Novel & Cerita Harry Potter Aesthetic Pictures

The baby-soft pink with shades of purple and lint gold is artistically appealing, and the way it complements her skin is captivating. It's unimaginable that I'd get turned on by pajamas, but the sight of Hermione in any attire is a stimulant for me. Her hair is still damp, looking darker and more attractive. Her eyelashes are wet, her face moist and inviting kisses. But I know she needs to eat first. I dish dinner to each of us, and we begin to eat. Hermione devours her meal heartily, and it's clear she's starved herself throughout the day and burned enough calories to warrant her rapid pace.

As we walk in, an envelope falls from a brunette’s carelessly-zipped backpack and I help her pick it up before she can walk past it. “Thank you.” She beams brightly at me. I don’t bother to answer. I’m not here to make friends, and won’t engage with anyone to the extent of developing attachments. I finally walk into a wide fancy hall way, and I let my eyes roam. Beautiful paintings line the wall. Most of them are eerie. A big black wolf. A high castle surrounded by butterflies. Snakes curled around black flowers. And a dragon painting. A chilling tingle creeps up my arm, traveling to my spine as I access the dragon painting specifically. It’s…big.

"Cooperation is always easier." I sat at the desk and looked at the screen. He showed me images, shapes and pictures of faces. "What do you see in this image?" "A butterfly." "And this one?" "Two people fighting." "This one?" I looked at the picture. It was an abstract painting with colors bleeding into each other. "Beautiful chaos," I said. "The kind that makes sense even though it shouldn't." Dr. Park took notes. "Interesting. You see beauty in disorder." Then he showed me a photograph of a little girl maybe three years old with dark hair and a big smile.

She sighed, then glanced to the left, where another portrait was hanging on the wall. In this portrait, a woman stood there. Her left hand raised in the air at an angle. And her right seemed to hold a book. On her head she wore a hat, which had a point at the top. Her head was tilted to the left, where you could only see the left side of her face. And her hair was a dark brown, that looked like it flowed endlessly behind her. There were colorful colors that could be seen over her left hand, as if portraying something. Blues, greens, purples, and pinks colliding together at the top forming a colorful ball above the streaks underneath. On the tree to the right, a broom lay against it, with a c

Ding, ding, ding, we pull away to see Silvia standing on the stage. “Can the birthday girl please come to the stage.” Silvia says and I feel Octavia stiffen in my hold, she knows what’s coming. We walk up to the stage and our dads come through the side door attached to the stage, holing her cake; a Harry Potter themed three tier cake, the bottom layer is Green (Slytherin), dark chocolate devils’ cake, the middle layer is Blue (Ravenclaw), milk chocolate mud cake and the top layer is the Marauders map, with a silver wolf howling on the top, it’s a white chocolate and raspberry centre sponge cake. There is black frosted roses and other HP symbols positioned around it.

I am trying not to be jealous of her but it’s hard when I see beta Harry with her. He is just perfect, god like even. He has green eyes that reminds me of the woods, something dangerous, mysterious, beautiful and peaceful at the same time. He is an enigma, a handsome one that I want to understand. I want more than to understand him, I want him, all of him and only for me. He is tall with messy blond hair and he is casually dressed. He looks unforcedly good. He doesn’t even try and he looks like a Greek god. His body, don’t let me start about that. His body is a sin and I want so desperately to be a sinner.

The overall effect was one of deliberate, calculated eeriness, as if the castle's occupants had carefully curated every detail to create an atmosphere of foreboding and unease. As we navigated the dark, winding hallway, my gaze was drawn to the large, ornate paintings that adorned the walls. Each one depicted a stern, imposing figure, their faces set in unyielding expressions of power and authority. I recognized them as the ancient Necromancer Kings, their names and stories etched into the annals of dark history. And then, at the far end of the hallway, I saw Blaze's portrait, his piercing eyes seeming to bore into my very soul.

I close my curls and trace my way in front of the wall-size portrait again. Just when I am about to open my eyes a chunk of pages ruffle over from the corner at my face before it is all but scattered over the floor. Even the pages bring her perfume. I try to hold back to take my eyes on the photo, but my stubborn eyes stay glued to the pages. Yellowish cream with beautiful blood-red engravings; the pages look as exquisite as the owner of the palace is. Exotic! Yes, it has to be the correct word. Exotic. Everything about the place is exotic.

I always wore a tie on my wrist so I used it to style up my hair in a low pony tail. I took two more puffs before I tossed the cigarette on the floor besides my leg and stomped on it. I watched as the little flames scattered before i turned to face Harry. His face was flustered from the cold. He must have a very sensitive skin. His blonde hair was brushed back and his black eyes bigger than ever. He wore a white T-shirt and fancy green knicker. His eyebrows were thick and he had long lashes with a well defined body that showed under his shirt. One could consider him as attractive