the madness within
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”
wizardhistory:

September 1980

“That is the wizard who is to join our ranks? Surely there must be some mistake!”
Bellatrix Lestrange was seated at the meeting table, waiting for the Dark Lord to make his entrance. This particular meeting marked the induction of a new member of Lord Voldemort’s inner circle, an honour bestowed upon only a small percentage of Death Eaters.
“The Dark Lord makes no mistakes, Bellatrix,” her husband replied wearily, drumming his fingers against the wood grain.
“Of course He doesn’t, Rodolphus! But this boy– he hardly looks like the type of wizard worthy of the Dark Mark. Do you really think he’s comparable to us? He’s a boy, a mere child!”
“His name is Barty and he is the son of that idiot Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law,” Rodolphus sighed, “Do you think He would choose someone who did not meet His qualifications? At the very least, the boy has connections to the Ministry, which could prove vital in the Dark Lord’s rise to power.”
“He looks weak,” Bellatrix mumbled, “hardly the type who could handle what we do! Why I bet– ow!”
Rodolphus elbowed his wife in the ribs. “Oh do shut up, Bella. It’s nearly time for the meeting to start, and I’ve heard quite enough of your jealous babbling.”
“JEALOUS?” Bellatrix stood abruptly, “Me? Jealous?! I am His favourite! I- I–”
“Are you finished, Bellatrix?”
In the doorway stood Lord Voldemort, his cold stare boring holes into her. 
“My– my Lord,” Bellatrix bowed her head in a mix of shame and respect, acknowledging his presence. “My Lord.” “My Lord.” “My Lord!” The rest of the Death Eaters followed in suit.
“Sit, my friends. We have much to discuss.”
—————————————————————————-
“On to the next order of business,” Voldemort’s voice echoed through the large room, his tone unreadable and unnerving all at the same time. “I am sure by now you have all noticed an unfamiliar face amongst you,” he glared at Bellatrix, who quickly turned her gaze to her lap. “This is Mr. Bartemius Crouch Jr. and I have chosen him as an addition to my inner circle. I trust you will be accommodating.”
All eyes shifted to young man sat next to Regulus Black. His straw blonde hair looked out of place in a sea of darkness, and although on the surface he tried his very best to appear strong and at ease, his eyes apprehensively flitted across the room from Death Eater to Death Eater. He gulped, and Bellatrix swore she saw his already alabaster skin pale to a sickly shade of white.
“Stand,” Voldemort commanded, and Barty stood.
The Dark Lord motioned for the boy to come forward. Barty pushed his chair in and made his way to the head of the table where Voldemort sat rigidly in high backed cathedra. He did not get far before his inattentiveness to his pathway caused him to trip over his own feet. He stumbled a bit before recovering, and quickened his pace until he reached Voldemort’s chair across the room. Bellatrix snickered underneath her breath, eliciting a disapproving look from her husband.
Voldemort stood: “Your left arm.”
Barty pulled his robes up, exposing his forearm, which shook violently as he held it out in front of him. Voldemort grabbed him by the wrist.
“By accepting this Mark, you will also accept the duties that accompany it. You will serve me. You will kill for me. And if the time comes where it may occur, you will die for me, gladly. I am your Master. Do you promise to uphold these terms?”
“I- I promise” Barty murmured. Voldemort stared at him, his expression unreadable. Barty cleared his throat, “I promise,” he said again, only this time with much more force and assurance.
Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to Barty’s left forearm. At first, he felt only a small burning sensation; then, in a sudden rush, excruciating pain shot through his skin. He flinched, but did not cry.
“Well done,” the Dark Lord spoke, removing his wand from Barty’s skin. In its wake lay a black skull accompanied by a snake protruding from its mouth, the symbol of the his loyalty to his new master. “I require someone to train you, so that you may serve me to the best of your ability,” Voldemort turned back towards his subjects. He continued, “And I can think of no better person to train such a person than you, Bellatrix.”
Bellatrix’s gaze shot up, her brow furrowed. “My Lord?”
“He shall accompany you to wherever I see fit. You will teach him all you know. I require this of you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord! Of course, my Lord,” Bellatrix’s voice had gone pitchy in disbelief and disgust at the mere thought of training someone so beneath her, but she would not dare defy her master’s orders.
“Wonderful,” he replied, “you may be seated, Crouch.”
Barty made his way back to his chair, the Dark Mark dancing on his raw skin. For the first time in his life, he was someone of importance– he would not let the Dark Lord down.

Ms. P. Merryweather, 20 October, 2014. 

wizardhistory:

September 1980

That is the wizard who is to join our ranks? Surely there must be some mistake!”

Bellatrix Lestrange was seated at the meeting table, waiting for the Dark Lord to make his entrance. This particular meeting marked the induction of a new member of Lord Voldemort’s inner circle, an honour bestowed upon only a small percentage of Death Eaters.

“The Dark Lord makes no mistakes, Bellatrix,” her husband replied wearily, drumming his fingers against the wood grain.

“Of course He doesn’t, Rodolphus! But this boy– he hardly looks like the type of wizard worthy of the Dark Mark. Do you really think he’s comparable to us? He’s a boy, a mere child!”

“His name is Barty and he is the son of that idiot Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law,” Rodolphus sighed, “Do you think He would choose someone who did not meet His qualifications? At the very least, the boy has connections to the Ministry, which could prove vital in the Dark Lord’s rise to power.”

“He looks weak,” Bellatrix mumbled, “hardly the type who could handle what we do! Why I bet– ow!”

Rodolphus elbowed his wife in the ribs. “Oh do shut up, Bella. It’s nearly time for the meeting to start, and I’ve heard quite enough of your jealous babbling.”

JEALOUS?” Bellatrix stood abruptly, “Me? Jealous?! I am His favourite! I- I–”

“Are you finished, Bellatrix?”

In the doorway stood Lord Voldemort, his cold stare boring holes into her. 

“My– my Lord,” Bellatrix bowed her head in a mix of shame and respect, acknowledging his presence. “My Lord.” “My Lord.” “My Lord!” The rest of the Death Eaters followed in suit.

“Sit, my friends. We have much to discuss.”

—————————————————————————-

“On to the next order of business,” Voldemort’s voice echoed through the large room, his tone unreadable and unnerving all at the same time. “I am sure by now you have all noticed an unfamiliar face amongst you,” he glared at Bellatrix, who quickly turned her gaze to her lap. “This is Mr. Bartemius Crouch Jr. and I have chosen him as an addition to my inner circle. I trust you will be accommodating.”

All eyes shifted to young man sat next to Regulus Black. His straw blonde hair looked out of place in a sea of darkness, and although on the surface he tried his very best to appear strong and at ease, his eyes apprehensively flitted across the room from Death Eater to Death Eater. He gulped, and Bellatrix swore she saw his already alabaster skin pale to a sickly shade of white.

“Stand,” Voldemort commanded, and Barty stood.

The Dark Lord motioned for the boy to come forward. Barty pushed his chair in and made his way to the head of the table where Voldemort sat rigidly in high backed cathedra. He did not get far before his inattentiveness to his pathway caused him to trip over his own feet. He stumbled a bit before recovering, and quickened his pace until he reached Voldemort’s chair across the room. Bellatrix snickered underneath her breath, eliciting a disapproving look from her husband.

Voldemort stood: “Your left arm.”

Barty pulled his robes up, exposing his forearm, which shook violently as he held it out in front of him. Voldemort grabbed him by the wrist.

“By accepting this Mark, you will also accept the duties that accompany it. You will serve me. You will kill for me. And if the time comes where it may occur, you will die for me, gladly. I am your Master. Do you promise to uphold these terms?”

“I- I promise” Barty murmured. Voldemort stared at him, his expression unreadable. Barty cleared his throat, “I promise,” he said again, only this time with much more force and assurance.

Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to Barty’s left forearm. At first, he felt only a small burning sensation; then, in a sudden rush, excruciating pain shot through his skin. He flinched, but did not cry.

“Well done,” the Dark Lord spoke, removing his wand from Barty’s skin. In its wake lay a black skull accompanied by a snake protruding from its mouth, the symbol of the his loyalty to his new master. “I require someone to train you, so that you may serve me to the best of your ability,” Voldemort turned back towards his subjects. He continued, “And I can think of no better person to train such a person than you, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix’s gaze shot up, her brow furrowed. “My Lord?”

“He shall accompany you to wherever I see fit. You will teach him all you know. I require this of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord! Of course, my Lord,” Bellatrix’s voice had gone pitchy in disbelief and disgust at the mere thought of training someone so beneath her, but she would not dare defy her master’s orders.

“Wonderful,” he replied, “you may be seated, Crouch.”

Barty made his way back to his chair, the Dark Mark dancing on his raw skin. For the first time in his life, he was someone of importance– he would not let the Dark Lord down.

Ms. P. Merryweather, 20 October, 2014. 

'…wow', he added, blinking rapidly as Hermione came hurrying towards them. 'You look great!'

'Always the tone of surprise,' said Hermione, though she smiled. - Chapter 8, The Wedding

One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.

(x)
base idea by winterfellwrites.

quiet-knives:

PSA: because I keep seeing that shitty manipulated photo of Emma Watson on my dash. THAT PHOTO WAS PHOTOSHOPPED.  The original photo (with another from the same shoot, is from 2011 with Mariano Vivanco) are pictured above. Please don’t perpetuate this error. 

Deliberately spreading an altered image of Emma Watson which purports to show her breasts as a statement against threats of nude photo leaks is the height of hypocrisy and whoever did it should be ashamed. (x)

marauderlupin:

Potter Generation Challenge

Dumbledore or Snape?

grffyndors:

There’s at least 2 million songs about broken hearts, doesn’t mean that they are not good.

ohremus:

"The name of Grindelwald is justly famous: In a list of "Most Dangerous Dark Wizards of All Time", he’d miss out on the top spot only because You-Know-Who arrived, a generation later, to steal his crown." -HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS

TINY