anaraaa24

[anaraaa24]

"You grow up with something, and it never really leaves you."

I’m genuinely impressed by HBO’s new Harry Potter casting—especially their dedication to book accuracy. The young cast looks promising, and I hope this version does more justice to the books we all obsessed over. Truly, they’re doing their best.

But let’s be honest, growing up with Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson? It wasn’t just about performance—it was about presence. Their faces were the ones we ran home to, the ones who shaped our imagination of magic. It’s not easy to watch that torch passed on, no matter how “accurate” the new generation is.

And while I applaud bold casting choices, I’m still trying to emotionally process the Snape pick. Let’s just say… sometimes bold doesn’t mean better. Sometimes it just means “unexpected.” And sometimes “unexpected” feels more like a fanfiction experiment that escaped the archive.

As for me? I’ll be telling my future kids to watch the original films first. Let them feel what it meant to believe in magic before it was rebranded and remade.

No shade. Just… nostalgia with a sharp memory.

🖤

[anaraaa24]

Redheads and Glory: A Little Love Letter to JKR’s Obvious Favorites

You know, it’s truly charming when an author sprinkles a bit of themselves into their characters—until the cinnamon becomes paprika and suddenly every redhead is either a tragic saint, a romantic fantasy, or a hidden MVP. Yeah, because If I were the author maybe I would do it but it turns out I didn't

Oh, Joanne. We see you. 🧣✨

Lily Evans—saintly, radiant, the girl who was too perfect to live and too pivotal to ignore. She rejected bullies, loved deeply, and died tragically. A red-haired martyr immortalized in every mirror of Erised and plot device.

Ginny Weasley—an eleven-year-old with zero personality who somehow morphed into a “cool girl” off-page. Quidditch prodigy? Check. Boys falling for her left and right? Check. Mysteriously compatible with the Chosen One despite having almost zero on-screen chemistry? Also check. A quiet background character suddenly handed heroine status by the narrative fairy? Redhead magic, clearly.

Meanwhile…

Hermione Jean Granger—brilliant, brave, and consistently described as having bad teeth and bushy hair. The girl who carried the plot like a goddamn Atlas with a library card, only to be told by fandom she “blossomed” only after the Yule Ball makeover. Huh. Raised by dentists, cursed with “ugly” teeth. Sure. Makes sense. 🤡

It’s funny how when a redhead enters the scene, the narrative seems to… soften. There's more warmth, more affection, more unearned pedestal. It’s almost like being a redhead is a cheat code for favor, depth, or plot immunity. But hey, maybe that’s what happens when the author is a redhead herself. Just a coincidence, right?

We’re not mad, really.

We just notice. 👀

It's me actually, I love all of them and I just realized something. That's why I said that. we have the right to have an opinion, right?

But truly—thank you for the world. Thank you for the lore. Thank you for giving us something so layered and vast, that even your favoritism becomes part of the analysis.

We love the magic.

We just like to stir the cauldron sometimes. 🐍📚💅

[anaraaa24]

My current obsession

The mockingbird, the jabberjay and the mockingjay 🕊️ inspired by this post by @fromevertonow

[anaraaa24]

the ballad of songbirds and snakes vs sunrise on the reaping

[anaraaa24]

To J.K. Rowling—

and to everyone who has ever found themselves between the pages of her world.

Warmest regards from someone who has long admired the world you created—its depth, its defiance of genre, and most of all, its power to ignite both dreams and debates. A legacy like no other, really. Spells, scars, and stories that outlived their parchment.

It’s curious, how a tale begun on a train became a cultural keystone. And like any classic, with time, it reveals not just its wonders but also its cracks—the kind we only notice because we care enough to look closely.

The upcoming remake? Visually promising. New faces, eager hearts, and a vow to stay closer to the books. But perhaps we’ve learned that “faithfulness” is sometimes just a costume—elegantly tailored, but not always honest.

Miss Granger, for instance. Brilliant. Bold. Burdened with frizzy hair and large teeth—though her parents were dentists. It's strange actually. We all know she shone, but not everyone saw her light until a gown at a ball gave them permission. Curious, how intellect needed a makeover to be noticed. Stranger still, how that transformation became a fan-favorite moment and mine too.

So yes, I’m glad Hermione is being reimagined, celebrated, reclaimed. But don't tell me her skin tone was “never mentioned” when Prisoner of Azkaban described her white face in fear. Don’t rewrite the book I’ve memorized, just to prove your progressive point—do better and be honest. I like all the colours, but it's the truth.

Ginny? Yes, she glowed suddenly—perhaps because the author favored redheads, or perhaps because growth can be rushed when the pen demands a love interest. And while I love the Weasleys, I also know when a character was hurried. This just my opinion, my dear.

And Snape. Oh, Severus. So layered, so loyal, so difficult to portray without slipping into caricature. Reinvention is a kind of spell, too—but one must ask: is this tribute, or just change for the sake of change?

Representation matters. Deeply. But so does honesty in adaptation. If Hermione’s skin “was never mentioned,” one might still wonder about the words “Hermione’s white face” in Prisoner of Azkaban. That’s not nitpicking. That’s memory. That’s care.

Still, it speaks volumes that people haven’t let go. We discuss. We argue. We reimagine. We write fanfiction and draw our own endings. Some of us even become Slytherins with INFP hearts and a fondness for haunting, unfinished narratives. We stay not because the world was perfect—but because, in it, we found something worth fighting for.

And yes, sometimes that means questioning the author. And sometimes it means loving the work even when we’re no longer certain about the hands that wrote it.

So thank you—for building a world so wide and layered, we could enter it in childhood and still find shadows to explore as adults.

Thank you—for the characters we carry like friends.

Even the ones we argue about.

Even the ones we rewrite.

Because in the end, a truly powerful story doesn’t silence us.

It invites us to speak.

And we are still speaking.

—

From a sweet tongue with steel beneath,

an INFPSlytherin who remembers.