“In a feature for the DVD and Blu-ray versions of Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, author J.K. Rowling revealed that Dumbledore had an ‘incredibly intense’ ‘love’ relationship with Grindelwald, adding that she believes that ‘there is a sexual dimension to this relationship.’” — Mashable
Under Dumbledore’s hat is a long, pointy head.
Hagrid raises all his creatures in his pubes until they’re ready to make it on their own.
Harry would have voted for Jill Stein if he could have.
Hermione is so intellectually unstimulated by Ron and so existentially unhappy in her marriage that she often fantasizes about murdering him and living on the run in the Muggle world. She could kill him with one simple spell and easily make it look like an accident, but she dreams of suffocating him with her bare hands, watching the breath slowly leave his body until he is no more. To die in prison having mercilessly wrung the life out of Ron Weasley is preferable to living the rest of her life being slowly worn down by his stupidity. At work, she spends each day locked in her office picking up the phone and dialing Harry, ready to beg him to take care of her children, then slamming it down the second he answers. Oh god, her children. Her poor children. The collateral damage in all this. She never meant for any of this to happen. Her tears have stopped responding to the Cry No More spell she performs on herself before she faces her family every single evening. For a while, she truly thought she could be happy. She and Ron, they’d been through so much together. Surely their shared trauma and the romantic spark that bound them together all those years ago hadn’t completely fizzled. She’d spent years and years trying to find a flame to salvage from the smoldering ashes of their relationship. She really tried. But there’s nothing left. There’s nothing left of them, and soon, if she doesn’t escape, there will be nothing left of her, either.
Wizard dicks are at most the width of the skinny end of a wand.