did you know the 'harry just harry' line is not in the book

the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

Columbine Songs
Eminem
Columbine Songs

Eminem and Columbine


I am an Eminem Fan for years now and when I started to get more and more into True Crime I was surprised to find a lot of his Lyrics mentioning Columbine which I never really realised before. Of course he also mentioned other murderers or events, like Ted Bundy and the Aurora theater shooting but I wanted to start with the Columbine lyrics because there’s a lot of material. So let’s start:


The Way I Am, 2000
0:00-0:16
When a dude’s getting bullied and shoots up his school
And they blame it on Marilyn and the heroin
Where were the parents at? And look where it’s at!
Middle America, now it’s a tragedy
Now it’s so sad to see, an upper-class city
Havin’ this happening

Marshall states that he thinks that he thinks that not music is the reason for the shooting but bullying and the parents. But as we all know Marilyn Manson was partly blamed for Columbine by the media.
Em is also making fun of the fact that Columbine was the first shooting that people cared this much about although there have been a lot of shootings but now it happened at a “nice” school.

There is an alternative version of this song featuring Marilyn Manson (x)
He performed it live with Manson (x and x)
Manson also appeared in the official video (x)

Remember me, 2000
0:17-0:30
Came home and somebody musta broke in the back window
And stole two loaded machine guns and both of my trenchcoats
Sick, sick dreams of picnic scenes
Two kids, sixteen, with M-16’s and ten clips each
And them shits reach through six kids each

Em is making fun of the idea that musicians like him are a bad influence because he is not the one who gives these kids their weapons.

And as we all know, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold both wore a Trenchcoat when the attack started, that’s why „both of my Trenchcoats“ were stolen. And so he thinks that they were stolen to start another Columbine.
And when you have these „two kids“ with guns that, when you shoot them, „reach through six kids each“ you have 12 dead kids. And as we all know, during the Columbine massacre died 12 kids (and one adult).

By the way, Eminem needed two months to write his whole verse on this song while Sticky Fingaz wrote his verse in one day. 


I’m Back, 2000
0:30-0:41
I take seven [kids] from [Columbine]
Stand ‘em all in line, add an AK-47, a revolver, a 9
A MAC-11 and it oughta solve the problem of mine
And that’s a whole school of bullies shot up all at one time

This is probably the most well known Columbine reference made by Eminem.
This album came out one year after the massacre so it was still an sensitive subject. Therefore his label censored these two words (Kids and Columbine), even on the explicit version of the album.
I don’t think I have to explain what exactly this lyric means, it’s pretty clear.
In his book he states this:


“ I was getting shit about the Columbine reference on “I’m Back” and the label was telling me that I wasn’t gonna be able to say it. My whole thing was, what is the big fucking deal? That shit happens all the time. Why is that topic so touchy as opposed to, say a four-year-old kid drowning? Why isn’t that considered a huge tragedy? People die in the city all the time. People get shot, people get stabbed, raped, mugged, killed and all kinds of shit. What the fuck is the big deal with Columbine that makes it separate from any other tragedy in America?”

In 2015 a 15 year-old boy was arrested. He posted these lyrics on Instagram and added “Cause I’m just like shady and just as crazy as the world was over that whole Y2K thing”
The origiginal lyrics are “ ‘Cause (I'mmmm) Shady, they call me as crazy
As the world was over this whole Y2K thing”

When authorities searched the boy’s home they found weaponry and eventually arrested him. He denied any knowledge of the weapons and said he didn’t post this text on Instagram.


White America, 2002
0:42-0:48
White America, I could be one of your kids
White America, little Eric looks just like this

In this song it’s not only about the Lyrics but also about the music video.
With “little Eric” he mentioned Eric Harris but it was also meant as an example for a typical white kid. He is from middle america because his name is in the middle of amERICa.
The interesting part is, as I said, the video. Where you can see news of an school shooting during “I could be one of your kids”
And during “little Eric looks just like this” you can see one of those typical yearbook pictures and the house of the school shooter. The house looks a bit like the one the Harrises had.

When these lines get repeated you can see a boy full of (probably) blood stepping out of the map of america. On his shirt is written “I am Eric”.


Rap God, 2013
0:49-0:54
I’ll take seven kids from Columbine
Put ‘em all in a line, add an AK-47, a revolver and a 9

This was the first time we could hear the Columbine Line uncensored. Eminem didn’t rap all of the “I’m back” lines because he just wanted to
“See if I get away with it now that I ain’t as big as I was”
As you can hear, he got away with it.





Eminem is one of the few people who openly give their sympathy for the two shooters.
He admitted to be interested in serial killers in this statement:
“I did find myself watching a lot of documentaries on serial killers, I mean, I always had a thing for them. I’ve always been intrigued by them and I found that watching movies about killers sparked something in me.The way a serial killer’s mind works, just the psychology of them is pretty fucking crazy. I was definitely inspired by that, but most of the album’s imagery came from my own mind.”

But Marshall Mathers seems to have an very personal realationship with the whole Columbine Issue.
He himself was bullied on a daily basis during his childhood, often for his race and for always being the new kid. When he was nine years old he got beaten up so bad he was in an coma for several days. I think he is one of the people who is trying to understand what Harris and Klebold were going through.
But I think it is important to mention, that he is the living proof that even when your life is is shitty right now because of some people who have nothing in their life but to terrorize you, that you can still have a better life. And you beat them best when you keep on living.

“That Columbine shit is so fucking touchy. As much sympathy as we give the Columbine shootings, nobody ever looked at it from the fuckin’ point of view of the kids who were bullied—I mean, they took their own fucking life! And it was because they were pushed so far to the fucking edge that they were fucking so mad. I’ve been that mad.

-Marshall Mathers

It pisses me off so much how in the books Parvati and Lavender are just pidgeon-holed as ‘fashion obsessed hair heads’ for most of the books?

I mean, they might not be, but that was the impression pre-teen!me got from reading the books?

And now I’m all … okay, okay Hermione is awesome and we all know it.

But that doesn’t mean Lavender and Parvati are stupid just because they are geared differently from Hermione.

Fashion is hella hard and it requires a lot of memorization and attention to detail? And honestly Lavender and Parvati seem to be pretty nice people, in the little glimpses we get of them?

And all I want is Harry, following the Weasley without getting noticed (because he is used to sneaking around without disturbing people or attracting their attention, owing to the Dursley for that) and getting through the barrier and on the train.

And Lavender’s father helping him out with his baggage, jokingly asking him to keep an eye on his little girl? You seem like a good lad, my Lavender is the most beautiful girl, I need a strong gentleman to keep an eye out until she gets to Hogwarts and she starts to learn magic, so are you up to it?

Which is, of course, not true. Lavender has been going to self-defense lessons for years.

But the man noticed that this was a little kid with no parents around, looking all alone.

He thought 'hey, maybe I can stick him with my kid and they’ll make friends’

(btw, as Lavender is not, as far as I know, confirmed as pureblood in canon, I am going with half-blood or muggleborn for her, I’m thinking muggleborn for this specific AU?)

And Lavender is all “Daddy!” and apologizing to Harry for her dorky dad the moment he is out of the door.

And very nicely avoiding to comment on his clothes because she knows how it feels to be conscious of how your clothes look on you and it’s clear to her eyes that the way Harry is dressed he is probably from some orphanage or something because those are huge hand me downs.

(Because fuck you 90s, being fashion conscious doesn’t mean you are an elitist bitch).

And her parents are looking at her from the Platform and instead of asking about Harry’s life, not wanting to put him on the spot, Lavender waves to them and starts talking to Harry all “Those are my parents, they are so fascinated with the idea of magic and what I will learn at Hogwarts, I can’t wait to write to them all about the castle. My dad works in an office as an accountant and my mother has a column in –” Insert popular teen magazine for 90s UK.

And Harry is a bit overwhelmed but Lavender isn’t staring at him, she is not forcing him to talk and she looks nice.

So he kind of starts to tell her about the Dursely y'know, not like he did with Ron about how terrible they are, but about Vernon working for Grunnings (Lavender giggles and says 'Oh I am so sorry but it just sounds like a really silly name? Grunnings.’ and she tries to stretch the word a bit and Harry laughs a little and says yes, because it does sound silly the way she’s saying it, he just had never thought about it. 'I think it’s Swedish or something’ he offers and Lavenders nods sagely because yes, that makes sense) and how Petunia lives at home and reads all sort of gossipy papers, but not teen ones so sorry, he has never seen Lavender’s mom’s column.

And then the door to their compartment open and Parvati and Padma’s mother (I don’t know if they are pureblood but I’m headcanoning them as pureblood for this one) politely asks if there’s space for two more girls and when Lavender and Harry, after looking at each other, agree, Madam Patil levitates their trunks in (much to the amazement of Harry and Lavender) and settles them above and then guides her daughters in.

She introduces them, putting her hands on her shoulders, cautions her girls to not get wand-happy and wishes everyone a happy Hogwarts year and then leaves them there, going back to the Platform to join her husband and tell him how she left their daughters in the presence of Harry Potter.

“He looked dreadful. Hard up at the very least. I think you should look into his family situation. His clothes, at the very least, were terrible.” She murmurs, softly. “I am sure our girls will adopt him before the ride is over, so you should look forward to hearing about him in their letters.”

Her husband, who knows all about his beloved’s wife tendency to take people under her wing and adopt dangerous animals and fell in love with her for it (as well as for other qualities she has) because he’s very much the same, smiles fondly at her for the last bit and nods seriously at the first one.

It doesn’t matter who the boy is. Well it does, because Harry Potter of course, but it also doesn’t matter because no child should be mistreated.

Also it’s kind of strange that Harry Potter would look hard up, considering it’s common knowledge his parents left him handsomely provided for, full tuition to Hogwarts already paid.

Lavender gushes about how beautiful the Patil twins are, which immediately conquers Parvati, who gushes right back at Lavender’s sparkly accessories.

(Look, I might be wrong because this was the UK and not Italy, and if I am please let me know, but I was a child in the 90s, I bought italian teen magazines, sparkly shit taped to the cover under a plastic sleeve was the shit with fashionable people.)

Of course the moment Harry introduces himself, the Parvati twins try really hard not to goggle, though they do look at his scar, and then Parvati starts asking a storm of questions about where he grew up, whether the Harry Potter adventure books right about all he did since he was a child, if not that what did he do since beating You-Know-Who.

Harry 'Do you mean Voldemort?’ is greeted by soft gasps, right until Lavender asks 'Who?’ and then Parvati starts telling her all about the horrible Voldemort and how Harry and his parents saved them all from that monster.

Padma’s brain on the other hand is whirring and she is the one who reassures Harry that he will do just as fine as everybody else, when he says that.

Lavender and Parvati interrupt their convo because Lavender needs to assure to Harry that she’s muggleborn too, so they will have to learn together and he will be just on par with her, while Parvati explains that magical kids do get a leg up because some of them are allowed to practice at home but that really, she will make sure Harry is up to date with everything that is 'stupefy’ about the magical world.

At which point, Lavender asks what 'stupefy’ means and Padma explains that it’s the stunning spell, so don’t say it while pointing your wand at anyone and Parvati adds that it means, well, the most stunning things around.

(What? Wizarding children should have their own slang).

So by the point Hermione and Neville come by, the group as already made the first basic ties and while Neville is greeted and introduced by Padma and Parvati to the rest of the group, Hermione goes on fine right until she hears Harry’s name.

Padma and Parvati thinks it’s … whatever wizarding equivalent is there of gauche, that Hermione would throw that torrent of words at Harry and just … presume to know about him.

Lavender is just hella protective of her new friend.

Tightly knit protective of Harry formation is achieved in 0.2 seconds.

Neville, who has been around other pureblood children but has been condescended upon by most of them (not Padma and Parvati, given that Parvati will stick up for him later on, but still, it was a general tendency towards a potential squib) has found in Hermione one person who has been nice to him to the point of going out of her way to help him look for his embarrassing toad, so he gets protective of Hermione right back.

So basically, Parvati tells Hermione that she should not barrage people with informations like that, Neville replies timidly that Hermione didn’t mean anything bad, she just like quoting sources, Lavender tells Harry that he doesn’t have to worry, they’ll look up all that stuff when they get to Hogwarts, Hermione gets huffy because of course she didn’t mean anything bad, she just thought Harry would know about that stuff, Padma asks why Hermione would think that when Harry has been raised in the muggle world, Neville goggles at the news that Harry was raised in the muggle world.

It’s a mess.

And then Draco Malfoy arrives, because he’s been making the rounds of the train to look for Harry Potter (saying hi to family allies on the way).

I am not sure who says what to whom for most of the ‘chat’ but what I am sure of is that by the end of it, Neville and Hermione are going to be best friends forever and an united front against snobby purebloods, Padma has icily informed 'Mister Malfoy’ that she will be writing to her father about how low the raising standards of the Malfoy have fallen to produce Draco as a result, in response to a snipe Draco made about telling his father about the Patil twins and the rabble they are sticking with, Parvati has informed Crabbe and Goyle that she had not thought they were better than this but they definitely need to find themselves friends who don’t just treat them like dumb muscle and Lavender has vowed to herself that it doesn’t matter to her how cute Draco Malfoy is or how attractive his silver hair are she will spell his hair and robes to look like something an 80s hairband groupie would wear, just as soon as she learns the necessary spells.

To make it simple, battle lines have been drawn, metaphorical blood has been spilled on all sides and the Harry-Lavender-Parvati-Padma friendship has been set in stone.

Ron, if you are curious about him, found a compartment that had Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas in it and spent a really amazing first ride to Hogwarts.

They both made sure Dean knew how Gryffindor was the best house there ever is and then they explained Quidditch to him and became fascinated when Dean explained football (to americans: soccer) to them, especially once Dean started sketching out schemes and stuff.

There are too many players, but it looks like exactly the kind of team effort chasers have to put together only spread through eleven people and that’s just wow.

anonymous asked:

What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?

It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.

Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”  

“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”

“Be taught what, Albus?”

But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.

Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.

When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.  

“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”

“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”

Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.

Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.

In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily…  strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”

Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.

“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”

He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.

Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.

Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”

Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.

“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.

“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.

“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”

Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.

When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.

They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.

As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?

Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.

The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.

Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?

Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.

Please, thought Harry. Don’t send me back.

Keep reading

Father

“Where’s Malfoy?” The vacant spot next to professor Sinistra immediately caught his eye. Usually he was greeted every morning with a “Late for breakfast again now, are we? You know you could just set an alarm for once like a normal person.” And Harry would respond with something among the lines of “I’m not a normal person, I’m the chosen one.” Then Malfoy would roll his eyes while Harry did a dramatic hair flip.

He always loved seeing Malfoy struggle to suppress a smile every time he did that, and had gotten quite accustomed to their morning ritual.

“Called in sick this morning. Migraine I believe.” Answered professor Mcgonagall.

“Odd. I don’t believe he’s ever been sick since he started working here.” Professor Sinistra looked a bit worried.

“Shouldn’t someone go check on him?”

“Yes, excellent idea Harry. Why don’t you go bring our favorite Slytherin a nice cup of tea? Maybe mention you still haven’t bought an alarm clock while you’re at it.” Neville always made comments like these and Harry still didn’t know why. He and Malfoy seemed to get along just fine but as soon as Harry suggested Neville should go to him to run an errand or something he always sent Harry instead.

“Uhm, well I don’t think I’ll bother him with my non existing shopping habits but I’ll go and have a look. If someone could cover the first couple of minutes of my second years…?”

“Yes of course Harry.” Sounded the answer from Neville, professor Mcgonagall and Flitwick, who exchanged some knowing looks with each other.

“Right then… I’ll go pay him a visit…” Harry gave his colleagues a strange look.

“You go do that Potter.”

“A task right up your alley.”

“Remember to be safe!” Called Neville after him. Sometimes Harry didn’t really get his co-workers. After giving them another questioning look Harry walked off towards the dungeons. It was too early to deal with their weird behaviour.


“Malfoy? Malfoy are you in there?” Harry got no response, but when he pressed his ear to the door he could hear heavy, irregular breathing. Someone was in there at least, and if it wasn’t Malfoy then Harry had to chase the intruder out. And if it was Malfoy then he might be in dire need of help since he didn’t answer.

He decided to open the door.

“Malfoy? Are you in here? I brought tea… “ Harry looked around in the room. It didn’t look like Malfoy was suffering from migraine. The torches on the sides of the walls were burning brightly and illuminated a true mess of a room. Clothes, books, quills and a couple of empty wine bottles decorated the floor.

“Malfoy?” The blond man sat on the middle of his king-sized bed on the far end of the room. He was hugging his knees, and stared out of the window looking out into the great lake. He didn’t respond.

Harry took some tentative steps towards the bed, careful not to trod on anything. “Are you alright? Minerva said…”

His words got stuck in his throat. The closer he got the more he saw. Malfoy was clutching a ministry letter in his hands, the date above the writing told Harry it had arrived the day before. But what shook him the most was that Malfoy was crying.

Silent tears were running down his face, showing no sign of stopping any time soon.

“What happened?” Harry put down the steaming mug of tea on the nightstand, shocked. The last time he’d seen Malfoy cry was during sixth year in the bathroom, just before he cocked everything up by nearly murdering him.

Something bad must have happened. Something really bad.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He felt nerves pool in his gut waiting for the answer.

What could have upset Malfoy so much? What on earth could possibly have the power to break the man who even after the war and the trials hadn’t been broken. The man who had turned Slytherin from a mouldy and disgusting mess into a proud and fierce house again. The man who had been so strong that even Ron had started to admire his character, though he would never admit it.

“He’s reopening his case. He’s blaming everything on me. Everything.” Malfoy drew a couple of shaky breaths. He looked like he could pass out any moment.

Harry suddenly felt his insides turn to ice. It had been ten years since the trials. Ten years. That meant convicts could now ask for a do-over of their case.

He pried the ministry letter from Malfoy’s cramped up hands and read. His frozen insides fell out. Lucius Malfoy was pleading not-guilty, on the grounds that his son had forced him to join Voldemort’s ranks. His own son. He was blaming everything on his own son.

“I won’t let them do this to you. I won’t let them force you to re-live everything, I won’t.” Harry crumbled up the letter in his shaking hands. He wanted to punch something, or floo to the ministry and tell them exactly why this was not happening, or…

“Please leave.” Sniffled Malfoy. “I need to be alone right now.” It broke Harry’s heart that the man thought Harry could leave him alone when he was in such a high state of distress. If ever there had been a moment when Malfoy should not be alone, it was now.

Malfoy tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, tried to recompose himself. Harry caught his hands. “Don’t. Don’t do that. He betrayed you. He is your father and he betrayed you. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I’m not, Potter.” He tried to free his hands while avoiding Harry’s gaze. “I’m fucking not, I should have been in class ten minutes ago. I can’t… “

“You can. Fuck you Malfoy, for thinking that you don’t even deserve to be upset about this.” Malfoy tried to pull his hands free again, and this time Harry pulled back. Without much resistance Malfoy fell towards Harry, who let go of his hands and wrapped him into a hug.

“Shove it Malfoy.” He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed, holding Malfoy tightly wrapped in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Malfoy didn’t protest anymore, suddenly he felt all of his energy drain away. He’d barely survived the first trials, repeating everything… It was too much to ask. He didn’t even have the energy to feel ashamed for crying in front of his former rival, his current crush.

He caved and he caved hard. “He is my dad.” Malfoy buried his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, his voice broken by tears. “What kind of monster do you have to be, in order to make your own father hate you?”


So I thought it might be fun to write a piece of this story every time I hit a memorable number of followers, in this case that’s 250. Is that a good idea not? Please tell me I have zero judgement skills.

I have reached 350 followers! Omg thank you guys! You can now you can read part two here

for 400 followers part 3 is here!

If you want more parts then you can follow me!

Wings of Butterflies

A/N: Adele believes in trilogies, I believe in pentalogies. This is the fifth and final installment to Rotation (I mean it this time). 

// Another Man’s Treasure // Mind on a Mission // Take the Lead // Worth the Pain //


Who knew the South of France could be boring?

Neither the wine nor the men, either the beaches or the crystal clear water could interest you. Your family knew something was up with you, your brother even attempting a heart-to-heart one night to pry deep into the corners of your mind to understand why you weren’t your happy, bubbly self. Even Harry’s family had taken notice, his sister struggling to get more than three word answers from you, either via text or in person, over the last few months.

But you stayed mum. You hadn’t much to say anyway. You’d done a lot of growing, a lot of thinking, since Harry had left you all alone.

If life were divided into chapters, the night he came round and the morning he left made for a very distinct Ending and Beginning.

Harry hadn’t been able to ignore you for much longer than a week. Not because of your persistence—no, you hadn’t reached out to him again since the day he all but vanished from your bed—but because guilt kept gnawing at his conscious every time he looked at his phone. He’d read all the texts—and saved them, too—stared at the missed call notifications, but he hadn’t brought himself to listen to the voicemail you’d left late that evening. He hadn’t mustered up the courage, and he was disgusted with himself for it.

So, with a deep breath, he listened to the message. Better a week late than never, right?

You were crying; well, sobbing was more accurate. You didn’t say anything at first, probably not realizing the recording had clicked on as you choked in search of air. Once you settled down, you laid into him with a few choice words—all of which he agreed with—but it wasn’t the name calling that stuck with him or the way you hoped to never see him again that plagued him with regret. It was your final word, your final question, that haunted him.

Why?

Because there were a million reasons why and none of them excused him for being such a dickhead. And that made him angry, very angry, because there weren’t many situations he found himself completely lost in, unable to navigate the waters, yet here he was drowning in your tears without a buoy or damn life preserver in sight.

So he called.

And, despite being in the library studying for an exam, you answered. You hesitated at first, the stitches holding together your heart pulling at the seams with the sight of his name and his face across your screen, but answered nonetheless.

“Hello?”

Keep reading

A Series of Unfortunate Events : the recipe to a good adaptation

This is a short analysis of the recent adaptation A Series of Unfortunate Events by Netflix. I will not mention everything here, it would require much more time and analysis but here is a general appreciation. Careful for spoilers !

Adaptations are quite tricky to accomplish because being true to the original work while bringing novelty to the piece is not so easy. The best adaptations are often the ones that manage to channel the spirit of the original work. A Series of Unfortunate Events is a very successful example of this. It was already visible in the first trailer where Lemony Snicket actually walks on the set of the filming to tell us not to watch this series. Right here, you have three core elements of the original series : our narrator-character, the breaking of the fourth-wall and the plea not to look into this horrific story. That last element actually is a known way to catch the reader/viewer’s attention and make him want to know more.

When it comes to A Series of Unfortunate Events, the character of Lemony Snicket is crucial. Therefore the adaptation needs to be perfectly true to his features. As a child, I really believed Lemony Snicket was this mysterious author hidding from malevolent authorities. The fact that Lemony is actually out of the story ,since he is the author/narrator, and a full part of it builds the whole myth around this series.
When I saw the movie, I did not get that feeling of mystery around Lemony mainly because it is not cleary explicited that he is part of all this : the viewer doesn’t see on-screen any important hint that Lemony is a central character of the story, he is presented above all as the writer.
In the Netflix series, Lemony is the first person the viewer visually encounters, just like in the books. The fact that you can see him entirely makes him a reassuring presence throughout the show : he is your guide. The show stages this aspect very cleverly by blending Lemony in the situations the Baudelaires find themselves in, usually through his costume.

Thanks to this process, the narrator’s role is fully depicted. A narrator that addresses directly to the reader/viewer is usually out of the story and Lemony is indeed “out” since he is telling the events. But Lemony is also “in” as an important character. The show drops hints along the way which keep getting bigger gradually : his investigation, the letters to Beatrice, the fact that he is being chased, among other things, and of course the reveal of the picture with Olaf in the last episode.

All these proofs show that Lemony really is involved in this story. It is very fortunate that they kept the dedications to Beatrice at the beginning of each segment of the story because she is the one who ties Lemony to the story. She actually acts as his muse, she is the main reason why he writes, the name Beatrice being a reference to Dante’s own muse.
Since he is an « in-between » character, literally the bridge between you and the story, Lemony is the one who constantly breaks the fourth-wall. This aspect is so crucial in A Series of Unfortunate Events. It allows Lemony to act as the antic chorus or Prologue : “If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book. In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle.” (The Bad Beginning).
With those few lines, the essence of the plot is completely laid before your eyes, just like the ancient tragedies. In the series, apart from those lines, the opening song has the exact same role : “Every single episode is nothing be dismay.”
The breaking of the fourth-wall is also at the core of both series because story-telling mecanisms are explained through it. In the Reptile Room, Lemony explains the dramatic irony which is then again an aspect of the antic tragedies. As I remember it, the book series crossed the fourth-wall to teach something to the reader : a word, writing techniques and less straightforwardly, literary references. All these elements were fortunately brought into the show as well.

Now Lemony is mainly the one to break the wall, as allowed by his narrator status. What is unsettling for the viewer is when Count Olaf breaks it, usually to advertise the TV show and stare at the camera for a couple of seconds. This leads to the other important aspect of an adaptation : the creativity. The writers did not only represent Olaf, they actually add depths according to the new medium : what would Olaf do if he was in a TV series ? Break the fourth-wall and sing its opening sequence !

A short word on the amazing cast, especially Neil Patrick Harris who pulled out a very good Count Olaf. This character is very complex to play, he needs the right amount of villainy, humor and the talent of an actor who can play a character playing other characters. Jim Carrey brought too much of his own eccentricity to the character and you saw more of the actor than of the character. Neil Patrick Harris really understood and nailed all of Olaf’s facets.

Hence adaptations would be rather dull without creativity and novelty.
Sure a lot of dialogues are actually taken word by word from the books because they are good as they are but an adaptation needs to adapt precisely even more when the media is different.

A book and a  TV show are of course very different mainly because of the images. In a book, a description can only be completed by the reader’s imagination. In a show, what you see allows very little space for imagination. This is why a successful adaptation is one that can get the spirit, the ambiance of the world, conveyed by the original words, and transcripts it on screen. From the language of worded images to the language of filming.

The unsettling ambiance, the faded colours and surreal pastel imagery are very fitting for the Baudelaires’ story. The main aspect of the series is its dark humor and stories that you find rarely in children’s book : one death if not more per book, usually a gruesome one. The TV show manages to render the baudelairian world : this very specific atmosphere, the feeling of being oppressed by all the places in which the Baudelaires find themselves.

Finally the most important aspect of an adaptation is that it must appeal to all audiences.What is complicated about making adaptations is that they are received by two different audiences : the one who knows the original material and the one who doesn’t and their first interaction with the original universe is through the adaptation.
That’s why getting the atmosphere right is so important, it shows the specificities of the work in another way which should not “betray” the original story.
An adaptation is full of references that will be immediately recognized only by the ones familiar with the original piece. These references show the adaptors love for the original work and also creates a complicity between them and the well-aware viewer. Which book lover did not scream at the sugar bowl in episode 2 or at those four simple words : the world is quiet here ?The beauty of references is that they are hidden, they could be seen as completely normal by an unaware viewer : the scene of the sugar bowl seems very innocent.

It allows the adaptors to play on what the reader already knows. Take the first appearance of the Quagmire mother and father: most of the book readers thought them to be the Baudelaire mother and father even though they know very well it is impossible. This builds up until the revelation in the first part of the Miserable Mill. Not only this plays with the well-aware reader but also stages already the Quagmire trio and most of their backstory. Being already intertwined since the first episode with the main story, they meet naturally at the end of the season and do not appear previously unmentionned like in the books.

As thrilling as this is, if the adaptation is only met for the experts, it won’t be a total success. An adaptation also needs to speak to new viewers who have no knowledge of the original work. This is why there is a need for balance of references so the newcomer will not spent his time on Wikipedia trying to figure out what happens. How the series introduced right away the Quagmires is actually rather clever : it allows the newcomer not to be lost in all the key characters.

Lastly, this show really catches the core humor of the original work by playing on the fact that it is an adaptation and therefore needs to depart sometimes from the original sequences. At the beginning of the Miserable Mill (episode 8), Mr. Poe freaks out because the Baudelaires are gone and in the middle of his panicked speech, he says : “It’s off-book !’. And indeed it is, because in the books the Baudelaires don’t go to Lucky Smells Lumbermill by themselves but are brought there by Mr Poe. An adaptation makes choices and the show plays on that aspect.

Of course, this show would need a 300 pages-long essay because of all the references and allusions not only to literature but also foreshadowing the main story. This show completely smashes the movie adaptation which did not manage to really transcript well neither the atmosphere nor the characters.

Remember, an adaptation is not a search of perfection because it will never be exactly like the original material. The change of medium requires changes in the story and the story-telling. The intelligence with which the choices are made makes all the difference between a good and a bad adaptation.

Morning Surprise (Remus x Reader)

“Hi! I might’ve already sent this in and I’m terribly sorry if I’m repeating my self but could you do one with Remus where you stay the night in his dorm and when you wake up the boys find you and they are all like shook. :,) thank you! I love your writing by the way!!” this made me laugh out loud when I read it! hope you like it!

Saturday’s were usually spent with your boyfriend in the library or by the Black Lake, curled up with a book and content with each other’s company. Today was no ordinary Saturday, it was a Quidditch Saturday, which meant that you and Remus had to postpone your usual activities and go and support James since Gryffindor was playing against Ravenclaw.

“Hurry up, lovebirds!” Sirius exclaimed, a few steps ahead of Remus and you.

You’ve been dating Remus for a year now, and you both kept the PDA to a minimum, the marauders knew that and often teased you both, but little did they know that behind closed doors, Remus and you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius, sending you an apologetic look.

“Sorry, we don’t take the dog out too often, we think he might get lost…” Remus whispered to you, and you laughed.

Soon you and the rest of the marauders were cheering James on, Gryffindor was winning by a landslide, and somehow Sirius had taken over as commentator half way through the match.

“Ms. Lillian Evans, if the handsome Chaser scores three consecutive goals, you have to go on date with him, it is the law. Dumbledore said so.” Sirius decreed into his enchanted wand, McGonagall stood from her seat and tried to pry the wand from his flailing arms.

“I’m so glad Sirius didn’t meddle with the two of us…” Remus uttered as you nodded in agreement. You witnessed as James scored three consecutive goals and how your roommate Lily was glaring at the boy, you could see that she was trying to fight off a growing smile on her face.

“Well bloody hell, Sirius does seem to have a future in matchmaking.” You said, pointing down at Lily, Remus shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

It was no surprise when Gryffindor won, due to that Sirius and James announced that there would be a celebratory party tonight, (they would’ve thrown a part either way).

“What are the chances of us sneaking out of the party without being noticed by those two?” you asked Remus as you reluctantly made your way to the party.

“Just wait until they both had enough Firewhiskey, then we can go to my dorm and relax, there’s this new muggle book my mother sent me, I think you’ll like it.”

“Sounds perfect.” You said pecking his lips as you both joined the party.

It didn’t take long for Sirius and James to finish off a bottle of Firewhiskey, you nudge Remus and he stifled a laugh as he saw how James was drunkenly orchestrating a conga line.

“And that’s our cue to leave, love.” He said, chuckling at his friend’s failed attempts.

He led you up the boy’s dormitories, everyone was having fun so they didn’t see the two of you leaving.

He opened the door to his room which he shared with the rest of the marauders, you were always in awe of the contrast between Remus’s side of the room and the rest of the boys.

“I know what you’re thinking and I agree, they’re pigs.”

“Trewlaney better watch out because you might steal her job, your seeing eye just read my mind.” You joked, he chuckled as he walked towards his drawer, pulling out a jumper and a pair of boxers, handing them to you.

“I don’t think you’ll want to go back to a room full of tipsy girls later tonight and the guys will probably pass out in the common room.” He said as he handed the clothes to you so you could change into something comfortable. You beamed at him and thanked him, and headed towards the bathroom to change. You came out feeling extremely cozy, Remus was much taller than you so you basically swam in his jumper, it came down to your thighs.

“Well that’s not fair.” Remus said as he saw you wearing his clothes. You arched an eyebrow, confused.

“Now every time I wear that jumper I’ll know I won’t look as good as you do right now.” He said grinning, a bubbly laugh left your lips as you ran towards him, tackling him down to the bed.

“You’re so cheesy.” You mumbled as you buried your face in his chest.

“But you love me.”

“That I do.”

You both spent the rest of the night reading the astronomy book that his mother had sent him. Astronomy was your favorite subject, Remus liked it as well, and he loved seeing the way your face would light up as you looked at the pictures of the stars and constellations, and read about them.

Neither one of you realized when you fell asleep or if the rest of the boys came back.

Hours later, you were both woken up by a scream.

“BLOODY HELL, REMUS HAS A GIRL IN BED WITH HIM.” Sirius screeched.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Y/N…” Peter said.

“Keep your voice down you gits, I wanna study them more in their natural habitat.” James whispered.

“I can’t believe he did it, I didn’t think he had it in him.” He continued.

“Our little boy is all grown up.” Sirius sniffled.

You were woken up by Sirius’s scream but decided it was better if you feigned sleep, hoping that they would go away soon. Remus began stirring next to you.

“No PDA my ass, guess his wolf side won last night, huh?”

“Sirius Orion Black, if you don’t stop it with the crude comments I’ll make sure that you never procreate.” Remus snarled, his eyes still closed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“My dear, dear, Remus, how do you possibly expect for us to remain calm when we found you two in such a compromised position?” Sirius quipped back, smirking.

“Oh shut up Pads, nothing happened, we just fell asleep.” You said, enunciating the word sleep.

“OH Y/N, I SURE HOPE HE TREATED YOU RIGHT!”

“SIRIUS, GET OFF HER.” Remus exclaimed when Sirius dramatically threw himself at you.

You were trying your hardest not to laugh because if you did they would continue and you were not going to encourage them, you could see Remus trying hard not to as well. Who knew that the rest of the marauders would make such a big deal about you spending the night in their room.

“Does that mean Y/N is our mummy now?”

“JAMES, FOR THE LAST TIME, I AM NOT YOUR FATHER DURING THE SCHOOL TERM.”

After ten minutes of nonstop teasing, they finally left you and Remus alone as they went down for breakfast.

“They are way too chipper considering they probably have a raging hangover.”

“I’m pretty sure the opportunity of teasing us gave them the strength they needed.” Remus sighed.

“If I lock the door, they would just knock it down with Peter or something…how about we get dressed and head to the lake for a bit?” you asked him, sitting up.

“But I’m comfy…” Remus whined, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you back onto his chest, burrowing his head on your hair.  

“Okay, okay! You win, but just until they come back, I don’t think I have any patience left for their teasing.”

“Agreed.” Remus sealed the deal with a kiss that left you breathless.

Luckily the boys found Filch on their way back and he interrogated them for a full hour about the loud noises that were coming from the Gryffindor common room the night before. You and Remus enjoyed a full hour of peace and quiet before they came barreling in, goofy grins on their faces when they saw you and Remus intertwine, sleeping peacefully.

“I guess the shock wears off the second time around.” Sirius mumbled, James nodded from besides him.

Harry Potter Remake

In all likelihood, one day, there will be a remake of the Harry Potter Series. Just thinking that sentence makes my nose wrinkle and my insides twist uncomfortably; I have mixed feelings about this, but nevertheless I’ll be right there to watch it along with all of the other then fifty and sixty somethings that grew up on Harry Potter.

Maybe it wont be movies, maybe it’ll be a tv show.

Maybe it’ll be directed by someone who grew up reading the books under their bedcovers with a cheap plastic flashlight that you could hear the batteries clacking around inside, until the light started flickering at 2am. Someone who waited on their eleventh birthday with wide eyes searching the skies for their letter 

Maybe Harry will have green eyes and messy hair, and Hermione will have brown skin, buckteeth, and a big gorgeous afro that makes her tiny eleven year old self several inches taller.

Maybe Sirius will have a leather jacket, wear classic rock t-shirts, and be played by someone who is 35 

Maybe the wizards will all wear gorgeous robes, robes that are spangled and brightly colored along with strange and somehow alien hats. I mean, Cornelius Fudge in a lime green boulder hat? Dumbledore in purple boots? Tonks with shifting rainbow hair? Purebloods in intimidating, immaculately tailored robes with high collars and billowing overcoats or capes? How much fun could a costume department have? Maybe Harry Potter season 1 will get an emmy for costume design.

ok I’m done with the costume stuff wait no - PADMA AND PARVARTI PATIL DESERVED BETTER AT THE YULE BALL THAN THOSE UGLY ASS ORANGE AND PINK THINGS. THEY COULD’VE HAD GORGEOUS SARIS. I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT INDIAN FASHION BUT I KNOW THAT IT’S BETTER THAN THOSE FLORESCENT POLYESTER BARGAIN BIN MONSTROSITIES 

Maybe Ginny will have time to become a well rounded and developed character in the remake, often seen hanging with Luna and Neville, hexing bullies, kicking ass at Quidditch, getting much better grades in potions than any Weasley should, loving small fluffy animals (her pygmy puff was named Arnold!), being comfortable in her sexuality and refusing to be slut shamed by anyone, least of all her big brothers, burning all her old diaries after Tom, growing up at Hogwarts with the specter of 16 year old Tom Riddle hanging over her after first year, leading the DA with Neville and Luna in her sixth year, whispering “fuck you Tom” whenever she does something to defy Voldemort’s reign

Maybe it can be addressed that Neville’s family dropped him out a goddamn window and pushed him off the Blackpool pier to prove he had magic and how incredibly damaging that was maybe we can address Harry’s abuse while we’re at it

Maybe the tv show will employ a couple of classics majors to research and create new spells to supplement the relative few we see in the books

Maybe they could build languages for the magical creatures like the Game of Thrones team did. Gobbledygook, anyone? Mermish? 

And MAYBE the actor playing Dumbledore will have the chance to calmly deliver the line: 

“Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fiyah Fire?” 

anonymous asked:

You *could* (pleaseeeee) do an imagine about harry hurting his hand/not taking care of himself 😏

I definetly could…. I think I will, actually. (I wrote this super fast, might be a tad messy.) 


You rise up on your toes in interest when you hear the jangle of keys against your front door, setting down your book and picking up your tea mug as you await for the door to swing open.

When it does, it reveals your boyfriend who looks quiet cozy, a bag on his shoulder and coat in his hand as he pulls the keys out of the door and shuts it behind him.

“Where’d you go?” You ask, breaking the silence because you can’t wait any longer. 

His head snaps up from hanging the coat on one of the hooks you guys have lining the wall, looking at you with a shocked expression which quickly melts into a relaxed smile. 

“Went to the gym, thought yeh would still be asleep.” He mumbles, setting the back down with a thump as he makes his way over to you.

“The bed was cold.” You pout, taking him in as he stands in front of you. He’s got that big gray sweatshirt he’s been practically living in on, with a pair of shorts and tennis shoes.To top it all off, he’s wearing a beanie with his wild curls poking out around the edges. He has a striking resemblance to himself from 4 years ago. Except, now he looks like a grumpy old man when he frowns, not an anger driven teenager.

“ ‘M sorry, angel.” He apologizes, taking your head into his hands and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes squeeze shut from the outside cold that is still lingering on his skin when he runs his fingers through your hair. 

“S’okay, I guess. Did you have a good workout?” You ask, swinging your arms around his waist and tugging him towards you before he can go anywhere.

He lets out a chuckle and wraps an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you to him. “S’fine, been too long since ‘ve gone.” 

“Mm, well you’ve been busy, love.” You mumble, taking a sip of your tea before you tilt your head back to look up at him.  

He smirks at you while running a hand over the crown of your head, pressing your most likely messy bed hair down, “Yeah, but I should’ve made time.” 

You roll your eyes at him before you set your mug down and tug on his sweatshirt, lowering him down to you.

“What’s this?” He asks warmly, peering  at you with inquisitive eyes. 

“Kiss.” You supply simply, puckering your lips.

He laughs, a swift gentle laugh before he leans down further to oblige. His lips are cold too, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling. He nudges his nose with yours before pulling away, “S’that peppermint tea yeh got?” He licks his lips with a smacking sound.

“Mhm, want to try some?” You ask, offering your mug up to him. He takes it from you and blows at the steaming liquid a bit before bringing it up to his lips. 

“S’good, we should get more.” He concludes, ducking down to take a another sip before you can scold him to get his own tea. 

But you’re not concerned about the tea, when the white bandage on his hand has caught your eye. You frown, taking the mug from him and setting it down with a  clang before you take his hand and observe it, carefully tracing your fingers over the bandage. 

“What did you do?” You scold, eyes flashing up at him with scorn. You’re afraid to lift the bandage, if you’re being honest. Harry had a knack for accidentally hurting himself and it makes your stomach do summersaults. When he had first come home with a  bandage and an achy back from filming, you had freaked out.

“S’nothing, love. Just a little sore from boxing.” He soothes you, squeezing your hand gently.

“Let me see, then.” You counter with a raise of your eyebrows.

“Don’t believe me, do yeh?” He says with scoff as he begins to unwrap the bandage from around his hand.

You lean forward a peek a little, relieved to see that there isn’t any scathing red coloring his hand but you watch him wince as he flexes his hand and your heart jumps as if you’re the one in pain.

“Harry! Be careful!”  You cry, reaching forward and grabbing his hand again.

“S’my hand, pet. Don’t know wha’ else I can do..” He’s teasing you, and you’re not having any of it. 

“You’re a bloody- god, Harry I just wish you’d take care of yourself. Don’t like seeing you… hurt.” You murmur, the last word falling from your mouth with sorrow.

“M’fine, sweetheart. No need t’worry.” He reassures you suddenly, darting forward and cupping your cheek with his injured hand.

You meet his eyes and he’s being sincere, and there’s nothing else you can quite do so you sigh with defeat, nuzzling your cheek into his touch. “No more boxing. Not until it feels better, you hear me?” 

He smirks, dimple popping at your command but he nods nonetheless. “Course, whatever yeh say love.”

“Good.” You conclude, turning your cheek to press a kiss to his palm before you get up to get another kettle of tea brewing for him. 

He comes up behind you suddenly, hand gripping your bum and giving it a possessive squeeze. “Yeh know.. there’s something I can think o’ t’make my hand feel better..” He rasps warm into your ear, before smacking your bum with a cracking sound that overpowers the screaming kettle. 

Strip

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader
Summary: You agree to help Sirius study for his OWL’s, however what you failed to realise that tutoring the marauder was like babysitting. After various failed attempts, you finally find a way to keep Sirius somewhat focused and, interested.
A/N: NSFW ! ! ! 

Originally posted by your-harry-potter-imagines

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I'm Pregnant - Imagine

*Y/N’s POV*

Harry lay sprawled across my body, his chest resting between my split legs and his head resting on my chest, his recently cut hair tickling under my chin in such as way that I had to frequently flatten it down to reduce the irritation. Harry would bat my hand away each time, grumbling about how I was messing his hair up.

It was a Sunday afternoon, the bright but cold winter light glinted between the clouds and through the window, casting odd shadows across the floor. Harry had been home for several weeks, working on his new music and resting following the completion of a long section of filming, but he had yet to really make much use of his time off, instead he chose to invade my personal space as often as he could and in any way that he could, from lying on top of me as I relaxed on the couch, to creeping into the shower as I had my face under the water and my back turned. He still hadn’t spent any time with his family, a fact that Anne never failed to remind him of on her near daily phone calls:

“When are you coming to see me Harry?”

“Have you booked the train yet?”

“You’re Gran is asking me when you’re coming up, what should I tell her?”

Each question was brushed off with a casual “I’ll do it soon mum” which was enough to satisfy her in the beginning but an excuse which was quickly wearing thin. Something about Harry’s entire demeanour was different, he would pass the almost daily calls from his mother to me, “You deal with her” he would say before sulking out of the room, and his overly touchy-feely needs towards me were becoming more extreme than normal. It was like he could barely stand to be alone.

Harry exhaled a soft sigh from below me, letting his body relax further into mine as I realised my fingers were no longer batting his hair away, they were playing with the soft strand, tugging them gently and wrapping them around my finger before releasing them and repeating. His sigh was followed by a contented groan.

“Harry what’s wrong?” I asked gently, my fingers continuing their movement to try and coax him into talk, something he had been more than reluctant to do over the past couple of days, touching yes, hugging, kissing, sex, that was all fine, but talking was becoming more and more of a chore.

“Nothing” he said quietly.

“Don’t lie Harry, I know something’s wrong, why won’t you just tell me?” I asked. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“It’s my mum… she’s” his sentence was broken by the obnoxious ring of the phone echoing through the house, pulling us both from the moment and making me jump slightly.

“She’s calling the bloody house again” Harry grumbled, amending the ending to his unfinished sentence as he removed himself, reluctantly, from between my legs and padded across the room before scooping up the phone.

“Hello?”

He was quite for a moment as whoever was on the other end replied. I could already tell from the tension in his shoulders that the assumption that it was his mother was correct.

“Yes she’s here” he said, his eyes flickering to me momentarily before falling back towards the ground. He nodded once before thrusting the phone in my direction, leaving the room quickly as I answered.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Y/N, sweetheart it’s me” Anne chimed down the line, her voice, usually chipper, was lower and slower than usual, without the usual spark of energy it carried.

“Hi Anne, how are you?” I asked, shuffling in my seat to readjust the pillow behind my back.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?” She said, disregarding my question.

“Of course, what’s wrong?”

“Has Harry been a bit off with you recently, like has be been acting any different around you or towards you?” She asked. Immediately my tension was sparked, it was true that Anne was now calling on a near daily basis, but her conversations, if they could even be called that, with Harry never lasted more than a few moments, and even when they did the talking was mostly conducted from Anne’s end of the line.

“Yeah, I guess he has, he hasn’t been talking to me as much as usual but he is also being quite clingy. Has something happened?” I replied.

“Has Harry told you anything, even mentioned what is bothering him?” She asked.

“No he hasn’t said a word, which is odd he usually tells me when something is wrong”. I had shifted so that I was now sitting up properly, with my feet placed firmly on the carpet and one of my elbows resting against my leg, my head propped in my hand.

“I’m pregnant, Y/N”.

It took several seconds before the magnitude of what Anne had just told me registered. Anne was pregnant, as 47, with her third child, Harry’s new either brother or sister. My stunned silence must have lasted a beat too long as she spoke again.

“Y/N?” She asked.

“Yeah, no, I’m still here, sorry. I just… I mean wow, congratulations” I stuttered, unsure what the appropriate response should be, support Harry in his now obvious anger at the situation, or be there for Anne in what should be a very exciting time for her.

“I know it’s a bit of a shock, Robin and I just got talking about how people are having babies later and later now, and one thing led to another and here we are” she chirped, a hit of her old enthusiasm back in her voice.

“How far along are you?” I asked.

“About 8 weeks” she said.

“Wow, this is big news Anne. How’s Gemma taken it?” I asked.

“She was a little surprised which is no less than I expected, but then she was happy. She’s taken it better than Harry at least” she sighed. I hummed in agreement, Harry really wasn’t taking it well at all.

“I was hoping you would speak to him for me” she said.

“I don’t know Anne, this seems like something that should be discussed by the two of you” I hesitated, shaking my head slightly before I realised that she couldn’t see me.

“Please Y/N, he won’t listen, you know what he’s like. I was just hoping that you might be able to explain to him that this isn’t such a bad thing, him being a big brother and all, I know he’ll love it, you’ve seen what he’s like with other children. Please just try, for me?”. It took a little more convincing before I finally agreed. The gratitude flowed from Anne in quick waves.

“Congrats again Anne, this really is good news and I’m very happy for you both. Give my best to Robin” I said before we hung up.

“I will sweetie, thank you again. Bye” she beamed before hanging up.

I sighed as I hung up the phone as well before placing it on the coffee table in front of my and running my hands down my face.

“So this is ‘really good news’ then is it?” Harry asked. I jumped to my feet and turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded tight across his chest and brows furrowed low. I wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there but he’d clearly heard enough.

“Well, isn’t it? Your mum’s pregnant Harry”

“I’m well aware she’s pregnant” he spat.

“Harry stop, this is good news, you’ll be a big brother” I coaxed but clearly to no avail as he continued to glower at me.

“I don’t want to be a big brother, I’m fine with the way things are” he grumbled. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and frowned at him.

“You’re jealous. You’re jealous cause you think that this is going to take some of the attention off you. That’s it isn’t it?” I challenged. I was a little surprised, it wasn’t a surprise to me that Harry was a jealous person, often I would catch him glaring across rooms at boys would had looked at me the ‘wrong way’, but to find him jealous of a baby that wasn’t even born yet, who was barely even a person in his mothers womb, I wanted to laugh out loud.

“That’s not it” he said, the underlying anger that he had been suppressing for the past couple of weeks beginning to drip into his voice. He began to turn away from me to head upstairs.

“Then what is it then?!” I asked, my patience wearing thin with his indignant attitude.

“I’M JEALOUS BECAUSE THEY HAVE A BABY AND WE DON’T!” He yelled, spinning back to face me. “They have had three babies and we haven’t had one Y/N, I want one!” He cried.

I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish. I wasn’t surprised to find that Harry wanted children, it was something that I had suspected many times before, but never did I think his desire for one was as powerful as this.

“Why have you never spoken to me about this before?” I asked gently. Harry’s guard was crumbling, his arms fell to his sides and his gaze softened.

“’Cause I knew you’d say no, you’ve just finished Uni and you want to find a job and start your career, a baby would ruin that” he said.

“You should have at least spoken to me about it” I said. He shook his head.

“I knew you wouldn’t want one” he sighed. The corner of my lips twitched as I watched the defeated boy in front of me. I shook my head and walked towards him, taking both his hands in mine.

“You’re wrong” I said softly, my lips pulling up in to a smile as Harry gazed at me with a mixture of wonder and slight hesitation for fear this could all be too good to be true.

“Would you like to make a baby with me Harry Styles?”

************

Hey everyone, first imagine in a while. I hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think please!

-Steph

be still

it’s finally here!!! i expanded (maybe a bit too much) on this blurb and this is the final product. the blurb is incorporated into this version with some edits and added scenes between so even if you’ve read the blurb i wouldn’t skip over the parts you think you know because most of it is slightly different. also!! i made a playlist for this so if you’re interested in listening to it while reading you can do that. i’m really proud of this one so i hope you guys like it! please let me know ur thoughts!!

warning: smut (;

questions, comments, concerns.

masterlist

There were no words to describe just how much I hated Harry Styles. The way he dressed like an off duty model, the way he never cut his goddamn hair, the way he always got what he wanted. The way everyone practically worshipped the ground he walked on made me sick.

I had a more concrete reason for why I hated Harry, but that’s another story. Everyone thought I was just jealous of him, but I wasn’t. Why would I be? Sure, he was a great actor, but I was a great actress and we’d never really have to compete for parts. When he turned up at the theater a few years before, everyone quickly became enamored by him and the theater went from being mine to his.

But this isn’t about that. This isn’t the story of how I grew to hate Harry Styles. This is the story of how Harry Styles lit my soul on fire and made me feel something for the first time. This is the story of how Harry Styles gave me his heart even though he had absolutely no reason to.

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Running into your ex, Harry (AU)

Or when neither of you can remember why you broke up anyway, and it’s just dinner right?

Sundays are your favorite day. Sundays are meant for cozy snuggles, farmers markets, coffee shops and used bookstores. This particular Sunday you woke with a smile, already looking forward to the soothing sips of a hot coffee and smells of the old worn pages of books.

Today is one of the first days in months you feel a lasting feeling of happiness. Pushing up and towards the bathroom, you can’t help the little pep in your step.

Groaning as you catch a glance of yourself in the mirror, you shimmy your baggy pajamas off your legs and head towards the shower. As the water flows over your skin, your brain begins to wake up and plan the morning to come.

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WATERMELON & MINT [DRACO MALFOY]

request: “Would love a Draco x reader imagine where they’re best friends and they’re always really close and they smell each other in the amortentia? I know so original but your writing style is good so it’d be great for you to write a version of this imagine ?” — by anon

a/n: *badly impersonates professor trelawney* you have the markings of a true seer, my child! lol, but seriously, i was thinking about making an imagine like the one you requested, anon. and i am very pleased that someone asked for it bECAUSE THAT MEANS I’LL HAVE AN EXCUSE TO WRITE IT WAHAHAHA. also, i might have blushed when you said my writing style is good 💓 hope you enjoy! x

Masterlist + Request here!

“What took you so long?”

Those were the words you uttered just as your best friend, and probably the longest companion you have ever had, sat down beside you like he usually did in Potions. You noticed that his eyebrows were furrowed and he wore the scowl he had whenever he saw Potter — which you assumed was the reason why his features were all annoyed, since Harry was in the very same class right now.

Draco took out his textbook, “What took me so long? You’re the one who didn’t wait for me when I clearly told you that we’d meet at the entrance of the Great Hall before going here.”

A blush crept on your cheeks, clearly remembering that he indeed told you that before the two of you parted ways this morning after breakfast. Draco was looking at you with a disapproving look and all you managed to do was sheepishly smile at him, which made him roll his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” you whispered just as Professor Slughorn began his discussion about a potion that was called Amortentia. “I completely forgotten it because Ron had a question and —”

“Wait a minute. Why on earth are you on first name basis with that Weasel?” Draco hastily cut you off, turning his body so that he faced you while you still tried to listen to Slughorn’s boring introduction.

You glanced at him. “Because unlike you, I’m not a git, Draco.” you couldn’t help but plaster a smirk on your lips, making him scoff.

But truth be told, only you could insult Draco face to face and get away with it. You have been friends with him since you stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express, the compartment that he was occupying that time the only available place you could find to stay in. It still surprises you whenever you remember it because you were always under the impression that he was just as egotistical and snobbish as his father.

Well, he kind of still was, but whenever it came to you he wasn’t as bad as everybody claimed him to be. Draco was actually a very trust worthy friend, he was definitely someone you knew who could stay and tolerate your flaws and imperfections, and he has always been there for you in times of distress.

Of course, Draco undoubtedly felt the same, or else the friendship you had with him wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“Yes, now, well huddle up and divide yourselves into pairs.” said Slughorn with a peculiar smile on his face. “I’ll be giving each group a sample of Amortentia and you’ll have to be completely honest to your chosen partner what are the things that you smelled, alright? Okay, so, quietly fall in line …”

You shared a look with Draco and he nodded, standing up to get the mentioned sample from the professor for your own group. He was back in seconds, placing a tiny bottle on your working table containing a liquid that had steam rising in characteristic spirals. You leaned down closely to get a sniff, your nose wrinkling before turning to Draco.

“Seriously, Draco. How much cologne did you spray on yourself? I can’t smell anything besides it.” you tried sniffing again.

He pursed his lips together. “What do you mean? If there’s anyone overdoing something, it’s you. Your watermelon scented perfume is going to be stuck in my nostrils forever.” he chuckled.

Both confused by your own accusations to each other — since quite frankly, you didn’t bother to put on your perfume today and Draco had forgotten to apply his cologne — you and Draco leaned down once again to the bottle of Amortentia, determined to get a different scent other than the previous strong fragrance.

Draco glanced at you while you were still sniffing, casually moving closer so that he could familiarize himself again with the smell of your shampoo. He was still taking in the smell of watermelon from the potion, with two new additions: old books and now, your shampoo.

“What is it?” you questioned when he abruptly almost fell on his stool because of what he was beginning to discover.

“Nothing.” coughed Draco, changing the topic. “Er, what did you smell?”

You remembered the scent of fallen rain, the smell of mint, and the strangest of all, his cologne. You thought you were only catching the smell of it because of how close the two of you were sitting right next to each other. Clearly, you were mistaken and found yourself blushing at the realization that you were attracted to your best friend.

“You go first.” you insisted but Draco shook his head.

“No, no, ladies first.”

You snorted, “Please, Draco, we both know you hardly recognize me as a lady.”

“Girls first then.” he corrected himself.

“No, really, you go first.”

“Y/N, don’t be stubborn and just tell me —”

“Yes, I would, right after you tell me yours —”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Y/N — ”

“Mr Malfoy and Miss Y/L/N, do we have a problem?” Slughorn had appeared in front of your desk, a triumph smile on his face. “I can’t help but notice that your voices have increased in volume. May I know what’s the noise all about?”

“Nothing, professor.” both of you claimed.

Slughorn narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

“We were just about to exchange answers, sir.” you added.

He grinned. “Is that so? Well, tell them to the whole class then! I’m sure everyone is just as curious as I am.”

Draco’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Actually, sir, I rather not —”

“Ridiculous, Malfoy! Now, come on, tell us what you smelled.”

You have never seen Draco act so uncomfortable and embarrassed before as he stared at Slughorn, his cheeks tinted pink while he held this look as if he was silently praying that the time was up and they were now going to be dismissed for their next class.

He coughed. “I smell … old books, uh, watermelon, and … kind of like a bubblegum scent.” he murmured the last part, knowing that you were the only one that had hair smelling like bubblegum around the castle grounds.

“And how about you, Miss Y/L/N?”

“Fallen rain, mint, I think. And, well,” you caught Draco waiting for your answer, “um, some type of cologne.”

“Ah! How astonishing. I wonder who would be the lucky person to be wearing such a cologne …” trailed the professor, finally leaving his attention to the two of you and back to his own desk in front.

You and Draco were both silent on your seats, knowing in fact that you had smelled each other in Amortentia — a love potions that gave off a scent that you are most attracted to. In both of your cases, only now did the both of you realize that maybe all this time you’ve been with each other, the affection you showed weren’t precisely platonic as thought it was.

“So,” Draco was the one who had the nerves to speak after understanding, “it was my cologne, huh?” there was a hint of cockiness in his tone and when you peered at him, he had this genuine grin that only you had the chance to see.

“Excuse me, Malfoy, but two beats one. You smelled both my perfume and my shampoo.” you said a matter-of-fact.

You gazed at each other for what seemed like hours before breaking apart, your lips curled up in a smirk while the professor now discussed another potion, Felix felicis.

Suddenly, Draco placed a hand on top of yours nonchalantly, intertwining it with his as a bigger smile appeared on his mouth. He seemed to be very pleased of himself and you rolled your eyes, ignoring the heavy pace of your heart, knowing that this was going to be the beginning of something new and wonderful.

Anytime

Hello you lovely people! Here’s another one for you guys, based on this request:  OMG you should totally do a shot where Harry has some trouble getting it up….

Hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know what you think, love B xx

***

Originally posted by yves-saintharry

He’s tired. He is so tired.

There’s not enough sleep in this world that’ll help him get enough energy to get up and leave his house.

Harry’s been running himself ragged with all the studying and working he’s been putting in for this new role he’s got lined up.

Night after night, you find him with his face buried in books and scripts that look ratty and old from how much he’d fussed with it and scanned page after page with tired, sleepless eyes so he can prepare himself as much as he can for when they start shooting.

Add that to all the catching up with friends and visiting family and the time he tries and spend with you, his best friend, and that’s enough to have him dragging himself around, barely any energy to get up and make himself something to eat.

You’ve watched him neglect the gym shoes that are left in a corner of his bedroom way too many times for it to be healthy and you’re starting to worry wether or not this acting career of his is really worth it if it’s going to wear him down like this.

Expressing these concerns every time you walk through his door after running an errand for him because he’s too tired to function had become a routine. His only response now is to tell you he’ll “sleep when he can”, but you don’t see that happening any time soon.

“When was the last time you got out of the house?” You ask him, after a quick trip to the nearest Waitrose down the road, resting a bag full of ingredients so you can make him a decent meal.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, heels of his hands rubbing tightly against his tired eyes to push away the blurriness in his vision. “Can’t remember.”

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Why Ron/Hermione Argue

As some people might already know about me, I’ve never been one to shy away from a good debate. That’s a trait that I share with Hermione.

There are some people who don’t particularly like arguing or disagreeing. Some people genuinely do. Hermione falls into the second category, and since I do as well, I wanted to try to explain what’s up with all of the arguing between her and Ron.

I don’t think there are that many people who would say that she isn’t an argumentative person by nature. In addition to Ron/Harry, Hermione clashes with Lavender over her rabbit, Luna over her theories, Umbridge over Ministry rules, Snape over the lesson plans for Lupin’s DADA class, Professor Trelawney over Divination, Parvati over Divination, Draco over Hagrid/Buckbeak, etc. And she argues with everyone about house-elves. Hermione is argumentative, and that’s how she prefers it.

Hermione finds it intellectually stimulating to argue, and needs someone who’s going to argue right back.

Genuine Friendship

Hermione is not the sort of person who’s afraid of being the person reading the book while everyone else is having fun. When she fights with Harry/Ron in PA, she doesn’t buddy up with Lavender/Parvati or apologize to the boys just to have someone to sit with at lunch. She sits by herself in the common room and goes it alone. In other words, Hermione is not the kind of person who chooses a bad friend over no friend at all.

If she did not enjoy spending time with Ron, she would have no problem sitting on the other side of the common room reading a book while waiting for Harry to return. And yet, we constantly see her in Ron’s company, even when Harry’s not around.

In every book after CS, she arrives the Burrow/Leaky Cauldron/Number 12 before Harry does. Harry takes it for granted that Ron and Hermione will be sitting together when he shows up in the common room, but that’s not a small thing. In PA, the two of them return from Hogsmeade “looking as though they’ve had the time of their lives.”

Despite how much they fight, it’s very clear that Hermione genuinely enjoys spending time with Ron.

Comfort with Conflict

Harry was raised by the Dursleys, and sees arguing and conflict as associated with strife. He also doesn’t feel comfortable expressing his emotions, so he tends to bottle things up until they explode.

Hermione frequently nags Harry, which Harry does not particularly appreciate. He basically has three strategies when being nagged by Hermione. The first is avoiding/ignoring her, the second is lying to her, and the third is exploding at her. Examples of the first and second include occulmency, sneaking into Hogsmeade, his doubts over Dumbledore’s past, the egg clue, his homework, his feelings about Ron’s absence, Voldemort’s visions in DH, his grades, etc.

When he can’t lie/avoid/ignore, Harry will explode at Hermione. At which point the balance of power tilts sharply toward Harry. When Harry explodes, Hermione crumples. She will cry, shrink back, speak “in a small voice,” etc.

Nagging is simply Hermione’s style, and while she might learn to tone it down, it’s always going to be part of who she is.

The problem is that Hermione needs feedback. Because Harry doesn’t engage with Hermione’s nagging, it’s hard for her to know when she’s entering the danger zone.

Like Hermione, Ron is pretty comfortable with the idea of conflict. He was raised in a house where such behavior was acceptable. He knew that just because his mother shouts or his brothers tease doesn’t mean that they don’t love him. He might be insecure about his worth, but he never has to worry that his family will simply stop loving him if he crosses some kind of invisible line.

Both Hermione and Ron wear their emotions on their sleeves and give each other instant feedback. If Hermione is upset with the boys, she tells them exactly why. Ron is the same way. Even when Ron fights with Harry, he chooses to immediately engage with him that night rather than giving him the cold shoulder and forcing Harry to work it out on his own.

The conflicts over each other’s romantic partners (or potential romantic partners) are a good example as well. When Ron sees something developing with Hermione/Krum, he immediately reacts and Hermione reacts right back.

When Hermione sees that Ron has a crush on Fleur, she wastes no time talking about how Fleur “really thinks a lot of herself” and “scowls” when Fleur gives Ron attention. Hermione reacts to Ron kissing Lavender not by sulking but by sending a flock of birds flying at his head. Neither of them are great at hiding how they feel.

There is a brief period in HBP where Ron decides to give Hermione the cold shoulder after finding out that she kissed Krum. Hermione is quite visibly rattled and upset by this behavior, saying she “doesn’t know what she’s supposed to have done.” Because normally when Ron is upset at Hermione, he tells her why.

A lot of the problems in the later books regarding their romantic lives stem from the same thing - for the first time, they’re not being honest and upfront with one another. Which creates a comedy of misunderstandings and poor decision-making.

Arguing as Conversation

There’s not really anger between Ron/Hermione’s arguments. I know that sounds odd, but to them it’s a cross between a rational discussion and intellectual exercise. Ron presents an idea, Hermione counters, Ron counters, and so on and so forth. It’s basically just a way to pass the time and exchange perspectives.

The morning after Ron/Hermione’s heated argument about Krum after the Yule Ball, Harry notes that they were being “quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal.”

In other words, they’re bending over backwards to be polite to one another and it’s making things weird. It’s totally different from their normal behavior.

There are many times in canon where they will segue from an argument to a normal conversation with no visible ill-will.

Even with Scabbers and the Firebolt, when an argument is finished, it’s finished.

PA:

Hermione flung her arms around Ron’s neck and broke down completely.

Ron, looking quite terrified, patted her very awkwardly on the top of the head.

Finally, Hermione drew away.

“Ron, I’m really, really sorry about Scabbers…” she sobbed.

“Oh — well — he was old,” said Ron, looking thoroughly relieved that she had let go of him.

“And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now.”

They’re perfectly capable of stopping in their tracks in order to focus on Harry or something else that’s just happened.

For another example, look at OP:

“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots,” said Ron sagely. “Anyway I’ve always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape. Where’s the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?”

“I think Dumbledore’s probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn’t share it with you, Ron,” snapped Hermione.

“Oh, shut up, the pair of you,” said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back.

Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended.

“Can’t you give it a rest?” said Harry. “You’re always having a go at each other, it’s driving me mad.” […] The vision of Ron and Hermione’s shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction.

Ron/Hermione are shocked, offended, and angry at Harry’s remark, because they don’t see anything wrong with their behavior. This is just how they communicate.

Harry leaves the table and goes straight up to Divination, and Ron joins him a few minutes later:

The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. Ron emerged from the trapdoor, looked around carefully, spotted Harry and made directly for him, or as directly as he could while having to wend his way between tables, chairs and overstuffed pouffes.

“Hermione and me have stopped arguing,” he said, sitting down beside Harry.

“Good,” grunted Harry.

“But Hermione says she thinks it would be nice if you stopped taking out your temper on us,” said Ron.

“I’m not -”

“I’m just passing on the message,” said Ron, talking over him. “But I reckon she’s right. It’s not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you.”

So in a matter of minutes, Ron and Hermione resolved their argument and discussed the best way to handle Harry. Notice that Ron doesn’t actually apologize for arguing with Hermione, he just tells Harry they’ve stopped.

An Expression of Trust

When you get to know someone, you learn that there are certain things they’re sensitive about, and you try to steer away from those topics. This is no different with Hermione/Ron. They both know what’s safe and what’s off-limits.

Hermione can call Ron tactless numerous times and nag him to do his homework, but she’s not going to take a shot at his family’s finances. Ron will tell Hermione to stop nagging and call her a know-it-all, but he would never insult her appearance.

That’s how they operate. And Hermione knows that if she accidentally strays into the danger zone, Ron will let her know. And vice versa.

Keeping Things Balanced

The movies turn Hermione into this perfect superwoman and Ron into a cowardly idiot who’s the butt of the joke, but the truth is that both characters are flawed in their own way.

One of Hermione’s more abrasive qualities is her tendency to be a bit of a know-it-all.

To be clear, being a know-it-all is not the same as being smart. Being smart is knowing the answer. Being a know-it-all is being unable to resist telling everyone else the answer. Essentially the way that Hermione and Ron negotiate a balanced relationship is by Ron engaging her when she nags him or acts like a know-it-all.

Hermione cannot help telling Ron that he’s not pronouncing a spell correctly. Plenty of people are offended by that kind of behavior, even when the other person is right. But Ron, instead of ignoring her corrections or acting as though he’s been gravely insulted, just calls her a know-it-all to keep things even. This evens the scales between them and prevents their relationship from becoming Hermione bossing Ron around.

It’s important to understand that Ron does have a huge amount of respect for Hermione’s abilities. He’s not always the best about coming out and saying it, but he takes it for granted that she’s the cleverest person in the room.

PS:

“But we’re not six hundred years old,” Ron reminded her. “Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all.”

GoF:

“But Hogwarts is hidden,” said Hermione, in surprise. “Everyone knows that… well, everyone who’s read Hogwarts, A History, anyway.”

“Just you, then,” said Ron. “So go on - how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?”

When the O.W.L.s arrive and Hermione looks slightly unhappy and says that she did “not bad,” Ron takes the paper and announces that she got 10 Outstandings and 1 Exceeds Expectations and then playfully makes fun of her for being disappointed given how impressive her scores are. When Ron and Hermione take their apparition tests, he tells Harry that Hermione was “perfect, obviously.” Even when he himself fails, he doesn’t seem to bear any ill-will toward Hermione.

Ron’s not threatened by Hermione’s intelligence, and he’s not too prideful to do exactly what Hermione’s told him to do. But his teasing and his unwillingness to automatically agree with Hermione is what creates a balanced relationship between the two.

And Hermione genuinely needs this in a partner. She needs someone who will volley right back when she argues with them. She needs someone who will understand that her tendency to be a know-it-all is an instristic part of her personality. She needs someone who finds it endearing rather than annoying.

12. Harry Turns 23

a little happy birthday to the wonderful man that is Harry Styles. This is part 1. Part 2 should be out this weekend if all goes to plan, also be warned that there is some sexy stuff in this so if youre not comfortable reading it feel free to skip over it.

T x

EDIT: Part two is out. Its called ‘Cant Sleep’. There is also going to be a Part 3, although i cant tell you when thats going to be coming out”

It was early afternoon when you got the call from Gemma. You had been folding laundry and putting it away on a lazy Sunday. The flat had been empty with the exception of you for the entirety of the weekend as your flatmate, Nora, who you had known since starting at the same school aged 13, had been at home with her parents for the weekend, and Harry had been away in Los Angeles for the last week, and was returning tomorrow night.

Your phone rang the familiar ring tone and you stopped folding to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, (Y/N)! All good with you?” You heard an excitable voice through the line.

“Oh, yeah, yeah all good here! What about with you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Listen, Mum, Robin and I are planning on a long weekend away in the Maldives, with Harry for his birthday. We’ve booked this gorgeous villa, on a private beach” You nodded to yourself as you listened to Gemma talk. “It’s going to be so good. Anyway, Mum was wondering, and I think we all know that Harry would love it too, if you wanted to come?”

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anonymous asked:

hiii do u know any good auror!harry/healer!draco fics?

Sure, though one or two of these are past Auror!Harry, they still made the list bc i love them a lot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Hello, China! by Nattish (19k)

In a world where Voldemort has been defeated but the Death Eaters remain at large, Harry Potter is a war colonel leading a regiment across Muggle Eurasia. When he’s injured in the line of duty, he refuses treatment from anyone except Healer Malfoy, who is befuddled but perfectly willing to find out what this means.
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He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter.

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Harry’s idea for helping Draco study is the most brilliant thing he’s ever come up with, and Draco discovers that studying can be fun when one has the right study partner.

A Future Unknown by Omi_Ohmy (25k)
Draco had always thought that the ability to see the future would have saved him a lot of grief. The choices are no easier, however, when he is cursed to see an endless set of futures featuring Harry Potter. 
Featured Book: Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks

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When Healer Malfoy answers an Auror field emergency summons, being stuck experiencing Harry Potter’s memories while he sleeps is not at all what he wants to be doing, but it seems that the curse that joins them is only the tip of the crime about to be unravelled.

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Harry is hit by an unknown curse and loses eighteen years of his memories. When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember magic, Hogwarts or that he’s happily married to a former Death Eater. Draco struggles to adapt to the changes and tries to help Harry retrieve his memories without causing further damage.

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Harry was perfectly happy with his life until Hermione decided to set him up on a blind date. 

Doctor! Doctor! (Is this love I’m feeling?) by Khasael (20k)
For the first time ever, Harry agrees to seek medical help when he feels ill. His Auror colleagues are amazed, and most of the St Mungo’s staff are starstruck, but when it keeps happening, Draco suspects Harry has a hidden agenda. And he’s right.

Sex on Fire by Gypsyflame (11k)
A life-threatening injury brings Malfoy back into Harry’s life.

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Fight the Starless Midnight by Maab_Connor (21k)
Harry thought that he was going to arrest Healer Malfoy for practicing without a license. Nothing ever goes as planned.