Hogwarts Houses as aesthetics + one Mumford&Sons song
Gryffindor is lightning in the thunderclouds that looks like doom and still makes you marvel at it. Lake water that is so cold it inevitably cramps you feet, however that can’t stop you from swimming or at least putting your feet in the water. Roses. Bush roses. Single roses. Rose bouquets. Pink roses, red roses, white roses, fuck, blue roses. Roses. Leather diaries with yellowish paper that definitely is charmed because you can’t resist the urge to ~write~ something on it immediately. Long hair flapping in the wind, making you shake your head and feel so unexplainably free... treehouses that have been up there from even before you were born, or at least it seems so. Surrounded by leaves and tree branches, birds, sunlight, summer and carelessness. Pies with that perfect crust, with that perfect just-out-of-the-oven warmth, with that perfect sweet taste of apples, cherries or pears. Sunset sunlight that gently touches your skin and reflects in your eyes, shining through tree branches to warm up your soul. Carnivals and fairs with their joyful music, circus tents, smell of pancakes and pink cotton candy, happy children and slowly darkening skies. Old, crumbling red tile roofs that are perfect for sitting on them on warm summer evenings. Hot tea that almost burns your tongue but makes you feel so safe and at home. Passion. Softness. Contradiction. Comfort.
Little Lion Man
Hufflepuff is colourful umbrellas that look so unique and cool among black or grey ones, among the dampness and darkness of rainy autumn days. Fresh bedsheets that smell of grassy lanes, baby blue skies, clean dry hair, morning wind and a unique kind of freedom. Boxes of chocolate that make you excited to open them and try every kind of sweet there is inside. Wooden boats that somebody rows while you sit, looking around, at the water, at the banks, at the sky, the ones you try to row yourself for the first time. Friendly faces of horses with their smooth long noses, intelligent eyes and long dark manes, the ones you feel afraid to touch at first but enjoy patting so much afterwards. Fingers black with dirt from doing *something* in the garden, nobody knowing exactly what it is, seeing only you happy and calm grin. Tulip fields and bouquets, the soldiers of spring. Scowled eyebrows and underneath them — eyes stormy with emotion, so deep, so natural. Messy hair after sleep that you don’t even want to untangle; it looks cute and feels cozy. Morning light that creeps into your bedroom and kitchen, and bathroom to greet you, to distract you from your routine, to make your eyes smile as you realise this — a new day has come. Cities with their thousands of cozy cafes, with their hidden bookshops and large parks, with their rooftops and cracked pavements and curious people that you can make eye contact with. Attention. Beauty. Calmness. Gentleness.
Hopeless Wanderer
Ravenclaw is pebble sea bottoms, smooth and colourful, it’s so fun to dive and get the prettiest ones, it’s fun to just look at how the rays of sunshine make them glitter under your toes. Raindrops on the window, it may still be raining, or perhaps the rain has just ended, but they’re still there, running down, refracting the world behind them. Dark rooms after dusk or just before dawn, you already need a lamp but it’s still not that dark outside, so you just sit in the stillness of the world’s ambiguity, listening to its hum. Overgrown fences that look like they have come from the books you used to read as a child, about girls in giant mansions, with hats on their heads and trouble in their hearts, with mystery surrounding them. The sacred silence of libraries, the books staring down at you from the highest shelves, there is no echo here but you feel as if the sound of your footsteps reflects from the walls of your soul. The soft rifle of waves as they lick the sand, the way the sea foam touches your feet, tickles your fingers when you run them through it as if through the hair of a lover. Greek mythology, muses and gods, heroes and villains, long dead things and corpses of once great empires. Night clouds that cover the bright stars from you, that look so otherworldly and mysterious on the endless blue of cosmos, on the colour of truth. Honesty. Curiosity. Faith. Delight.
Wilder Mind
Slytherin is wet hair that sticks to your neck and back in cold dark stripes, water trickles from it down your spine; it frames your face, makes it look pale or dark, makes your eyes deeper and damper, and darker. The ocean at night when no light in the world, no torch, no fire can push away the darkness as it hangs above the whispering water, it scares you and calls you, you know that it’s a part of you. You know that you will once be a part of it, too. Haunted eyes that shine with cold ambition, with eternal loneliness, with tiredness and with pride. Eyes misunderstood and cunning. Goosebumps that flow like waves, that corrupt your body, that make your heart shiver. Sad music without any words, sad music from movies, sad music that was written by souls, not by people, music written by the universe itself. Music not everybody hears. Diving, feeling the water consume your body, deafen you, hide you, take you in. Trails in the forest and rock cottages somewhere far away from civilisation. Memories that may not be the happiest or the brightest, but the ones that have formed you, the ones that hold you together and never leave your body, no matter how painful or dark they are — they are a part of you. Giant ships — the Black Pearl, the Titanic, it makes no matter — their magnificence, their meaning, the freedom and the power they hold. Truth. Eternity. Justice. Madness.
Broken Crown
(The aesthetics and the songs aren’t connected)
