me give us a little light…I can’t see a thing.”

“As you wish, Pandora.”

A white light filled the narrow stairway the two girls where climbing. Sybill was in the lead, her eyes looking wistfully in the air at nothing in particular. Pandora followed close behind, her wand aloft, looking over her shoulder occasionally.

“Sybill…” Pandora implored one more time, though rather half heartedly. She had been friends with Sybill Trewlaney for six years and knew that changing her mind about anything was a difficult task. It was a Ravenclaw trait.

Sybill broke into a wide smile as the staircase opened up to to the entrance of the Astronomy Tower’s open air turret. “Behold!” She cried ecstatically.

The night was clear of clouds and haze. The black sky was dotted with stars, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Sybill and Pandora stood beneath the endless sheet of dappled white high above them, starring at the wide expanse.

“Pandora, your wand,” Sybill whispered urgently, still looking upward.

“Nox,” muttered Pandora, putting out her wand’s light.

The silence lasted only a moment. In an instant, Sybill rushed to the nearest telescope. She pushed her large spectacles up, to rest on top of her voluminous hair. She looked into the scope quizzically, swiveling the mechanics around purposefully.

Sybill heard Pandora nearby, breathing just over her shoulder. She payed her no mind, however, and concentrated on the heavens.

“Hey, there’s Sirius!” Pandora’s voice said. “Or is that Venus? I can never tell the difference.”

“One is a planet, the other is a star, there is quite a large difference, my dear.” Sybill replied, not taking her eye away from the telescope.

“More like one is a planet, the other is a mischievous Gryffindor,” Pandora laughed. Her voice was farther away now. She had probably taken a seat on the stone ledge. “I was talking to Xenophilius the other day and he said that Black had-“

Sybill gasped suddenly, halting Pandora’s words.

“What? What is it?”

Sybill shook her head mournfully. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…”

“Sybill, what is it? What do the stars say?”

“Nothing good, no, nothing good at all!” Sybil’s voice was hollow. “I should have known…the omens are ill indeed…”

She sat up and pulled her glasses back down on to the bridge of her nose. Shaking her head, she said, “Ever mysterious…”

“What is? What’s going to happen?” Pandora asked, not quite as urgently as before.

“The thing we all fear most…”

Pandora looked at Sybill with awe, as if this explained everything. Both glanced up at the stars.

“I wish I could read the future, Sybill,” said Pandora, her face unreadable (mostly because it was so dark.)

Sybill looked at her friend, her mystical manner dropped slightly. “We each have our own gifts. It is unwise to underestimate ones own talents wishing for something more.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Both Sybill and Pandora spun around, looking for who had spoken, for it had not been either of them. Then out of the darkness came the outline of three boys; two extremely tall and one who was rather short.

Pandora put a hand on her hips, but was smiling all the same, “James Potter, I’ll tell McGonogall on you!”

Sirius Black barked with laughter, “And get busted for breaking curfew yourself? Prefects aren’t that thick…no offense, Moony.”

Remus Lupin grinned sheepishly and waved the comment aside.

Sybill frowned grumpily at this lack of respect for her and her friend. She snapped back, “You would not be so flippant if you knew what I had see in your future, Black.” She crossed her arms and looked haughtily away.

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes, “I do know, actually. Last time you read my palm you told me I would spend half my life in prison and die young. A real ray of sunshine you are.”

“I cannot rewrite the future, I can only see it.”

“Burn,” muttered James, biting back a smile. Sirius elbowed him in the ribs.

“Come on, Sybill, there just making trouble,” said Pandora as she reached for her friends hand.

Remus cleared his throat and said matter of factly, “I believe the phrase is ‘up to no good’ not ‘making trouble.’”

The other two with him laughed. Pandora continued to attempt to drag Sybill away but she stood her ground.

She pulled down her glasses and pursed her lips. “And what is that supposed to mean?” She was no longer putting an airs. “What did you mean when you said ‘look who’s talking?’”

“Sybill…” said Pandora warningly.

James shrugged as he folded up a piece of blank parchment he had been holding. “I mean, we all know your fortune telling us a load of hogwash, so who are you to tell Pandora-what was it?” He did a crude imitation for Sybill’s voice, “‘It is unwise to underestimate ones own talents wishing for something more.’ Ravenclaws can sure preach it yet never practice it.”

Sybill was highly affronted and she countered, angrily, “My great-great-grandmother was the celebrated Cassandra Trewlaney! She was the greatest Seer in a century!”

“Doesn’t mean you are too. You could have different gifts and your missing out on ‘em.”

Pandora cringed and glanced at Sybill, who was fuming. James opened his mouth to say something more but was interrupted by Remus.

“Let off her, James, she hasn’t done anything terrible,” he muttered.

James adjusted his glasses and shrugged again. He turned to Sirius and Remus. “Anyway, back to work, boys!”

“What are you doing?” Pandora asked.

“You’ll see next Astronomy lesson!” Sirius chuckled with a wink at his friends.

Pandora rolled her eyes and pulled Sybill away. This time, she allowed herself to be steered, though still seething.

Despite the little sleep Sybill had that night, she rose in time to eat some toast for breakfast and go to her classes. She paid vague attention in lessons. These were not so very important to her. Now, Divination, that was worth the investment.

Her fellow Ravenclaws focused their intelligence on too wide of a spectrum, she thought. No, it was better to invest all your time end energy into what you knew was of the most importance.

Why should she care for Care of Magical Creatures when it had little to do with foresight? Now, Astronomy and Defense Against the Dark Arts had some roots in Divination and where worth noting.

But why should Pandora invest time in listening to Professor Kettleburn go in about Chimera Ministry of Magic classification when her skills lay in her charms? Charms and Transfiguration were better suited for her.

It isn’t something most people have the sight to understand, she thought to herself, glancing over at the Gryffindors who were joining the Ravenclaws for Astronomy. James Potter and his fan club were amongst them.

Astronomy was being held earlier than usual, seeing as they didn’t have to stargaze. Pandora leaned over to Sybill and whispered in her ear, “Do you think they hexed the Tower?”

“I don’t think, I know,” she rapped her glasses knowingly and Pandora nodded.

Coming down the Astronomy Tower steps were the fourth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. One of the Slytherins, Black’s younger brother, passed by them and called scornfully, “Very mature, Sirius. Did you and Potter think that one up all by yourselves or did you consult a joke book?”

Sybill saw Sirius’ usual charming grin fall as he walked past and ignored his brother.

“What did they do up there?” Quirinus Quirrell asked from just behind Sybill and Pandora.

“Why should we care?” inquired Pandora, having overheard him. “Right, Sybill?”

“Indeed. Those of standards need not consort with the melancholy deeds of the undeserving.”

“Thank you kindly!” Yelled James, taking a low bow and making the Gryffindors laugh. He earned a slap in the back of the head from Lily Evans, making the Gryffindors heckle even louder, Sirius and Peter Pettigrew in particular.

The Ravenclaw’s on the other hand, rolled their eyes and turned their noses away, save Pandora who was trying her best not to giggle.

Once at the Tower, there was nothing all that peculiar in sight. However, Filch the caretaker was doing something odd with the telescopes and was becoming increasingly frustrated. Halfway through the lesson, the Astronomy professor told him to give it up. “I’m sure Flitwick will sort it out after his classes.”

Curiosity nipped at Sybill. What had happened to the telescopes? She and many of the other Ravenclaws attempted to eavesdrop into the Gryffindor’s whispered conversations or sneak a look at the telescopes in question. Finally, the were supplied with a sufficient answer.

“Lockhart,” Sybill muttered to Gilderoy, “I believe you know something of this hexing business…I can see it in your eyes.”

“My eyes?” Gilderoy asked confused. Then he smiled brightly, “Do they look good?”

“They look enlightened-“

“So spill it,” Pandora finished, less elegantly than Sybill would have put it.

Gilderoy grinned superiorly, “As a matter of fact, I overheard Evans talking to Potter about the telescopes, she tends to speak very loudly as most passionate women do, I know this because-well,” his grinned widened, “Its not for a gentleman to say, now is it?”

Pandora looked as exasperated as Sybill felt but they listened to Gilderoy nevertheless.

“And she was saying something about him being childish and rude, and apparently the telescopes are jinxed.”

“As I predicted,” Sybill nodded.

“But what do the telescopes do? Attack whoever looks through them?”

Gilderoy shook his head, “No, indeed. If you look in the telescope a message writes itself in the clouds or stars. Quite clever Magic, though I could have pulled it off much better, if I do say so myself-“

“Gilderoy!” Pandora and Sybill groaned, frustrated. “What does the message say?”

He coughed for dramatic effect before announcing, “‘Missing: Snivillus’ Shampoo.’”

Sybill’s eyes, magnified by her large glasses, blinked.

“That’s it?” asked Pandora. “Really? That’s all?”

A frown fluttered across Gilderoy’s face, disappointed that the two girls weren’t impressed with his tale. He shrugged and turned away.

“Well, that was disappointing.”

“As things usually are.”

“You’re not taking the Potter boy seriously, are you?”

Sleep had almost overtook Sybill when Pandora said this unexpectedly. She moved aside her four poster curtain and saw her friend sitting on the edge of her bed and looking her way.

“I mean,” Pandora continued, “You don’t think he was right about you not being a Seer…right?

“Of course not!” Sybill said. “I wouldn’t trust Potter as far as I could throw a crystal ball.”

Pandora nodded, approvingly. “Good because your far to talented to doubt yourself.”

They stayed silent for a little while before Sybill asked, “Do you really think I’m talented?”

“Obviously! How else would you have known about the flu going around in October? Or that Hufflepuff would win the House cup? Or that the last Quidditch match would end in a tie?”

Sybill smiled as her friend praised her foresight.

“…and of course I don’t want Black to die young but him ending up in prison is probable now isn’t it?” Pandora nodded, satisfied with her insight. “So don’t doubt yourself for a single second.”

“As you say,” Sybill grinned.

“Promise?” Pandora double checked.


After Sybil was sure that the other Ravenclaw girls were asleep, she took out her wand and a leather bound book. She flipped through pages full of her own writing until she found a blank page. She carefully dipped a quill in a well of ink on her bedside table and began to write.

Mystic Entry n. 312

     What is foresight? Is it the ability to predict the future? Or is it the confidence in what one knows to be true for the future? If the former, what hope might present itself with such dark days ahead? If the latter, shouldn’t Divination be widespread? Might it be? Might all beings have a feeling of surety that the future will hold both trials and promises? Is it merely the question of if said being can touch that faith and live in it? 

Thoughts to meditate on.

If you enjoyed this story be sure to follow along on Instagram for a witty RAVENCLAW GIVEAWAY that is up for grabs HERE. You can find me on Instagram @bookishblinddate.

NOTE: This story is NOT a licensed work. The author does not own any copywrite, trademarks and/or license. Absolutely all trademarks, licenses and copyrights are the sole property of the authors and/or publishers. All of this writers works and stories are “fan made”, and are NOT to be assumed as being licensed and/or official work. The production of this story is not intended to mislead or to confuse consumers. No infringement on the publisher/author’s name and trademark are intended. This product is purposed for Fan Fiction only.

The Surprising Truth About Harry Potter Part One

We all know and love J.K. Rowling’s most famous book series. From “Yer a wizard, Harry” to the final “Expelliarmus”, Harry Potter’s characters and plot captivate readers. Harry, Hermione, and Ron never cease to win the love of bibliophiles, no matter what age.

But what is the real story of Harry Potter? Why did J.K. write Harry Potter the way she did? What makes this series so unique and special? 

I have a simple answer to that. 

My blogging series “The Surprising Truth About Harry Potter” will give you that simple answer, though it will take three posts to completely communicate efficiently and effectively so that comprehension will be at peak when I reveal the deep and simple truth. 

One of the first steps to reaching this point is understanding this;


One of the things we sorely lack in this day and age. There is the illusion of community, yes. Sometimes we believe we have found our place when we really haven’t. It takes deep patience and dedication to find real community.

Harry leaves his place of isolation in The Sorcerer’s Stone (darn Dursley’s), and goes to Hogwarts. Harry is eleven and Hogwarts seems to be the answer to everything. Every problem he has ever had goes away at Hogwarts and by being sorted into Gryffindor he gets instant friends. 

Hogwarts and the Houses may appear to be the answer we are looking for when defining community in the Wizarding World, but it is not so. Hogwarts is simply a place to find community. If the school were a place of pure community, Draco and Harry wouldn’t always be at each other’s throat. That would just be boring.

Apart from being boring, no one would grow. If Draco and Harry were not opposing forces, they would never have dueled in their second year. If they hadn’t dueled, Harry might not have learned Expelliarmus. If Harry didn’t use the disarming spell so often, might he have killed Stan Shunpike in the Deathly Hallows? Would he have overcome Voldemort’s final killing curse?

Hogwarts is a place for growth, not Kumbaya.

So when does Harry find his place in a community? We must first understand what community is before we find out.

Noah Webster defined the word “Community” in 1828 as this;

Community, n.

Properly, common possession or enjoyment; as a community of goods.

   It is confirmation of the original community of all things.

Breaking this down, Webster is saying community is not a group of people. It is a feeling. It is comprised of good things; enjoyment, positivity, fellowship. My favorite part is the “confirmation of the original community of all things.” 

All things used to be connected? Really? I wonder what made people, animals, plants, and objects disconnect? Could it be that we are human and fall short of our own ideals? That Sirius Black was right when he said;

“The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.”

J.K.Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix

As we have discovered, community is a feeling, not a place or a group of people. 

We find it inside of Harry, when he founds Dumbledore’s Army with the help of Ron and Hermione. 

The DA brings together kids of all houses to unite under one common goal. Even Zacharias Smith is included in the group, a boy who Harry and Ron loath. The DA community is broken when one of their number, Marietta Edgecombe, betrays the contract of trust (we know how Hermione made her regret that one).

The Order of the Phoenix also creates community not only inside the Order, but outside as well. Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, and Harry are all denied entry into the Order. However, that denial makes them work all the harder to prove themselves and to connect with the adults inside the Order. 

Harry even trusts Snape enough to take Occlumency lessons for a time, all because he is an Order member. Molly, too, would never have dreamed of serving stew to “the notorious mass murderer”, Sirius, had it not been for the common goal of fighting evil.

The pinnacle of community in Harry Potter, however, is in the last moment of the Battle of Hogwarts. 

For starters, Harry’s final encounter with Voldemort takes place in the Great Hall. 

How perfect. 

The same Great Hall where the Sorting Hat shouted “Gryffindor!” and Harry found his home for the next seven years. Where he received his Nimbus 2000 by owl from McGonogall. Where his name was shot out of the Goblet of Fire. Where he had shared hundreds of meals talking and laughing with his many friends.

On top of this, Harry is surrounded by the people who have stuck by him through his magical journey. The ones who survived six books of trials and still stayed with Harry. 

Why? Why do this when it was so clear that trouble and danger followed him wherever he went. 

Because they loved him. Harry was not just “The Chosen One”. He was Ron and Hermione’s best friend, Ginny’s future partner in life, Neville’s mentor, Molly’s “as good as” son, and one of Luna’s few friends.

All of these people who had touched Harry’s life and who had been touched in return were there when he needed them the most. Even James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus lingered to see him face Voldemort, though they had passed from the living world. 

Community is connection. Community is the first step to love. Individuality is encouraged in community but only as long as each individual is working not in self interest, but in the interest of others. 

There will always be something opposing the unity of the human race. Whether it be prejudice, hate, Lord Voldemort, or our own blindness. But if we can learn to overcome those obstacles…what could stop us from simply loving?

After the Triwizard Tournament, Albus Dumbledore gives a speech to the students of Hogwarts, acknowledging Cedric Diggory’s death and the return of Voldemort. He gives the best example of community when he says this;

“Every guest in this hall,” said Dumbledore and his eyes lingered upon the Durmstrang students, “will be welcomed back here any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again, in the light of Lord Voldemort’s return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort’s gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.”

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire