Some of you didn’t seem to understand how magic works in the sense of how you can access it. I’ll explain again.
If you gain magical power from making a deal with a more powerful being, you are a warlock. Sneaky lawyer.
If you gain magical power through teachings and studies, you are a wizard/artificer. (Artificers usually gain power through experimentation.)
If you gain magical power by pledging yourself to a cause, being, or idea, you are a paladin. Pretentious bitch.
If you gain magical power by praising a higher deity (and not making a deal), you are a cleric. Heal someone.
If you have magical power and you didn’t do anything to gain it, you are a sorcerer. Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you. The rest of us had to work for our shit.
If you gain magical power by protecting nature and caring for plants and animals, you are a Druid. Fucking hippie.
If you gain magical power from your desire to entertain and also fuck, you are a bard. Stop trying to seduce my dad.
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🐉 would bite your cheek at the most random of moments. Outside. With people looking. Everyone looks at him in pure shock and he internally panics because he doesn't know why he did that either, but when you stare at him with a puzzled look, he picks himself up with a confident smile and says,
🐉: "There was a cookie crumb on your cheek."
🌸: "Why would you swallow my entire cheek for that?? And I didn't even eat cookies today??"
You say that in a whisper, of course, lest people find out how much of a goof the mighty dragon actually is.
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This would be the "find out" portion of their visit.
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sodding map. [g.w. x reader]
summary: yes, the map showed him a lot; it just didn't show him what he wanted to see.
wc: 0.4k
a/n: plot bunny plot bunny plot bunny and pining george being so worked up over not being able to see u all the time
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George Weasley loved to discover; he loved finding out new things hidden between nooks and crannies, he loved seeing little cracks that weren't there previously. Godric, he loved feeling new textures, loved hearing new sounds, tasting new things.
He was quite lucky to have snagged the Marauder's Map away from Filch's office. Having solemnly sworn that he (and Fred) was up to no good, he spent a good few months of his time in Hogwarts familiarising himself with the layout of Hogwarts.
Every secret passage on the grounds had been walked by him. He'd memorised the curvature of the tunnels, how the gravel felt and sizzled satisfyingly under his feet, how a family of rodents would congregate in a corner to tap-dance and engage in miniscule mousey bacchanalia.
There was one thing, however, that the map couldn't show him, and it irritated him into his next life.
It couldn't reveal to him the way your eyes crinkle when you laughed. The map couldn't magically conjure up the image of you with your eyebrows furrowed as you concentrated on chopping up your ingredients in Potions class (rather unsuccessfully, he added, as a few had gone flying out the window from the sheer pressure of the knife's dull blade).
Every night, he cursed at the map, despite its jarring greatness.
Curse its limitations!
Wherefore be a magical map if its own magic had its limits?
Merlin, the tempting thought of setting it ablaze had crossed his mind from time to time. Mind you, he most likely would have done it a long time ago had it not been for Fred accio-ing it out of his frustrated hands. ("For Godric's sake, you twat, pull yourself together! It's not like you don't see her face every day!")
And so, George found himself sprawled out in the courtyard, snow piling on his body as his eyes studied the "Y/N" waltzing around on the map. He could have sworn he heard the sound of the parchment's crinkling distort into something that resembled somewhat of a taunting giggle. He stared at your name scribbled on it.
And he stared.
And he stared.
Maybe, he thought, if he stared long enough, your face would finally show up on the map instead of letters, scriptures and the names of students he had no regard for.
With one final frustrated sigh, he managed his mischief and folded the spare bit of parchment.
"Harry's better off with this."
George soon found himself trudging through the snow, grumbling moodily under his breath, and was now on his way to give away the magical map that only painfully reminded him of the distance between him and you.
Sodding map.
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