I like how all of these 11-17 year olds are just going to school with vampires and werewolves and giant spiders and vicious three-headed dogs in their backyard, yet they need a permission slip with an iron-clad parent/guardian signature to go have a harmless butterbeer at the nearby wizarding village.
Okay, Hogwarts. Okay.
a magician asks you to pick a card - any card, in fact. you do. they ask you to put the card back in the pack - anywhere in the pack, in fact. you do. they walk away. ten years later, your wife gives birth to the six of clubs. “is this your card?” the midwife asks, in a familiar voice.
what the fuck