don't be trying to tell me that if hermione had a few seconds of extra time on her hands that she'd be all over becoming an animagus. throughout the books she's constantly pushing her magical abilities. for crying out loud she could perform spells before she set foot on the hogwarts express
imagine hermione hearing about the marauders and scoffing. "it took them three years? i'll do it in less than one." and by fourth year she can turn into an owl at will.
(also don't think i haven't thought about the fact that her patronus would be the same as her animagus because for convenience alone hermione would not settle with turning into a fucking otter. imagine needing a quick escape and turning into a fuzzy, floppy sea creature with lil webbed feets that don't work on solid ground. not happening. hermione would want mastery of two terrains at least and as a bird she could master the earth and sky. the ultimate power creature)
ESTÁS LEYENDO
my crappy, existential thoughts dump
De Todonote from the far future, in much better times; consider this book a diary, an archive, a live day by day biography- of the lowest point of my life so far. draw entertainment from it, by all means, but take it as a warning, of all the bad that comes...
