Tag Archives | Brooke@Emporium

Behind the doors at Hogwarts by Brooke

Behind the cyan door, Professor Flitwick waits to greet the anxious first year students; Luna carefully writes her next Quibbler and second years huddle over in the corner of the dormitory, practising charms.

Behind the seaweed green door, Snape snaps at the terrified children; the snake watches their every move and Voldemort’s robe sways in the heavy wind of defeat.

Behind the canary door, the loyal third years wait for their chance to care; Cedric tries to open the golden egg and professor Sprout hurries back from her herbology lessons.

Behind the crimson door, professor McGonagall transforms into a tabby cat; Harry stares over to the end of his bed where the invisibility cloak lays, beckoning for him to use it and Ron irritably follows Hermione around the common room, begging her to help him with his homework and eventually doing it all.

Behind the penny brown doors, Dumbledore sits at the end of the hall, waiting for the sorting ceremony; banners line the stain-glass windows and above their heads, candles float on charcoal clouds.

Emporium Rooms

In the room of sleep,

the mattress snores and the blankets curl up.

In the room of sadness,

two waterfalls cascade from a face.

In the room of imagination,

A box waits to be opened, where inspirations transform into ideas.

In the room of warmth,

A fire cracks and a warm glow fills the world.

In the room of anger,

My hair burns amber.

In the room of memory,

forgotten moments return to me, like waves crashing against the shore.

In the room of hours,

not even a minute passes by, and a second lasts forever.

What are you?

 

You are a red, juicy apple that fell on Newton’s head!

You are thorn-filled rose, hurting people who get too close.

You are 12×12 laughing at those answers much smaller than you.

You are the mighty ruler of Venus trying to take over the Solar System

You are the sound of a chirping robin waking the tired on a summer dawn

You are the scent of warm fish and chips waiting to be eaten.

You are the memory of a trip to a sandy beach

You are the impossibility of dry water held in a paper bucket

You are the always-active city where animals communicate with humans

You are-

an autumn leaf, falling through the trees

the pages of a forgotten storybook

Harry Potter’s wand used for killing Voldemort

a Saturday morning, waking up for the weekend

a wave in the sea destroying sandcastles

You are a glowing shadow following your dreams

You are a friend for life and an enemy until death

You are mean angel and a kind devil

You are the candle of light in a cave of darkness

You are the impossibility of swimming around the world in one Sunday afternoon.

You are a brand new TV being hypnotized by the controller

You are Cinderella’s lost slipper, laying by the first step, waiting for her return to the ball.