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camelliacats · 2 years

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a (near) change of heart

A bonus entry in the Stranger series. :D (Call it #2.5! XD)

Fic: "a (near) change of heart" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: established!Fenrir Greyback/Eloise Midgen

Rating: K+

Words: ~1,500

Additional info: romance, cross gen, AU fic, sequential, Next Gen era, 3rd person POV

Summary: While living their life on the run, Eloise brings up the topic of Dark magic. Fenrir has his own opinions.

He could smell the rain coming before the first drops fell from the stone-colored sky. When the drizzle began, though, it noticeably hit Eloise's barriers as she walked the perimeter of their newest, small encampment in the opposite direction from him. But then the rain passed through as her magic took hold and the wards held, invisible shields to guard them so that they might catch their breaths.

"There's still such a chill in the air," Eloise mumbled as she joined Fenrir at his side and drew her cloak's hood up.

"Because it's barely spring," Fenrir huffed. "The final snow was last week."

She frowned but didn't argue further. Instead, she cast a Drying Charm as well as a Repelling Charm to keep the rain off them, and she mustered a smile for him when Fenrir reached for her cheek, wiping a stray droplet there.

The sight gave him pause, and Fenrir idled there with her for an extra heartbeat. He'd growled at her countless times before, that a life on the run was his life, that she couldn't possibly keep up…yet, here she was, still here and still smiling. They'd been on the run together for near three weeks after their close-call with the young werewolf wildling in that village not far from her home. They'd made camp five times now, amidst various backdrops and slightly warming weather.

But changing weather was nothing in the face of changing seasons and settings—countries, if they kept with his plans. Fenrir would be impressed, truly, if Eloise made it to a month with him in this world outside her cottage.

On that thought, Fenrir broke away from her and scanned the thin trees around them. "Time to hunt."

Eloise caught his arm just as he turned to bound away. "Fenrir, wait!"

He stared at her, halfway to a scowl.

"It's just—we're not far from a main road into town."

"Which is precisely why we'll move again in the morning."

"I meant"—she settled him with a stern gaze and pursed lips—"try not to enjoy yourself too much tonight."

As if he needed to be told! Fenrir rolled his eyes, didn't bother reminding Eloise that he was acutely aware of the Ministry's pursuit of him, and patted her hand once before prying it from his arm. Then he darted into the tree line while Eloise stayed behind to set up the rest of their camp.

Sometimes, Fenrir had the stray thought to regale Eloise with certain tales, to highlight his lack of incompetence around Muggles. …but, always, he stifled the fleeting desire. Just because he hadn't scared his witch off yet didn't mean he wouldn't bring up the wrong tale of his past deeds. And he'd…grown accustomed to having her in his life.

While that was a strange enough thought, Fenrir grimaced to himself, not daring to think of what might need be done if she ever stopped being part of it.

Fenrir kept low to the ground, darting after lithe but juicy prey. Rabbits were still especially frightened at this time of year even with the fear of winter behind them, and the chase they gave helped him expend some of his wolfish energy.

Back at camp, Eloise tended the fire and kept quiet while she prepared the three rabbits Fenrir had captured. She paid him no mind, the way Fenrir relaxed and eyed her while she worked—that was common for them, not just in the past weeks but from before that, from their days at her cottage. But this evening her right foot tapped against the damp, packed earth, her knees twitching as she used a Slicing Charm to skin and prep dinner.

The werewolf crossed his arms in front of his chest and frowned. He'd seen this before, these last few weeks. Eloise got antsy sometimes, whenever they were close by to people. Was it a longing? For some semblance of community? Despite Eloise's old hermit habits, she'd still ventured into villages to do business, so—

Eloise interrupted his inner musings when she met his eyes. She waved her wand, cleaning herself up now that the rabbits were roasting by the fire. "You're certain you weren't seen?"

He tucked his arms in more tightly. "I know how to stalk and hunt," he snarled.

She blanched. Just as suddenly, color rushed to her lightly scarred cheeks, and she nodded. "It's…not actually you I'm worried about."

He furrowed his brow at her.

Since he didn't make another irritated sound, Eloise inched closer, beside him on a log he'd dragged close to their fire. Despite their proximity, Eloise frowned. "I'm just wondering if my magic's enough."

Now he really didn't know where her mind had gone. "I know I've called you 'daft,' but—"

Eloise mustered a smile and shook her head, leaning against his right side as if assuring him that his words hadn't made her stupid. "I'm just concerned. Most of what I know is defensive, Fenrir."

He wouldn't've guessed that, given the power behind her Blasting Curse nearly a month ago. "So? Learn offensive magic, then."

Eloise licked her lips. The fire crackled as she took a breath before coming back with, "…even the Unforgivables?"

For the second time that evening, she gave him pause, this time with her surprising words. How often he kept Eloise and Dark things separate in his mind—yet, also for the second time tonight, here they were, intermingling.

Eloise raised her dark eyebrows at Fenrir, waiting for a response.

He sat up straighter and unfurled his arms, his hand resting by her thigh. "Why bring it up now?" No, that wasn't what he wanted to ask. He twisted his lips around as he replayed her words in his mind and pictured her hesitation. Fenrir stared at Eloise. "You've never asked my permission before. Though you've heeded well warnings about sticking close to camp." He didn't bring up how she'd gotten good at watching the lunar cycle, too, and knew when to stay put when the Moon was full and Fenrir put distance between them.

She hummed at that, resting her head against his shoulder. "It's been on my mind for a little while now…"

Clearly. Though he didn't remark aloud, Fenrir exhaled, the sound coming out somewhat harsher than a sigh but not as gruff as one of his growls.

Eloise turned her face in toward his arm, and he could feel her smile, briefly, against him, even through his travel cloak's sleeve. "Being with you has given me a lot to think about, Fenrir. That includes those kinds of magic—not that I'm looking for a discussion about your past," she tacked on quickly. Her hand found his on the log, and she brought it up onto her thigh and laced their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze, reminding him that she wasn't scared of the claws ending his fingertips.

He shook his head. "Then why?"

"Well… I wonder if every user of such magic always had evil intent at heart. We don't call it 'Evil magic' but Dark magic." Eloise paused and faced the campfire. "Given the right threat, the right dire circumstances, I believe anyone could be capable of wielding such magic."

Fenrir peered down at her. With her attention elsewhere, he caught the glint in her eye—one that reminded him of a den mother, baring her fangs. He fought a thrilling shiver that wanted to sprint along his spine and once more shook his head, tugging Eloise's hand crosswise so that he could pull her into his lap. "Don't concern yourself with Dark magic, Eloise," he mumbled into her ear, pressing his nose into the swept-back hair by her nape.

But neither that opinion nor his ministrations were enough to satisfy her. She twisted her head up to gawk at him.

"I've…been wolf longer than man, feels like. But that's not always a bad thing. And I can smell the taint Dark magic leaves." He frowned, thinking of the Dark magic that made werewolves, werewolves, but he just as easily dismissed the thought—especially since being a wolf had its perks, and he wouldn't trade those for anything. But how to get his main point across to her…? "It's not difficult to be around until it builds up," he finished with a sigh. But that, too, got him thinking, of times he'd spent around Bellatrix Lestrange or the Dark Lord himself, and Fenrir's frown deepened to a grimace as he went silent.

Eloise, too, turned quiet, much like before. They sat for a bit in silence, watching the flames lick at meat and crisp it. Then she ventured, "…so, you're saying you don't want to see me change?"

Her interpretation caught him unawares. This damned woman…! He blinked and huffed, unwilling to concede, choosing instead to squeeze her tighter, flush, against him.

And Eloise leaned into the gesture and relished the contact, all the while chuckling at her wolf's nonverbal admission.

;w; They heal my heart so…! TTwTT It's been a few yrs since "The Sound of an Amorous Stranger" came out and I am working on getting the final entry, "The Sound of Homecoming," done so we can all enjoy those feels, but I was recently thinking about Elfen quite a bit and I think I had this idea in a dream…??? Idk! Anyway, this is set btwn "Distant Stranger" and "Amorous Stranger," and (dw not spoiling for "Amorous Stranger"!) a Certain Thing™ in "Amorous Stranger" got me thinking about Eloise's interest/willingness ever to use Dark magic. Tbqh, I don't rly see her using it, outside of the war or, as she says here, other dire circumstances… Honestly, she kinda has a point?! (Kinda like with Molly and Bellatrix in DH.) So! But I like this idea that Fenrir also wouldn't want to see her change so much, so have some hcs~ AHHHH, now I have major feels, so hopefully I can complete "Homecoming" in short order now!

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#hp #harry potter #elfen #fenrir greyback #eloise midgen #<2500 #romance #cross gen #au fic #sequential #next gen era #rated: PG #3rd POV

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le-amewzing · 2 years

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;D Been about 10, 11 yrs since I last drew Elfen, but I have an ongoing personal project to update all my designs for the HariPo charries, canon, fanon, and OCs alike, and working to conclude the Stranger series meant I rly needed to have solid designs for what the Midgen twins would look like when they're a bit older, given they were newborns in "The Sound of an Amorous Stranger." :'3

Notable traits Deimos & Phoebe inherited from their parents in this universe include:

dark hair, sloped eyes, button noses, & softened jawlines (all from Eloise)

widow's peak, faintly pointed ears, & black-rimmed blue eyes (from Fenrir)

Materials: Ballpoint pen and washi tape. Click to zoom! -w-

***No reposting allowed; no re-uploading allowed–please reblog this link instead***

#hp #harry potter #elfen #eloise midgen #fenrir greyback #OCs #phoebe midgen #deimos midgen #mew's art #headcanons

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eggmacguffin · 2 years

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Rowling: Men can be morally complex but women cannot; they are either good or bad (and ugly) or annoying (and ugly). Being a mother overrides any inherent badness and automatically makes you a good person unless your child is also ugly (and annoying). Hope this helps :)

#i grew up with an incredibly abusive mother who despised me so sorry if I'm not *touched* by your moving narrative :)#I've been thinking about harry potter recently and it is so bonkers bananas about gender considering it's by a self-proclaimed feminist #i am still baffled at the existence of the character Eloise Midgen #(did i spell that right?)#a off-screen character who existed for the sole purpose of having our three heroes crack jokes about her weight and bad skin #em chatter

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bibliophiiles · 1 year

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location: malfoy manor participants: benedict bagshot & eloise midgen ( @dvcklinq )

“why hello eloise,” benedict greeted his employee with a wide smile as he came to a stop in front of her, “it’s lovely to see you,” he concluded with a nod of his head. he decided against mentioning his surprise in seeing her - figuring it could be seen as rude. “can i get you a drink?”

#❝ ʜᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ — ⟪ conversation ft. eloise midgen ⟫#❝ ʜᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ — ⟪ conversation ⟫#nox.event032

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violetica · 2 years

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“ Confía en mí, he trabajado duramente por esta poción. Tras algunos intentos fallidos puedo decir que es la mejor que he hecho ” convencida de lo que está hablando. “ Te ayudará para desinflamar y eliminar los signos de fatiga. Las ojeras son terribles y no nos estamos haciendo más jóvenes, ¿eh? ” ⭒ ♡ para @afftcrglow ♡

#╭ how can I love something that isn’t ruined? ╮ ෆ eloise midgen ෆ #afftcrglow #eloise se dedica al skincare mágico asies

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emeritusemeritus · 7 months

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Since never. [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: Since Never.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader (background George Weasley x Angelina)

Timeline: GOF, McGonagall’s dance class.

Summary: George meddles and Fred finally finds the courage to ask you to the Ball, not liking the idea of anyone else taking you. Inspired by TikTok, based on movie canon.

Warnings: Friends to lovers, minor kissing, harmless pranks. A load of fluff. Fred has a crush.

I’m thinking of writing a part two to this, but it would most likely just be self indulgent fluff 🤍

"You know," George whispers into his twin's ear, trying to get Fred's attention whilst also trying to stay under McGonagall's radar as she addresses the Gryffindor students all huddled into one large classroom. The Triwizard Tournament and the associated Yule Ball had been announced the day before and as head of house, Mcgonagall had been tasked with teaching her students the traditional Waltz. The girls were seated on the left side of the room whilst the boys were seated on the right, kept separate for now as they listened to her explaining the ins and out of the tournament and the ball.

George leans forward to whisper once again to Fred who stands with his arms folded, watching in amusement as Filch hopelessly fiddles with an archaic megaphone, trying to get it to work. "Lee told me this morning that y/n's going to the ball with Cedric Diggory."

Fred's head immediately whips round with a face of utter horror as he turns to his brother, before briefly diverting his eyes over to you on the other side of the room and then returning his gaze to George.

"What, since when?"

"Since never," George smirks dangerously as he takes in Fred's rather apparent distaste to his words, his dismay and disappointment etched right across his face. "But your reaction just told me everything I needed to know."

Fred huffs and slinks back onto the windowsill where he'd been leaning feeling a little embarrassed at being caught out so easily by his twin. His crush on you was one of the only secrets he'd ever hidden from his twin, though apparently rather unsuccessfully, never wanting to be teased about it. You'd all been friends for so long that he never wanted to make things awkward by admitting his feelings and so he'd kept quiet for nearly two years of loving you secretly and silently.

"You should ask her," George says, leaning in once again. Fred doesn't reply, at least not verbally, but instead shoots his brother a fierce look that tells him to back off.

"Something may be about to burst out of Eloise Midgen, but I don't think it's a swan," Fred hears Ron mumble to his surrounding classmates, their eyes all sneakily turning to look at the girl in question, who shifts uncomfortably where she stands, unaware that half the boys of Gryffindor are looking at her. Fred's gaze doesn't linger long, instead finding you in the crowd, whispering with Angelica seated beside you as Hermione shoots you both a chastising look from the other side, clearly trying to listen intently to Mcgonagall.

Your hair is down now, not tied up in a high ponytail like it had been at breakfast. Your legs are neatly crossed in your seat, your school skirt revealing an appropriate but delicious amount of leg that Fred can hardly look away from. You're effortlessly beautiful, or at least you are to him, never looking better than when you are laughing and joking with your friends like right now. Sat surrounded by only the girls, Fred thinks it seems to to enhance your beauty, the prettiest face in a sea of girls.

"Mr Weasley."

Fred immediately looks up upon hearing his title called out as it so frequently is, though he's mightily relieved when it appears McGonagall was addressing his younger brother Ron, no doubt hearing him muttering.

"Will you join me please?" She asks, moving towards where he sits with an outstretched hand. The tone of her voice leaves no space for refusal as she tentatively reached out for his jumper and pulls him up of the chair, moving to stand in the middle of the room. The boys all make teasing noises as he stands, dragging his body over to Mcgonagall, feet hardly shuffling on the floor.

"Place your right hand on my waist," she says, opening her arms for him.

"Where?" He asks utterly horrified. Everyone looking on watches with sadistic amusement at his predicament. Fred can barely contain his delight at the scene before him, watching with utter glee, just like his twin beside him.

"My waist!" Mcgonagall replies, grabbing Ron by the sleeve and firmly placing his arm on her waist.

Fred heard a wolf whistle from the other side of the room and looks at you just in time to see your hand pull away from your mouth, clearly having been the perpetrator. The looking of delight on your face mirrors his own as you each catch each others gaze and he thinks just for a second that if he didn't love you already, it was firmly cemented now.

Ron turns and shoots you a look but you simply wink at him with a dung-eating grin before he is dragged back to focus on the professor.

"Mr Filch, if you please," Mcgonagall commands, prompting the caretaker to drop the needle on the record player, flinching only moments later as the speaker begins to crackle, before a signature waltz pours out.

"One two three, one two three," Mcgonagall starts counting as she leads Ron into a waltz, showing the steps that were specific to the champion's waltz.

Fred and George had been goofily dancing along with the music, hardly taking their eyes off of their embarrassed brother when Harry calls over to them.

"Oi!" Harry says, gesturing for Fred and George to come closer. They move in perfect unison and never take their eyes off Ron as they listen to Harry.

"You're never going to let him forget this are you?"

"Never," the twins say in synchronised perfection with identical smirks before leaning back slinking away to lean on the window as they had before.

"Everyone, come together!" Mcgonagall says from the centre of the room, finally pulling away from a bright red Ron to gesture everyone forward. The boys make no effort to move forward, clearly not wanting to participate whereas nearly all of the girls leap forward in excitement, waiting in a line to be picked.

Fred watches as Angelina drags you up, noticing that you had not leapt forward with the rest of the girls and he has to hide a snicker at seeing your disgruntled face, evidently not as keen to dance as your female classmates.

"Boys! On your feet!" Mcgonagall claps, getting the boys to also move forward. Neville stands first, followed by a few stragglers but no one moves forward until Fred steps out of line and whilst ignoring the looks from his twin and fellow Gryffindors, marches straight over to you.

"May I have this dance mi'lady?" He says dramatically with a bow of his head, extending his right hand to you.

"You may mi'lord," you laugh, placing your hand in his. He drags you over to the dance floor and places his hand on your waist just as he'd seen in the demonstration and with surprising precision, pulled you further away as he began spinning you. Your laugh echoed through the classroom even over the music as Fred span you around and around, completely ignoring the choreography until Mcgonagall shouted over and warned you both.

He seemed, for once, to heed the warning and pulled you closer into his chest then, placing his hand back onto your waist as he held you close, managing to quickly pick up the footwork that was needed for the waltz.

It was so intimate and romantic that you had to remind yourself frequently that this was Fred you were dancing with, knowing that he was out of bounds on account of your friendship with him and his siblings.You had to resist the urge to rest your head on his chest as you danced, enjoying the closeness as you half watched the rest of your house dancing around you.

"Do you have a date to the ball yet?" You hear Fred ask as he dances with you, hand resting on your lower back after lifting you in perfectly sync with the music.

"Not yet," you say, looking up to see him watching you with an intensity you couldn't place. "You?" You ask, temporarily breaking your eye contact as he clutched your waist, lifting you again and then taking your waist and your hand to spin you, just as the champions waltz demanded. He didn't verbally reply but instead shook his head with a frown before pulling you in closer and spinning you with more intensity which had you laughing again.

"Y/n," Fred says as he looks down at you, pausing his movements to speak but he's interrupted by Mcgonagall calling time on the dance class. She begins addressing the room of students on details of the ball and you all listen intently until she dismisses the class. When you turn back to Fred you notice he'd joined George and was already walking out the door, bag slung over his right shoulder. Angelina joined you, bringing you your bag as you said goodbye to Ginny and Hermione before walking to your next class together.

"You and Fred looked rather close," Angelina says as you place your bag onto your shoulder.

"He's my best friend Ange," you say, nudging her shoulder and rolling your eyes, pretending that you hadn't enjoyed it quite as much as you did.

"Has he asked you to the ball?" She says, not even flinching.

"No and I doubt he will," you say with a forced huff of a self-deprecating laugh.

"I hope George asks me," she says longingly as you turn the corner towards the charms classroom, instantly falling silent as you see the two brothers you'd been discussing already standing in the doorway to the classroom.

George looks over and smiles at you both, mainly Angelina as he beckons you over and you don't hesitate wiggling your eyebrows at her once he looked away, causing her to nudge you forcefully right back. You momentarily loose your balance from the unexpected nudge and as if on instinct, Fred's arms reach out to catch you.

"Falling for me princess?" He smirks, causing you to roll your eyes.

"You'd love that Weasley," you counter once you'd steadied yourself, seeing that George and Ange had already taken their seats.

"Ladies first," Fred says, opening his arms to gesture for you to go through the doorway first and you send him a sarcastic smile of gratitude before taking your seat next to Ang, in front of Fred.

Throughout the class you were desperately distracted, barely even listening or taking notes. thinking of your dance with Fred earlier and how he'd marched directly over to you ahead of all the other boys. You hoped that he was going to ask you to the ball, though you knew it would just be a pipe dream. Hopefully someone would ask you, even just as friends.

A piece of scrunched up parchment hits you square in the head, making you look round with a glare. Fred immediately smiles widely at you, if not a little sarcastically before he sends another note over to you with his wand, a little origami bird flying over your shoulder and onto the desk in front of you. Your eyebrows knit together in questioning as you look up at him again but he simply raises his eyebrows as if to say 'read it' and you turn and unfold the note delicately, shooting a quick look towards the professor to check that they weren't watching you.

'Black lake 7pm?"

You turned around, still looking confused but when you saw Fred watching you eagerly, you nodded with a little smile. He smiled back, winking at you before dropping his gaze back down to his work.

You secretly nudged Ang beside you and gestured with your eyes down to the little note, seeing her eyes bulge comically as she let out a little silent squeal of delight once she reads the note. She looks at you excitedly and wordlessly nods, as if thinking the same thing.

It's 6:50pm and you hadn't seen Fred or George at dinner which was unusual to say the least. Angelina and Harry had been there so it wasn't a Quidditch thing, which only confused you more. You made your way out of the castle utilising one of the secret passageways that you'd taken multiple times with the twins to avoid being seen, climbing around the statue of Gregory the smarmy and slipped down into the passage, walking the length of the little corridor until you could hear water rippling. You climbed up the little rocky steps and found yourself looking out at the Great Lake, beside the rocky cliffs that hid you from sight.

"Evening," you a voice called out from behind you, making you turn and frown. It was hard to see in just the moonlight with the shadows of the cliffs creating even more darkness, but you immediately sensed that something wasn't right. The person jumped down from where they had been perched on the rock and as they moved closer their long red hair and wooden jumper emblazoned with an 'F' came into focus.

"Hi, Fred," you said unconvincingly, looking at the bloke in front of you.

"Glad you could come gorgeous," he says, shifting to stand next to you. You couldn't help but observe him, looking at his features with subtle glances and questioning eyes.

"It's pretty out here tonight don't you think," he says with a shy smirk, though his eyes focus entirely on you as he speaks.

"Uh yeah, really pretty." He seems to briefly notice your lack of reply and casts a glance up at your eyes before looking away, focusing his attention on something to the right for just a moment.

"I've been thinking a lot about our dance earlier," he says shyly and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes now that it's all added up in your mind.

You gesture for him to move in closer, placing your hand on his shoulder as he leans down so that you could whisper in his ear.

"We didn't dance earlier," you say bluntly though with humour behind it, picking up a rock and trying to skim it on the water.

"Eh?" He asks, turning quickly to look up at your face in surprise, taken aback by his words.

"I danced with Fred earlier. Where is he anyway?" You ask quietly, raising your eyebrow at him, foiling his plan. He barks out a loud laugh at your discovery and you immediately see the performance drop from his body as he slinks down to his regular stance, once again being himself. He subtly nods his head to the right and your eyes light up in glee as you lean back over to him.

"Want to mess with him?" You ask with a suggestive wiggle of your eyebrows. George's eyes immediately light up as he nods, a smile tugging at his lips already.

"You know I've been thinking about our dance a lot too," you say flirtily and a little louder now, ensuring that whenever Fred was, he would hear you. You even lean over to touch George on the arm as you speak, your body language changing as you play heavily on the flirting.

"Oh really?" He says, playing along with a concealed smirk.

"Mmm," you hum, tracing your fingers up his arm with exaggerated movements so you knew that Fred would see them if he was watching. "I spent the whole dance really hoping you were going to kiss me," you said innocently and you immediately have to bite your lip as you and George share a little silent laugh.

"What a coincidence," he says, trying to sound like Fred, "I was thinking the same thing."

"Are you thinking about it now?" You ask, reaching to play with his collar, your voice seductive and airy as you pull out all the stops. "Maybe you could give me a demonstration of exactly what you were thinking about."

All of a sudden you hear a few loud shouts and a shuffle as another figure comes into view, quickly making their way down the rocky cliffs and running comically with waving arms, straight over to stand between you and George, who are both now in hysterics. Fred immediately notices the two of you laughing and freezes in confusion before realising that he'd been played.

"When did you figure it out?" He says, sounding aghast at you seeing through their little scheme.

"The second George said 'evening'," you chuckled, straightening back up and laughing again as Fred and George begin to squabble about who's fault it was.

"Anyway, have fun you two," George says with a wiggle of his eyebrows before walking down the steps to the concealed passage, leaving you and the real Fred alone.

"You know that doesn't work with me," you say, turning to him with a smirk on your face, seeing him already looking at you and shrugging with a playful grin. "Why did you swap?"

"Needed to know you could tell us apart," he says with a cheeky grin that makes you frown, silently questioning him. "Gonna need to know which one's your date to the ball aren't you. Can't have you dancing with the wrong bloke."

Your eyes immediately widen and a smile beams across your face as his words register with you. He chuckles, seeing your reaction before dramatically getting down on one knee as if he was proposing.

"Y/n, would you do me the honour of being my date to the Yule ball?" He asks seriously, holding out his hands as if he was presenting you with a ring. You giggle and let out a little squeal before lunging at him, knocking you both to the floor.

"I might be wrong but I think that was a yes," he chuckles.

"Yes! Yes you great oaf," you reply with a smile, feeling completely elated. His smile matches yours as he pulls you down onto him and suddenly there's a tension that falls between you both at the intimacy of the moment.

"Still thinking about that kiss?" He asks, a nervousness falling across his features that you had so rarely seen. You don't reply, at least not verbally and give a small, shy nod as you look at his lips in anticipation, thinking of nothing else.

Not a moment passes before he leans up, gently pulling you down until your lips meet, his soft lips pressing gently against yours. After just a few seconds, his hands hover over your waist before he seems to find the courage to hold you, placing his hands on your waist and hip as the kiss deepens, lips working completely in sync as you sink deeper and deeper into eachother.

You pull apart a little while later and both giggle shyly at what had just happened. Fred never takes his hands away from your waist, even as he gently manoeuvres you until you're lying down on him, head on his shoulder as you both look up at the star filled sky, a comfortable silence falling between you as you both replay the moment in your heads over and over again.

#emeritusemeritus #harry potter #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #yule ball #goblet of fire

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 1 year

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we are who we are // fred weasley

Summary: You feel you’re unworthy of love, and Fred proves you’re wrong.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: mean comments towards the reader, self-esteem issues, angst with a happy end

A/N: As always, please remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @coffee-jelly544 for proofreading this!

main masterlist

You stormed out the Great Hall, running through the corridors ignoring the glances other students were giving you. You stumbled toward your usual spot, your favorite tree. You liked how it lifted his branches to the sky as if his mere existence were enough to drive away the gloom and command the sun to shine on his waxy leaves. His bark glistened like the perfect type of gold, the kind that lifts the mind to dizzying heights of imagination, opening doorways to wondrous realms. It was no surprise that you went to the tree when your spirit needed to recharge; the touch of the trunk and thick branches felt like a hug from the gods above. This time, though, was different. You couldn't get the pain to go away even as you slid down its trunk into a curled position, tears flowing down your cheeks.

Your mind was filled with the echo of his nasty remarks. Again and again. Never stopping. Mocking you. Making you feel stupid. Aiming to hurt you, even if he didn’t know you were listening.

“Y/N? She’s a freak.”

“Have you actually seen her?”

“I’d rather shag Eloise Midgen, than ever go on a date with her.”

You knew you weren’t the best looking girl at Hogwarts, and you weren't going to win a beauty pageant anytime soon, but you liked to think you were passable to the eye. Perhaps you were mistaken. Maybe you needed to do more than remove your glasses and put on makeup to grab Michael Corner's attention. Or any guy’s for that matter.

As the years went by, you witnessed your friends get boyfriends, and go on dates, while you remained the supportive friend in the background, giving them advice and helping them get ready for their dates, staying in your dorm waiting for them to return, eager to hear about how everything went, wondering when it would be your turn.

You couldn't help feeling envious. Wanting what they had— a boy who stays up all night talking to you; a boy who calls you beautiful; a boy who holds your hand when you are nervous; a boy who doesn’t like you for your body or face, but for what’s inside you; a boy who wants a future with you; a boy who supports you fully, throught all your rights and wrongs; a boy who wants to have tickle fights instead of arguments; a boy who asks you how you are and check up on you; a boy who likes you without makeup on; a boy who would you anything to see you happy; a boy who cuddles you when you’re cold; a boy who doesn’t act different with you around his friends; a boy who shows you off to everyone; a boy who is proud of calling you his girl.

You just wanted someone who made you happy. Were you asking for too much? Weren’t you deserving of love?

You were tired. You were tired of crying. You were tired of pretending everything was okay. You were tired of being there for everybody but nobody being there for you when you needed them.

“Y/N?” A voice called your name. When you looked up, your puffy red tear-filled eyes met the worried brown eyes of Fred Weasley. “What happened?”

You met Fred and George Weasley in your first year at Hogwarts. You were proud to say that they were the first real friends you ever made. They kind of became your protectors, always defending you when someone picked on you and pranking them as a revenge, making everyone aware that if they messed with you, they would have to deal with them. You couldn't put into words how grateful you were to have them in your life.

If you asked Fred and George, they would tell you that you were their number one best friend and their biggest supporter. Most people didn’t seem to keen on their dream of opening a joke shop, but when they initially told you, you were enthusiastic about the idea and even volunteered to assist them develop their products.

So, certainly, you were very important to Fred and George. That’s why Fred wasn’t having any of it seeing you in such distress.

Fred tucked a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen in your face, and he tenderly wiped your tears with his thumbs, but it was of little use because your tears kept coming like a never-ending waterfall.

“What happened, love?” Fred's voice, though mild, was commanding. You were not the type to cry for no reason. Someone had obviously done something to upset you, and he demanded a name. This individual, whoever they were, was going to wriggle in Bulbadox powder and break out in boils.

“H-he said mean things, Freddie,” you wailed. “Why did he say such mean things?” You buried your face in your friend’s chest and Fred wrapped his arms tightly around your frame, attempting to shield you from the outside world.

“Who, Y/N/N? Who said these mean things?” Fred whispered softly as his long fingers ran through your hair.

“M-Michael.”

“Michael Corner?” He asked for confirmation. He heard you reply a muffled “yes” against his chest.

You pulled away and looked at your best friend. “I wanted to ask him out.”

Fred frowned. He didn’t know you fancied anyone. And as if you had read his mind you explained, “It’s not like I have a giant crush on him or anything. I just thought he was cute and I wanted to go out with a guy.”

“Why?”

Fred didn't have many female friends. He had small chats with Hermione every now and then, and he was close to Angelina Johnson, but these friendships didn't provide him with enough information to understand why you would want a boyfriend all of a sudden, and why you would choose someone like Michael to fill the role.

You could do better than that tosser.

“Because I feel left out, Freddie. Kendra and Jeanine don’t stop talking about their boyfriends and they are always on dates and I- I want to know what if feels to be liked by someone.”

“Is that the reason you did this?” He queried, taking a look at you. You frowned, unsure of what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

“The makeup, and your glasses— where are they?”

You shrugged. “I was trying to be pretty.”

“You are pretty, Y/N. You don’t need to change to get a guy’s attention. If they don’t like you for who you are they are not worthy.”

You looked at Fred. He had these eyes that were just so warm that you could get lost in them. The kind of brown that's actually gold underneath and carries the sun’s light. Soon after meeting him, you noticed that he has two smiles. There’s his soft lazy smile, when his eyes half close. It's your personal favorite. They captivate you, and you find it difficult to look away. Then there’s the one when he finds something fine. When he laughs. The big one. The one where he slightly lifts his shoulders. Someone would think that with all of this, you'd enjoy staring at him, but instead, you just feel sadness because you know he’ll never be yours.

“Well, that’s the problem, Fred; no one likes me for who I am. I'm a freak.” You spat, using the word that Michael used to refer to you with his mates.

“That’s not true. You’re not a freak,” the ginger said defensively. Fred had never heard you speak so negatively about yourself before, and he didn't like it. “Is that what that git said?”

“Among other things.”

Fred squeezed his fist, feeling his knuckles turn white. He felt wrath take over his body, and his thoughts wandered to places where he made Corner pay for hurting your feelings, for making you feel unworthy when all you wanted was to be shown love.

He cupped your face in his hands, “You’re beautiful, Y/N/N. You are smart, witty, funny, and a great friend. Any guy would be lucky to have you as his girlfriend. You don’t need to change for that. You hear me?”

Your eyes started to tear up once more but for a different cause this time. “You really think that?” Your voice was small, still vulnerable.

Fred couldn't remember when he stopped seeing you as a friend, but it was a long time ago that his feelings for you were no longer platonic. However, he had kept his emotions to himself because he was a coward. He never imagined that his choice would backfire and result in someone else hurting you. If he had confessed, he couldn't help but wonder if you would be in this circumstance.

Maybe you reciprocated his feelings.

Maybe you would be together, and you wouldn’t be crying over Michael Corner.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Well—” You were about to begin recounting the narrative when he cut you off.

“You promise not to mention that ever again,” he protested, feigning indignation, which made a giggle come out of you. At this, he smiled.

“Thank you, Freddie.” You cracked a small smile, and even though it didn't reach your eyes, Fred was relieved that you were feeling better.

Fred gifted you your favorite smile. You noticed how he was still holding your face and how close the two of you were. You could feel his breath against your face, and had a perfect view of the freckles adorning his features.

‘He’s so handsome’

You were so preoccupied with admiring the boy in front of you that you didn't see Fred had narrowed the gap between you and tentatively brushed his lips against yours. You felt a swift surge of confidence overtake you and leaned forward, your lips meeting his.

You had thought about kissing Fred more times than you’d like to admit. The kiss was nothing like what you had imagined it to be. Fred’s kiss was gentle and soothing. As his lips moved slowly with yours, you felt a sense of warmth. As you continued kissing, Fred’s left hand remained cupping your face while his right hand made its way to your waist.

When you pulled away you noticed Fred’s cheeks were flushed a bright pink. “Be my girl?” He inquired. “Let me love you like you deserve.” Although the older twin exuded confidence, he appeared nervous now, as though the chances of you rejecting him were very great.

“Yes.” You smiled, and he pulled you against him again.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fic #fred weasley one shot #harry potter imagine #fred and george weasley

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saintsenara · 15 days

Note

for the unhinged ship ask: ron weasley/marietta edgecombe

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and this is... flopping, i fear.

while i don't think this is evidence of any sort of evil in his character [ron bashers are unwelcome in my house], ron is - while at school, at least - canonically quite physically picky in a decidedly unadmirable way:

“Well — you know,” said Ron, shrugging. “I’d rather go alone than with — with Eloise Midgen, say.” “Her acne’s loads better lately — and she’s really nice!” “Her nose is off-center,” said Ron. “Oh I see,” Hermione said, bristling. “So basically, you’re going to take the best-looking girl who’ll have you, even if she’s completely horrible?” “Er — yeah, that sounds about right,” said Ron.

prior to being cursed by hermione, marietta isn't described physically beyond having reddish curly hair and a frequently mardy expression, but cho's treatment of her does come with the slight hint that the canonically gorgeous ms chang views marietta as her less attractive - and unthreatening to her in the battle for harry's affections - hanger-on.

[which isn't to say that cho doesn't sincerely like her - i love her fight with harry over hermione's jinx; "go and cope with it then!" is an exquisite read of harry's self-righteous vibe in parts of order of the phoenix - just that in the thorny mess which is teen girl hierarchy, cho recognises that she's on top of the pile.]

by which i mean, ron is clearly going to believe marietta is mid and he can do better [big talk from mr fumbled-padma-patil!].

and then, after she's cursed, he's both going to think her insulting acne is something he should never be expected to look at and think that she's a dirty little snake who deserves everything she got from his best gal, hermione.

marietta deserves better.

and so i believe that she and eloise midgen are about to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, having never stopped being overwhelmed by just how breathtakingly gorgeous the other is and how enormously lucky they are to get to wake up next to each other every day.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #unhinged and deranged ships #ron really doesn't cover himself in glory here #and i hope when he was older he sat down and thought about how he'd have had more fun at the ball with eloise than padma

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im-a-wonderling · 1 year

Text

Speaking in Tongues ~ Harry Potter

You know, I don’t love Harry the way I do other characters from the series, but he is the main character, so I think he deserves some fanfic screentime 😂

Summary: Harry plays the third wheel and then makes two new friends.

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.4k

Harry leaned back in his chair, lifting his glasses to rub his eyes.

He and Hermione had been working on Transfiguration homework for hours. Becoming Headmistress only steeled McGonagall’s high standards, and she didn’t give the trio grace for having been on the run for the better part of a year.

Harry sat back, stretching his neck. He turned his head just in time to see Ron creeping up from behind Hermione. When his best mate saw him, he pressed a finger to his lips. Then, acting quickly, Ron covered Hermione’s eyes.

She tensed up, letting out a little squeak of surprise.

Ron leaned his head down to say: “Guess who.”

At the sound of her boyfriend’s voice, a smile spread across Hermione’s face. “Mmmm…Neville?”

Ron smiled so fondly at her, it made Harry’s teeth hurt. “Guess again.”

“Seamus?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmmmm…Dean?”

Ron snorted. “Now you’re just being mean.”

Hermione gave a small laugh and peeled away Ron’s hands. Harry averted his eyes as she twisted around to give Ron a kiss, focusing on the words in the textbook in front of him. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Quidditch tryouts.”

Harry forced himself to breathe as a stab of misery buried itself in between two of his ribs. He was thrilled for Ron, and he knew why he wasn’t allowed on a broomstick anymore. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Are you done studying?” Ron asked.

“No,” Hermione said, and Harry looked up to see her turning back to her book.

Ron let out a groan, resting his chin on the top of her head. “You’ve been studying all day. I think it’s your boyfriend’s turn for some attention.” Exasperated, Hermione set down her quill, which turned out to be quite the mistake, as Ron reached around her to shut her book. “Please?” Ron whined. “It’s almost Christmas.”

Hermione chuckled. “No, it’s almost midterms. Then it will be almost Christmas.”

Ron pressed his nose into her hair. “All I want for Christmas is you.” Hermione laughed, causing Ron to frown. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“No, I know.”

“Just come with me for an hour,” Ron wheedled. “We can go eat and come back.” Harry could see Hermione wavering. Ron leaned in, lowering his voice. “We can go to Hogsmeade and have tea at Madam Puddifoot's.”

Harry knew by the gleam in Hermione’s eye that Ron had picked his words well.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to take a little break.”

Hermione’s stuff was packed and her hand was in Ron’s in about ten seconds. The couple bid Harry goodbye, and he shook his head, smiling, as he watched them go.

He liked seeing the two of them happy together. In fact, his favorite part of returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year had to be seeing the people. Even now, as he looked around the library, he spotted many people he recognized from his first six years here.

Eloise Midgen scribbled frantically with one hand and kept her place in her book with the other. Even Ron, who’d always made fun of her acne, admitted that her face had cleared quite a bit. Her tablemate, Romilda Vane, stared dreamily out the nearest window, chin propped on the heel of her hand. Harry could only hope she wasn’t cooking up plans to sneak him another love potion.

Hannah Abbott sat with Neville at a table against the wall. Judging by the pictures in their open textbooks, they were working on Care of Magical Creatures. She was one of many from Harry and Neville’s year that had come to complete her final year at Hogwarts.

Staring at his textbook with the end of his quill in his mouth, Justin Finch-Fletchley had parked himself at the table closest to the library entrance. Harry still felt bad about what happened in their second year, but Justin didn’t seem to care anymore.

Harry couldn’t get tired of looking around at all the people who, however close or distant, always had a part in his life at Hogwarts.

When he sat like every other student, pouring over his homework, it almost felt the way it had before Voldemort had taken over the wizarding world.

A dull pain abruptly radiated through Harry’s chest, and he jerked, dropping his quill to roughly rub at it, trying to breathe deeply.

His scar no longer hurt, but he hadn’t returned from the dead completely unscathed. The first time pangs of discomfort rang through his chest, he thought he was having a heart attack. When he’d gone to the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey quickly dispelled that theory while simultaneously forbidding him to partake in any physical activity.

It was Headmistress McGonagall who’d suggested it had something to do with his magical resuscitation.

Harry agreed. If he were to imagine a pain where the heart itself seemed to forget that it was still beating, this is what it would feel like.

Harry didn’t know what hurt more: the pain itself or being indefinitely taken off the Quidditch team.

Another pang shot through him, and Harry let out a pained hiss through his teeth.

HassAyaeehHathehhSsaah.

Harry’s head jerked up, immediately scanning his surroundings. His heart raced in his chest as many memories floated through his head at once.

A Brazilian snake in a zoo exhibit and vanishing glass.

Draco conjuring a snake during a duel with Lockhart’s dueling club.

SassaythaAyaeeh HassAyaeehHathehhSsaah.

He whipped his head around to look behind him, and there it was.

A bright green snake, one Harry recognized as a viper, was coiled in the corner behind him. It couldn’t have been longer than a foot long in length, which must’ve been why Harry hadn’t noticed it before, despite its vivid hue.

Tom Riddle, egging on the Basilisk with that eldritch language of hissing and spitting to kill Harry in the Chamber of Secrets.

A vision of Nagini, biting and almost killing Arthur Weasley.

Harry eyed it warily, all those memories fighting for his attention. With his attention upon it, the snake didn’t say anything or move.

Was the snake scared of him?

He cocked his head. SeethaaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaehh, he said quietly.

The snake twitched at his greeting, coiling tighter.

SeethaaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaehh, it echoed after a moment, it’s tight coil loosening a bit. SsssaythaHaaHassaySsss?

Harry nodded. Tentatively, he reached his left hand down to rest near his foot, careful not to reach in the snake’s direction at all. Aayaa Haassssehhh HatheeeyHaaHasseeyssssehhh.

The snake didn’t move for a long time, but Harry stayed patiently still. Eventually, its head lifted up, rising a few inches into the air. He could tell it was sniffing the air, possibly looking for danger.

Apparently finding none, the snake slithered forward, reaching Harry’s hand and sliding into it. Its scales were frigid against his skin and much rougher than he’d anticipated. Being very careful and moving very slow, Harry lifted the snake up, resting the back of his hand on the table.

Aayaa Haassssehhh SsssHathehhSsssHaaSeyythaaAyaeehHasseey.

The snake’s name was Eleanor. Definitely a human-given name. She must’ve belonged to a student at the school, most likely a Slytherin, for obvious reasons.

Aayaa Haassssehhh SeethaaaHaaHasseeyHasseeyHaaaaaah.

The snake didn’t respond. Harry’s eyes drifted back to the parchment and textbooks in front of him. HatheeeyAyaeehHasseeyAyaahath, he hissed, gesturing to them.

AyaeehAyaahath.

Harry picked up his quill and resumed writing.

Eleanor didn’t move much—due to contentment or fear, Harry didn’t know. She didn’t say anything either, but despite the silence, it was nice to have her there, even if he had to set his quill down every time he turned a page of his book.

At one point, when Harry was flipping through Transfigurations for the Advanced Wizard, Eleanor gently curved her tail around his thumb, bringing a smile to his face.

Harry spotted a Hufflepuff first-year working his way towards them, and he casually lifted up his textbook, shielding Eleanor from view.

The wizarding world never held much esteem for snakes, and he vividly remembered how everyone had reacted upon finding out he could communicate with them. Eleanor didn’t deserve that.

The Hufflepuff preoccupied himself with reading the titles of the book on the third shelf, running his finger down the names. He glanced at Harry, did a double take, and then quickly lowered his head.

Harry sighed inwardly.

The Battle of Hogwarts only cemented his status as a celebrity, and every time he forgot that, he was harshly reminded.

Eventually, the Hufflepuff found what he was looking for and left, and Harry let his book rest on the table again.

He was nearly finished with his essay when a Ravenclaw student came around the corner. Harry lifted his book again, expecting that she would find a book and then leave. But unlike the Hufflepuff, she wasn’t looking at the books or the shelves, and she definitely hadn’t noticed Harry. Instead, her attention scurried across the floor. “Where are you?” she whispered.

The snake in Harry’s hand perked up. HassayHasseeyAayaaSsssSeyythaaSsaah.

Harry gingerly laid down the book, exposing the viper. “Are you looking for Eleanor?” he said.

The Ravenclaw’s eyes shot to Harry’s face, and then down to the snake in his hand. She sighed with relief, rushing forward, holding out her hand. “Eleanor,” she said, her hand brushing against Harry’s with such electricity, he could’ve sworn she’d cast the Lightning Charm. “You found her!”

The snake quickly slithered into her hand, immediately curling around her ring finger and big thumb.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” the Ravenclaw scolded. “This is why you’re not supposed to go off on your own, because then I have a heart attack when I can’t find you!”

The snake hid its head underneath its long belly. HatheeeyHaaSsssaytha HassEsseythaHasseeyAayaaAyaeehEsseythaSsssaytha.

“She was curious,” Harry said awkwardly.

The Ravenclaw blinked, tilting her head at him. “What?”

Harry felt himself start to sweat under her piercing gaze. He gestured towards the viper. “She was…she said she was curious.”

The Ravenclaw’s eyes roved over his face, lifting to his forehead where they stayed for a few moments before falling back to his eyes. “So it’s true. You can speak Parseltongue.”

“Umm…yeah.” Harry’s body grew hotter, a flush of embarrassment boiling him from the inside out. He scratched his neck, wishing the Ravenclaw would stop staring so intently.

The girl sat down in Hermione’s abandoned seat, scooting it forward so she was closer to Harry. “Teach me.”

“What?” he asked, the word tumbling out of his mouth.

“Teach me how to speak parseltongue.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was something that could be expected to come out of some stranger’s mouth.

“Uhhhh.” Harry blinked a few times, trying to regain his cognitive ability. “I didn’t ever really learn it, I just…knew it.”

The girl huffed, blowing her hair out of her face. “Well, that shouldn’t stop us. Besides, I heard all about Dumbledore’s Army. You taught upwards of thirty students Defense Against the Dark Arts, so teaching parseltongue to one person should be a breeze.”

“But I-I was, I was taught Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry stammered. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing his glasses farther up his nose, a nervous tick he’d developed whenever someone praised him. “I couldn’t even tell you the first thing about translation and what words mean.”

“So it’ll be learning by immersion. You’ll speak it, and I’ll pick up as much as I can. Isn’t that how children learn to speak, by listening to the adults around them and figuring things out?”

Harry fingered the frayed edge of his transfiguration textbook. “I guess so.”

“Perfect! How does tomorrow work?”

Alarm filled Harry. “Wait, I didn’t–”

“We’ll meet here after lunch. I’ll bring Eleanor.” The Ravenclaw got to her feet. “See you tomorrow!” She strode towards the library exit.

“Wait!” Harry called as loudly as he dared.

Madam Pince’s neck jerked around towards him, glaring at his use of volume around her precious tomes. The Ravenclaw girl didn’t look back. She continued at her breakneck walking speed, adjusting the strap of her school bag as she went, leaving Harry gaping.

He debated calling her again, but he suddenly realized this girl had never told him her name.

Leaping to his feet, he shoved his books, quills, and parchment into his bag. He started after her, the tempo of his heart speeding up. Harry kept his eyes on the back of the Ravenclaw girl’s head, weaving through the tables of students working and bookshelves.

He’d almost caught up with her when Neville rounded a corner, right into the girl’s path. Harry couldn’t see the girl’s expression, but Neville smiled brightly, raising his fist.

Harry slowed to see what would happen.

The girl, without breaking her stride, bumped her fist against Neville’s.

Harry came to a stop in front of Neville, just as the Ravenclaw walked through the library doors.

“Neville,” Harry said breathlessly, pressing his hand against the dull ache once more radiating from his heart, “who was that?”

“Her?” Neville asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Harry nodded. “That’s Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

Harry would’ve made some noise of surprise if he’d had enough breath.

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

He knew the name, but he’d never seen the face.

Rowena Ravenclaw wanted intelligent, curious, wise, and motivated students, and by all accounts, Y/N fit the bill.

According to her fellow Ravenclaws, she hardly ever went to class and somehow still aced all exams, ridding all other students of a curve. If the gossip was to be believed, she was never in the same place. One day, she might be peppering the ghosts with questions about what it felt like to be undead, the next she would be swimming through the Great Lake with the intent to communicate with the underwater creatures.

“Are you guys friends?” Harry asked. With the way Neville looked at her, he would’ve asked if they were more than friends, except everyone knew Neville only had eyes for Hannah Abbott.

“She would need an interview with some high-end psychologist before she found a definition of friendship she was happy with.” Neville chuckled. “She tutors me in potions in exchange for me growing some dangerous and endangered plants for potions ingredients.”

“Potions ingredients?” Harry echoed. “For what kind of potions?”

“I never ask.” Neville gave Harry a meaningful look before meandering back to his table with Hannah Abbott.

“Huh,” Harry said to himself, looking the direction Y/N had gone. “That’s kind of brilliant.”

Part 2

Curious as to what is being said in parseltongue? Click here for the resource I used to write it.

Like this? Go check out my masterlist for more!

Overall taglist:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #hp #hp fandom #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #parseltongue #snakes #hogwarts #cute #fluffy #ravenclaw!reader

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