When Neville was giving his speech in the Deathly Hallows movie, I had to fight SO hard not to laugh in the theatre. Not because of Neville’s speech, but because Voldemort’s wide toothed grin and laughter while Neville spoke just killed me. It just took me out of the speech, and I was focused solely on Ralph Fiennes being hilarious as Voldemort.
Hermione Granger has the bushiness of a raccoon’s tail
for hair and an air of ‘I’m-judging-you’ surrounding her. It felt like facing
Molly Weasley when she’s in the right, except in a perpetual state.
It was intimidating as hell for an eleven year old girl
and Ron Weasley already knew this was going to be a challenge.
The whole school already knew the Slytherin duo’s agenda
by now – bringing the second reckoning of the prankalypse since the Marauders
and Snape, who currently is drinking his way to sweet oblivion, fuck Dumbledore
and his ‘plans’ – and all the students practically sprinted themselves out of
the library to get away from the crossfire.
Which is a mistake and someone should’ve stalled the Weasley in his tracks and made sure
to never let these two particular first years meet, but oh well. They’ll know
So Ron sat down on the chair across from Hermione, the
setting innocuous and peaceful. Hermione’s brown eyes flickered upwards and
went back to her alarmingly giant sized book and snappishly flipped a page. Her
shoulders hunched inward, as if bracing herself for an attack.
“Is there something you need?”
Ron heard the impatience in her tone and laid down his
cards without hesitation.
“Harry and I need your help in beating Fred and George.”
Instantly, she looked suspicious and interested all at
once. A raven, eyes caught by the shiny object Ron was offering her. The
audible slam of her book closing shook the table, nearly spilling the inkwell.
“Why?” she narrowed her eyes, sharp as an owl. “You don’t
seem to need help.”
“We do.” Ron countered, unashamed. Pride has no place on
the battlefield. “Fred and George are a year older than us and they know every
inch of Hogwarts. They have the advantage, and are going to keep having the
advantage if it drags on.”
She raised a surprisingly thin eyebrow, the expression
eerily similar to a certain transfiguration professor. “I’m just hearing
reasons why you’re going to lose. Why do you need me?”
“Cause you’re smartest person in the school and you’re
not in Ravenclaw.”
Surprise and curiosity has her asking. “Why does it
matter if I’m not in Ravenclaw?”
Ron grinned, looking delighted that she’s asking all the
“If you’re the smartest person in the room and your bravery is even more recognized
that that, it can only mean you’re bloody amazing.”
Hermione, for the first time since coming to Hogwarts and
realizing that she’s as alone as ever in such a magical place, giggled. It rang
in the empty library and was high pitched from childish youth that was rare
coming from the mini-adult.
Later, after Ron stumbles out with all the grace of
someone who has just escaped being windswept by a hurricane, he plopped himself
in a chair next to Harry and tried to breathe.
think I’m in love.” Ron said dazedly, struck by lightning.
“Can’t wait for the wedding.” Harry responded idly, going
through his transfiguration homework like a madman.
Years later, nobody was even fazed by Ron’s declaration of
marrying one Hermione Granger-Weasley. Only the fact that it took so long and
that they hadn’t been married from the moment they met at all.
How can they, when the sixth time they played chess
together in the Gryffindor Common Room (nobody dared to kick Ron out) a few
weeks after they met, Ron reverently asked, “Marry me?” after she finally
toppled his king?
“Maybe.” She responded politely. “Mom always says I
should keep my options open.”
The fact Mrs. Granger was referring to her school
subjects and career, not her love life, was probably the case. But Hermione was
precocious as they come. And Ron Weasley wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Okay then.” He agreed, another business transaction occurring
without either realizing it. It’s how they work. “I’ll ask once every year then
until you give me a straight up yes/no answer.”
(It took until their early twenties and a war to have her
break the agreement and outright tell him she wanted to get married. Ron didn’t
really mind much.
Harry was both their best man and bridesmaid. It made for
an interesting set of clashing green and red robes for him to wear, though he
wore the heels on a dare.)
When the Golden Trio, as they were now being called these
days, snatched up unassuming Neville Longbottom, people had the sense to be
wary except for idiots like Draco Malfoy who mocked their chosen person.
They didn’t realize as Harry did that Neville had the
toughest skin you’ll ever find in the Gryffindor house. Anyone else would’ve
collapsed under the personality of Augusta Longbottom who even Black family
members were cautious of when she’s in a flurry. Temperamental, snappish, and
always judging Neville with close scrutiny that it was suffocating.
Put Neville in a quiet, tense environment and he’s a
nervous wreck. The Dungeons were cold and entirely too silent, not a word
spoken under the sharp eyes of Severus Snape. Neville is prepared to work under
constant nagging and deprecating words shouting in his ear. Snape’s smooth,
cutting remarks were a complete contrast to Augusta’s loud fury that it threw
Neville off more than enough times.
But when everything is loud and rowdy, chaos surrounding
him on all sides, Neville was a diving duck in water.
His awareness narrowed down, ignoring all sounds and
mocking insults once he gets absorbed in the things he’s good at or focused on.
The greenhouse was full of screaming, demanding plants that required constant diligence.
The greenery were visibly colorful in both behavior and looks. Nobody seemed to
understand that it was a minefield, not a set of instructions put on a board but
bartering trades with sentient creatures. A give or take relationship Neville
instinctively had a knack for with unpredictable, magical plants. He was a master
at working under pressure with a hundred living things demanding for his help
He’s not good with words. His hands, on the other hand,
speak another language entirely with coaxing actions befitting for negotiators
And Harry, who’s been gardening since he was six with
dull flowers who can’t talk back, noticed it all.
So one day, he separated himself from Hermione and Ron
arguing at the other side of the Gryffindor table and slithered in the seat
facing Neville. The round faced boy paled at the sight of him, Harry’s
reputation proceeding him.
“You’re Neville Longbottom, right? The one who’s really
good at Herbology?” Harry started earnestly, green eyes shining.
Neville looked completely taken aback by the compliment
and blushed furiously.
“Um, yes?” he squeaked uncertainly, glancing behind him
as if it was possible the raven haired boy was addressing someone else.
Harry grinned cheerfully. It was terrifying.
“Excellent.” He rubbed his hands gleefully like an evil
mastermind. Which wasn’t true. That’s Hermione’s job. “Because I wanted to ask
you for help.”
“Help?” Neville repeated, sounding more like an actual
plea for escape than imitating a talking parrot.
“Yeah, do you want to be our dealer? Since Professor
Sprout likes you so much.”
Of course, what Harry Potter meant was for Neville to
provide dangerous plants and maybe even ask for some assistance in
experimenting on them for any short-term affects that could be slipped into the
twins’ drinks or food. But out of context, the eleven year old was completely
unaware how it sounded in very different contexts.
Neville, however, surprisingly did.
The conversation spiraled from there until it finally
clicked what exactly Harry was offering, much to Neville’s staggering relief that
he wasn’t getting involved in criminal activities. His Gram would kill him if
But, well, this was for The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Savior of
the Wizarding World. And she said to make friends, so she would understand.
So against his better judgement, Neville Longbottom
became part of the group in not so legal ways.
Severus absolutely refused to admit how close he was to
jumping three feet in the air by the haunting nightmare that was Harry Potter.
Denial was a long, long river.
“Mr. Potter.” He said curtly, betraying nothing when
everything in him wanted to hide beyond a desk and hiss, ‘What do you want from me? Leave me to die alone and away from your
But he was a professional professor. And so he stayed
where he was and tried not to stare at familiar green eyes that were gleaming
all too familiarly for comfort.
“What’s being used to guard the third floor?” was Harry
Potter’s upfront, absurd question that broke the stereotype that Slytherins
didn’t know what blunt was until it hit them. Politics ruin people.
Clearly they’ve never met The-Boy-Who-Lived.
His mouth went on autopilot because sarcasm was an
addictive habit that won him the title of being an asshole/favorite character
(for some reason).
“Are your ears just decorations Mr. Potter? Or were you
too busy congratulating yourself and Mr. Weasley for grabbing the ranks of the
Slytherin House in the sole purpose to ruin other people’s reputations and
And sanity he wanted to add, but didn’t. It would feel
too much like admitting defeat.
Potter frowned, cocking his head to the side as if trying
to impersonate a rather curious bird. Just looking at him gave Severus a crick
in the neck.
“No, it’s not that.” The boy began, blatantly disregarding
his words and striding in without any censorship. “I figured since you hate me
and want me to get in trouble, you’d tell me.”
Severus stared at the boy’s backflipping sense of logic
and tried to find where he came up with such an abysmal train of thought. And
then he took in the expectant, completely oblivious look on Potter’s face that
mimicked Lily’s whenever she had asked uncomfortable questions to older
students into attempting to explain how such prejudice and close-mindedness is
allowed in the Wizarding World.
The Slytherin Head of House wistfully recalled how gleeful
he had always been from her pointed questions that left people stuttering and
ashamed, and felt like this was karma kicking him back in the arse.
“It doesn’t matter if I don’t like you Mr. Potter.” He gritted
out, shoving the redheaded girl in a box and burying it with a mental shovel. “You’re
a student, I’m a professor.”
James’s son dared to shoot him a bemused look.
“Yeah, exactly.” He said slowly, as if he has the thought
capacity of a slug. “Which is why I asked you since you know.”
Severus wanted to futilely argue against that inane
point, but screeched to a stop when something finally occurred to him.
“Why do you want to know in the first place?” he demanded
Potter lit up.
A spike of agonizing pain shot through the Potion Professor’s skull.
“Because if it’s dangerous, we can have point of
references to use in beating other people at their own game.” Potter was just
barely not implicitly stating the blasted Weasley pair’s names. Severus wanted
to thunk his head against the walls until he had a concussion even Pomfrey
couldn’t fix immediately. “And other than Fluffy, we don’t know what the other
do you know that?”
Potter blinked, confused. Severus resisted the urge to
“Well, it was sort of implied we’ve already tried going
in there,” which Severus probably would’ve noticed if he had been paying more
attention instead of covering up his wariness with bullshit fronts. “Hagrid
told us that Fluffy was his and there was a trap door he was sitting on. So, it’s
kind of obvious once Hermione pointed it out. If Hagrid left his own kind of protection,
then that means there must be other tests and stuff guarding whatever it is it’s
“Why were you on the third floor?” he struggled out,
half-impressed and half-bitter that some parts of Lily actually seemed to have transferred
to her son from how he had been able to work it all out.
“For fun. And we were really bored.” His tone heavily
implied the feeling ‘Duh’ rather
Severus narrowed his beady eyes at the Potter.
“So the only reason why you’re asking this is for
academic reasons and to win your petty little war against the school menaces?
You have no interest in what the school’s guarding?” he enunciated slowly,
“Not really.” His voice was drier than Severus’s nearly-empty
glass attitude. “I’m kind of too busy trying to win a war.”
Maybe the absurdity of it all was finally getting to him,
because Severus Snape burst into hysterical laughter and couldn’t find it in
himself to stop.
Okay, first, I am so happy that so many people loved this fic and am very flattered by it all. Seriously, thank you so much for the encouragement and comments, I love that this makes people laugh. Writing private headcanons that just keep extrapolating is my life now, haha. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, cause chaos I literally this fic’s agenda and I’m gleefully taking advantage of that.
- Draco scrubs the skin on his arm viciously every time he showers. The skin is always red and marked by scratches. He tries so hard to get the mark off of him. He wants to feel clean again.
- George can’t look in the mirror anymore. Not without remembering Fred. He smashes all mirrors in their home. He cuts his hair, he dyes it.
- Neville sees Nagini in his dreams. But in his dreams it reaches Ron and Hermione before he does.
- Harry has multiple wands all around his house hidden in places that only he knows. Beneath his pillow, beneath his bed, under the couch. Just in case.
- Hermione’s boggart is no longer failure.
- Draco and Blaise are afraid of fire.
- Someone accidentally calls George “Fred” once. No one knows who starts crying first.
- Headmistress Miverna Mcgonagall is fierce, powerful and kind. All first years are intimidated and amazed, she seems untouchable. However some nights she roams the school hallways and remembers every student she lost, every life that got taken away too soon, every soul that left them too early.
- Harry suddenly can’t stay in very small rooms. He feels trapped, his throat starts convulsing and his eyes sting.
- Hagrid still feels the weight of what he thought was Harry’s corpse in his hands. It haunts him.
- Hermione, Ron and Harry had gotten so used to spending months having one small meal per day that sometimes they forget they’re supposed to eat.
- Harry rolls in his sleep once and hits his forehead against the night stand on accident, when he wakes up with pain on his forehead his heart sinks and his whole body freezes. It isn’t until he sees the bruise that he’s able to calm down. Because Voldemort isn’t back.
- Ron dreams that he’s back in their tent, traveling and hiding, he’s changing the radio stations and he hears Ginny’s names as one of the victims.
- Molly always has “where’s Fred?” on the tip of her tongue, at all times.
- Harry spends the year post-war discovering who he is, what he loves, other than the Boy-who-lived and the Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World. Because there are things he never had time to think about, never had time to experiment, never had time to experience. Sometimes he wonders if coming back had been the right choice, because it hurt so bad on some days that he couldn’t take it.
- When Teddy is sad or scared and he’s crying, Harry tells him stories and shows him pictures of his parents, it’s then and only then that he calms down and his hair goes back to normal.
- Harry pulls back to himself when the date of his death nears every year, his friends do everything in their power to bring him out of it.
- Draco and Harry have talks about the war some nights, both saw what Voldemort was capable of, Harry in his dreams, Draco in his home. Both understand.
- Luna is quirkier and weirder than ever before. She always does everything in her power to lighten up the mood in the room when the silence is bitter and mournful. It’s like she can’t stop shifting and smiling and nervously twitching and saying random facts about things no one has heard of before. Everyone knows it’s her way of coping, of staying positive. So no one minds. It’s comforting.
- Harry gets the sudden desire to travel all over the world. Sometimes Ron and Hermione come with him, others he goes alone, once Neville joins him. Draco does too.
- Draco starts writing, he writes thousands of words on some nights and none on others. He’s good at it, too.
- Harry always, without fail, looks for Sirius’ constellation. He visits his grave too, tells him how things are going in his life, how he’s coping, how he isn’t.
- Hermione getting a tattoo of blooming pastel flowers on top of her “mudblood” scar, because she’s alive, many her friends are alive and she wants to remember that.
And maybe not all is well, maybe they have scars time cannot erase, but they’re together, their hearts are still beating, so it’ll be okay. They’re going to be okay.
Concept: a movie theater that only shows Harry Potter films. The movies will be in 4D. The temperature will drop when dementors are present. Fans will blow on you during quidditch scenes. Enticing smells will be pumped in during feast scenes but don’t worry about feeling hungry because the theater will serve Bertie Botts, treacle tart, drumsticks, butterbeer, chocolate frogs and those tiny little pies that Mrs. Weasley makes. Instead of loyalty cups, you get discounts if you wear a Weasley sweater.
if you’re ever feeling down just remember that Arthur Weasley would NOT BE ABLE TO CONTAIN HIMSELF IF HE MET YOU. literally, your phone: how does it work? what does it do? why do you have to tap it? why are you tapping so fast? wHY DOES MY FACE HAVE DOG EARS ON IT?? WHY AREN’T THEY THERE IN REAL LIFE? ONLY ON THE SCREEN? WHAT IS HAPPENING?? MOLLY I NEED ONE OF THESE DEVICES
Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him.
What if Atlantis is just a Greek wizarding school.
Muggles originally knew of the island in Ancient Greek times, but then as new spells and magic was created, muggles thought it sank/mysteriously disappeared, after anti muggle spells were cast on the island to hide the school.