Hogwarts Drawings Easy Novels & Stories

“Yeah, we are almost —” “What's this?!” Trisha exclaimed, cutting Harold off with her excitement-filled voice. The feeble beam from her flashlight shone on the walls of the cave and on it were inscriptions of some sort! “Step back,” Harold ordered as he shone his much brighter light at the wall. The three lurched to the other end of the wall and were able to see what was on the wall better. There were drawings—in red (which Wilkes suspected was blood) and black. The diagrams on the primeval wall were chiefly of slaughtered wolfs, vampires and witches—or wizards, hiding behind trees; drawn with an organized assembly of long, dark strokes, and the moon.

No wonder Killian couldn’t look me in the eye this morning. I reach for the sketch pad Elara left by the nightstand. My fingers tremble, but I grip the pencil like it’s my lifeline. I don’t even think, I just draw. Symbols. Circles. Eyes with fire spilling from them. A wolf with a shattered spine. A crown that burns. A clock with no hands. My hand stops only when I notice the paper trembling beneath my touch. Not from me. From the floor. A low vibration hums through the wood. Like a warning.

he completes for me in a smug tone, and I roll my eyes. "It's really, really good," I say, but it seems like that isn't what he wants to hear since he snatches the drawing from my hand, scoffing and walking away. What a miscreant. "Okay, Daniel. Come show me yours." I say, and my boy comes closer to me with a shy expression. He hands me the paper, and my jaw drops. It's a wolf. Not just any wolf; it's Harry's wolf. The black fur, the hugeness, the eyes.

Like for a second, the ground stopped shaking under her feet. After breakfast, I stayed behind to rinse the dishes. A little domestic rebellion against the mountain of sticky plates, while the kids ran off, yelling something about building a fort and whether or not it needed “guard dragons.” I was elbow-deep in bubbles when I felt a soft tug on my shirt. “Uncle Arsen?” I turned, hands dripping, to find Lorelai holding out a crayon drawing with all the seriousness of someone delivering state secrets. The paper was a riot of colors. A house, crooked but proud, with smoke curling out of the chimney. A big red sun. Stick figures all holding hands—some had little scribbles above their heads. Hear

"How is your suit not glittery?" "Magic," he said. "I put a preservation spell on it." I wrinkled my nose and opened the card. "Kind of takes away the fun of glitter." Inside, there was a drawing of people. I recognized myself easily. She always drew me the same way, but this time, she'd put streaks of silver glitter in my hair. The figure that was supposed to be Charles had a beard and a crown. Richard was little more than a blob, but there was Eason there and Esme, too. Margaret had to be the one in a robe, and Seraphina had a witch hat on.

The throwing stopped completely. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Noah turn his head. He looked at me, then at the massive pad of paper in my lap. I kept sketching, my hand flying across the page as I outlined a massive, whimsical treehouse with spiral staircases and a slide that dipped into a glowing pond. It was the kind of architecture that didn't care about budgets or reality. Slowly—so slowly it felt like watching a turtle cross a road—Noah crawled over. He stopped about two feet away, hovering, his eyes wide as he stared at the drawing.

For a moment, the usual hardness in his expression faded as he stared at the drawings. He raised a finger and pointed at the first figure. “This one is the Luna holding Gab,” he said softly. Then he pointed to the figure beside her. “And this one… that’s you.” I stared at the rough sketches on the wall. Even with simple charcoal lines, the drawing somehow captured the protective way I always stood. “And this is Henry,” Julius continued, moving his finger to the next figure. “And these two have to be Alpha Stone and Mr. D. And this one…”

A small drawing desk in the corner, crayons scattered across it, a few papers with colorful scrawls. I stepped in slowly. On the wall, drawings were taped up. A child's drawings — a house with a triangular roof, a sun in the corner with rays drawn as straight lines, a tree with round red fruit. Then I saw it. One drawing in the middle. Three figures standing hand in hand. The small one in the middle, in a dress with long hair. A woman on the left. On the right, a man in a black suit.

“For example, your ‘heal’ spell is level 1—“ Armadale flipped the page and showed the first spell that Jeremiah recorded in that book, “you can see how simple this diagram is, right? It's only in a shape of a heart, but if you compare it to the purify spell—“ the book flipped open automatically to the ninth page, “you can see that the purification spell diagram is really complex, it's not only a leaf drawn there but also some ornamentation drawn around the leaf, right?” Jeremiah hazel's eyes squinted as he compared the diagram carefully; he flipped the first page and the ninth page several times until he could fully understand Armadale’s explanation. “I see, so instead of writing it down, yo

“He’s always busy now.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, Aurora. That must have felt really sad.” She nodded, then reached into her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I made this for you. At home last night.” I unfolded it carefully. It was a crayon drawing of stick figures: a tall man with dark hair, a little girl with pigtails, and....my stomach dropped, another woman with brown hair standing beside them, holding the little girl’s hand. A bright sun smiled overhead, and a clumsy wolf shape sat in the corner.