Snow White. Bengal. Golden. White.
Oh hell yeah this is the coolest picture ever
looks like God ran out of printer ink
reblogging for comment
but in all honesty, these are gorgeous.
It was a strange place, the Potter’s home. It was the opposite of Grimmauld Place in every conceivable way, as if someone had looked at Sirius’ life and had said, “Oh no, this will never do!” Far from being cramped in a grimy neighborhood, the Potters lived out in the country. They could afford a mansion that stretched to the sky. Instead, they had happily settled with a cozy cottage that sat beneath the blanket of stars. The garden was always overgrown, in a tender way. Smoke always puffed from the chimney and the twinkling lights in the windows were warm and inviting.They didn’t own a single house-elf or servant. Mrs. Potter was more than happy to tend to the cleaning and cooking. Seconds and thirds were uncommon when it came to the homemade meals. When everyone’s stomachs were bursting out of their trousers, they would all retreat to the living room. Mr. Potter and James would start a game of wizard’s chess by the fire. Mrs. Potter would pour herself a cuppa and would curl up with a nice book. It was peaceful, but never quiet. Oh, no. There was always noise. There was always laughter and stories and humming and pleasant conversation. Mrs. Potter’s hands would glide across the piano as her husband merrily played the violin. There was singing and dancing. There were jokes and more laughter. There was a family and a home. And Sirius was happy to be a part of it.