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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Shades of Pink

Request: Hi! Can I request a Harry Potter x reader oneshot where the reader is a metamorphomagus (sorry if I mispelled) and her hair changes to a certain color when she's around Harry bc she's in love with him? preferably set during their howarts years, thanks in advance!

A/N: I love this request, I love writing for Harry so much bc he’s so awkward and bumbling! I hope I’ve done it justice and that it meets your expectations! ALSO! Two fics in one night! I’d like to thank the Mamma Mia soundtracks as well as the Moulin Rouge! soundtrack for making this possible. It couldn't be done without you <3 I’d like to take the time it apologise to my taglist for another notification from me, please don’t hate me too much. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading! Love to you all! Banner by the incredibly talented @peachesandpinks

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing and fluff - lots of fluff.

Word count: 1.9k

In the mornings your hair is a warm brown as the heaviness of sleep still lingers.

By breakfast, it’s turned to a neon pink that draws attention from all tables in the Great Hall. It only gets brighter as you sit down next to Harry.

As a young metamorphmagus, the changes were still unpredictable, and the added combination of hormones and first love made it all the more difficult to hide your feelings.

Falling for Harry felt entirely natural; as if your love for The Chosen One was part of your genetic makeup. It had taken one smile, that was all. He smiled at you in Third Year as you were arguing with Ron, and you were a goner. That had been three years ago; now in your Sixth Year, it was safe to say you were half way in love with the messy-haired teenager.

“What’s caused your hair to change colours this morning?” Hermione asks, taking a bite of her toast, “It was brown when we woke up.”

You stare at your plate as you mumble, “It’s when I get overwhelmed by my feelings. I’m still trying to control it all.”

Hermione’s eyes cast over the two boys sitting with them, clueless to the conversation, “Do you have a crush on someone?” she whispers.

You bite your lower lip, nodding. Hermione has to clasp a hand over her mouth to keep the happy squeak from leaving her lips; she spent so much time with Harry and Ron that it was nice to be involved in a conversation that didn’t revolve around Quidditch.

“Who? Who is it that’s turning your hair pink?”

You let your eyes slip to Harry, sipping at his morning pumpkin juice, nodding along with whatever Ron was saying, without a clue to your feelings. Hermione catches on immediately; they don’t call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing.

“This is perfect!” She almost shouts; ignoring your wide eyes.

“How?”

“He likes you back! He told me the other night!”

You don’t get a chance to reply. Harry’s hand lands on your shoulder, pulling all of your attention to him. If possible, your hair gets even pinker. He smiles at you, “Come on, we don’t want to be late for Potions, it isn’t worth the looks from Slughorn.”

You sigh, taking a last drink of your orange juice, “I suppose not.”

Hermione and Ron strike up a conversation behind you and Harry; Hermione pestering Ron over whether he plans to complete his homework for this week or let it gather dust.

You and Harry walk close together; hands brushing every now and then and you can’t ignore the jolt of electricity sent up your arm sending your heart racing. Alongside your hair changing colour when feelings overwhelmed you, it would also grow at unprecedented rates.

“(Y/N)?” Harry calls.

“Yes?”

“Is your hair supposed to be growing that fast?”

“Merlin’s beard!” You shout, your hands flying to your hair where it was now cascading down your back. You sigh, “No, Harry, it isn’t supposed to be doing that.”

“Oh… alright. Do you need to go sort it out? I’ll tell Slughorn that you’ll be late.”

“That’s sweet of you, Harry but no, I’ll be fine, I just need a minute.”

He nods, stopping in the corridor to wait with you. Ron and Hermione also stop with you; all watching you as you close your eyes and begin to calm yourself down.

Hermione grabs your hand and squeezes once, understanding your current predicament. you were finding it to concentrate with the very reason for your distraction watching you with concern written all over his face.

You refuse to open your eyes as you ask, “How does it look?”

“It’s still neon pink, if that’s what you were concerned about,” Ron says.

You sigh again, opening your eyes, “It’ll stay pink for a while. I was more concerned about the length; I didn’t want to be tripping over it as I walked to class.”

Hermione smiles, squeezing your hand once more before letting it drop, “It’s back to your shoulders.”

“How do you do that?” Harry asks, voice somewhat breathless with wonder.

“It starts to grow out when I become overwhelmed over something. I try to control it by taking deep breaths and thinking of calming things.”

“You’re wonderful,” He blurts out, blushing once he realises what he says.

Ron claps him on the shoulder, failing to hold in his laughter, “You’re proper smooth, you, Potter.”

Hermione smacks him on the arm with her book, “Shut up, Ronald! He’s smoother than you at least.”

Ron splutters as Hermione continues to look at him unimpressed. Harry hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

You clear your throat, ending the argument between the two of them, “We’re late for Potions.”

The four of you fall into silence as you run to the classroom where Slughorn greets with you with five points from Gryffindor each for tardiness and a look of disappointment.

Sitting in your assigned seat, you try to focus on the lesson that Slughorn is delivering but your mind keeps flashing back to the moment that happened not even ten minutes ago. To the look on Harry’s face as he watched you change your appearance.

Catching sight of your face in the glass cupboards, you’re pleased to see that your hair has faded to a baby pink. Much better than the neon pink you were sporting as you entered the classroom. Taking a deep breath, you turn away from your reflection and try to focus on Slughorn and recognising the side effects of Amortentia.

How fitting.

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The Gryffindor common room is quiet as you lounge on the couch in front of the fire. Your History of Magic essay laid out in front of you. You read over your words, hoping they form a convincing argument surrounding the witch hunts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and whether it was a purposeful event triggered by other magical creatures to keep muggles off their scent.

You yawn as you read and reread your conclusion; hoping that it sounds strong enough for Professor Binns to mark it as Outstanding. Giving your eyes a break, you look around the common room seeing a few students here and there, all focused on their own work.

You catch eyes with Harry as he lands on the last step of the staircase leading to the dormitories. The way his eyes move upwards tells you that your hair has turned to the neon pink that you’ve become so familiar with these past few years.

Harry smiles at you as he joins you on the couch. You chide yourself as your heart begins to race and your hands become sweaty.

“History of Magic?” Harry asks, reading over the title of your essay.

You nod, moving the pile of parchment so he has room to sit down, “I wanted to get it done while I had the motivation.”

“I should probably take a leaf from your book.” He laughs, thinking of the pile of essays he has yet to complete.

“It’s not a bad idea, Potter. I don’t mind helping you, you know that.”

“I know,” He says, softly.

You turn away from him, focusing on the roaring fire in front of you. Your eyes follow the imaginary shapes the flames make as they devour the logs beneath them.

“I meant what I said this morning,” Harry whispers.

“You did?”

“You’re wonderful and entirely colourful.”

Your feelings start to be too much; your feelings for the boy sat next to you become too much.

“I think I’ve seen your hair about a thousand shades of pink, but I have no clue what it mean.” Harry murmurs, reaching out to grab a strand your hair, curling it around his finger before letting it drop back to your shoulder.

It’s such a loving move that you almost internally combust.

Harry looks you in the eyes, “What does pink mean?”

You cough, clearing your throat, “Truthfully?”

“Truthfully.”

“It means love.”

Harry’s eyes widen, “Love?”

“Yeah, it means love. The brighter the pink gets, the more overwhelmed I am.”

“It’s pink when you talk to me.” He says, making the connection at last.

You start to play with your fingers, refusing to look him in eye, “Yeah, I know.”

“You love me?” He asks, one of his hands reaching to grab one of your hands.

You take a deep breath, meeting his blue-eyes head on, “I do.”

He releases a breath, “Thank Merlin! I’ve liked you for so long.”

“You have?”

Harry nods, wildly, “Since Fourth Year – after the first task in the Triwizard Tournament when you were ready to duel Dumbledore after you saw how injured I was.”

“I would have as well if you’d have let me. I’m still pissed about it.”

Harry grins, “What about you?”

“Since Third Year. It sounds silly, but you smiled at me over breakfast when I was arguing with Ron and I was a goner.”

“It’s not silly at all,” Harry says quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You smile at him, happy that you had finally told him how you felt. You were ecstatic that he felt the same way.

He shuffles closer to you; his thigh now lining up against yours. “I want to try something, if that’s okay?”

You whisper your consent, not daring to speak any louder. Not for the fear of someone hearing, but for the fear of breaking the bubble you find both of you in.

His hand cradles your cheek; his touch soft, as if he’s not entirely certain this is happening. You lean into his touch, savouring the feel of his hand on your face.

His eyes search yours for permission; you nod, a small movement but it’s enough for him. He leans in and presses his lips to yours hesitantly; testing the waters. He doesn’t expect you to gasp against his mouth; your body reacting instinctively to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close to you. Harry gets more confident, relishing in your reaction to him. His mouth becomes more insistent, and he starts to press you into the couch. His body hovering over yours; lips still connected. There was nothing but raw emotion in the way Harry’s hands began to travel down your body; committing to memory every dip and curve in your body.

Some distant part of your brain knew that you would have to pull away soon before things could go further, but the feel of his hands and his lips were distracting you perfectly. And you soon found yourself not really caring whether you were creating a scene for the whole common room to watch.

Someone clearing their throat has you pulling away from each other, gasping for air. Looking over the back of the couch, both Ron and Hermione stand a few feet away from the couch; the look on Hermione’s face tells you it was not her that had interrupted.

Ron grins, asking, “Were you enjoying yourself, (Y/N)?”

“I was before we were interrupted,” You frown.

“I love this colour on you by the way, it suits you.” Ron chuckles, pointing to your hair. He pulls Hermione away before you can reply, but she offers you a wide smile as she follows the Weasley out of the room.

You groan, “It’s neon pink isn’t it?”

Harry barks out a laugh, “It is, but guess what?”

“What?” You asks, peeking out from his neck, where you had hidden your face.

Harry kisses you lightly – once, twice, three times, before replying, “It’s my favourite shade of pink.”

*********

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