Tag: hp

professorlockhart:

THE LETTERS FROM NO ONE

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Harry’s got something!”
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.
“That’s mine!” said Harry, trying to snatch it back.
“Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn’t stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge. “P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

i just wanted to tell you, that i /adore/ your what-if harry potter one-shots. the newest one was lovely. i know you probably have a million things you want to write (love your giantkiller series too!!) but if you’re looking for prompts at all, i’d /love/ to see your take on a what if harry had been born a girl.

ink-splotch:

They told the story differently. When they spoke in hushed whispers and in exultant shouts that Halloween about the Girl Who Lived, they did not wonder how she survived. They did not ask what hidden strengths of prophecy might lie under her skin. They talked of innocence. They spoke of purity. They murmured about blessings.

Harriet Lily Potter was left on the doorstep of 4 Privet Drive. They called her ugly and gave her Dudley’s hand-me-downs. They would tell people that she went to a boarding school for troubled young women. Dudley still offered to stick her head in toilets, and she still learned to snap back, “Really, Duds? The poor toilet’s never had anything as nasty as your head down it, it might hurt it,” and run.

Harry was the kind of girl who came home with scabby knees, who snuck the kitchen shears in the dead of night to snip her dark messy hair short. She wondered, as she curled up in her cupboard, if Vernon and Petunia would have loved a niece who was pretty instead of scrappy, who had soft hands and never burned the bacon at breakfast.

The story did not go much different.

When a giant banged down the door of the little shack on the little rock in the sea, Harry stood her trembling ground. When Hagrid offered her a happy birthday, a cake, a kindness, a hand, a new life, she took it.

When Harry stepped into Madame Malkin’s, Malfoy ignored her, eyes glazing over. Hagrid bought her an owl, eleven birthdays all wrapped into one.

When Harry asked if there was room for her to sit in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Ron said yes. She shared her candy. She told him he had a smudge on his nose.

When the first years all lined up on the steps, waiting to be let into the Hall and the Sorting, Ron went so pale all his freckles stood out. Harry shifted next to him, and then a girl with a flat nose, a round chin, and a sure twist to her mouth stepped in front of her and stuck out one bitten-nail hand. “Parkinson,” she said. “Pansy Parkinson. What are you doing hanging out with trash like Weasley, Potter? I can show you a better class of wizard.”

Harry curled her hands softly in her robes, still feeling like she was wearing a bathrobe and not real clothes. “I think I can figure that out just fine by myself, thank you.”

The story did not go much different. When the Hat called “POTTER, HARRIET” the hall went quiet, then filled with murmurs. It offered her Slytherin, but she thought of Parkinson’s sneer, of Ron’s smudged nose on the train, the way Molly had helped her through the platform entrance, and told it no.

“Then better be GRYFFINDOR,” it said and the red and gold table burst into noise.

There were five beds in the first year girls’ dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, both from good wizarding families, bonded immediately over Lavender’s sparkly purple nail polish.

Hermione’s hair was as bushy as Harry’s was a rumpled mess. “You could keep birds in there,” Parvati giggled to Lavender.

Nevy Longbottom was short, with rounded shoulders, rounded cheeks, plain brown hair. Her grandmother expected her to be good, but not brave. When the Hat had fallen over young Miss Longbottom’s eyes, it had sat even longer on her head, arguing silently with her small clenched fists. “Hat stall,” Ron had told Harry sagely in line, just as the Hat shouted out GRYFFINDOR.

“Is your name short for something?” Hermione demanded upon first introduction, as all the first years followed Percy Weasley up to the Tower, the girls clustered in the back. “It sounds short for something.”

Nevy went a slightly miserable red. “No,” she said. When they reached the dormitory proper, the first thing Nevy did was tuck Trevor the toad’s shoebox safely under her bed.

When Draco Malfoy stole Nevy’s Rememberall, Harry hopped on a broom. When McGonagall saw her snatch the tiny, glinting ball from the air, she dragged her off not to detention but to Wood and a new era of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Fred and George tracked her down to give her a congratulations and a pair of twinned grins, but at dinnertime the Chasers swooped down on their newest team member– Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnett. “Oh my god, you’re adorable,” said Alicia. “I want to ruffle your hair, can I ruffle your hair?”

“It’s not going to make it worse,” said Harry.

When Draco challenged Ron to a duel, Harry jumped in as his second as soon as someone explained the concept to her. Pansy, sneering still, always sneering, her face was gonna stick like that, cornered Draco and made him kick Crabbe out as his second and take her on instead. It was a trap, anyway, and Harry and co. just ended up running into a three-headed dog while running from Filch, but Pansy cared about the details of things.

When a troll got into the dungeons, Harry overheard Parvati and Lavender talking about Hermione crying in the bathrooms. She peeled off the back of the group to find her, Ron grumblingly and loyally at her heels.

The story did not go much different, except– when a dragon was born in Hagrid’s fireplace, it was Pansy who peeked through the windows, and Pansy who earned her own detention by catching them after hours without Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.

The story didn’t go much different, except– Hermione stayed up late studying, reading beneath the covers by light of a Lumos, chewing on the ends of the ball-point pens she had brought from home and only took out behind the closed doors of their dormitory room. Lavender curled up on Parvati’s four-poster and they painted each other’s toes. It turned out Nevy could do these tiny beautiful flowers picked out in nail polish, so they invited her up, too.

When the Yule Ball came, three years from those awkward first few weeks, Nevy wouldn’t practice her dance steps with an invisible partner. Hermione would enchant music to play and read her books while Lavender spun Nevy round and round their cluttered floor, leaping askew cauldrons and piles of scarves.

When they figured out about the Sorcerer’s Stone, they guessed wrong about Snape, they guessed wrong about Quirrell. Lavender and Parvati slept through the whispered argument Hermione and Harry had with Nevy, and the Petrificus Totalus that left her rigid in bed. They met up with Ron in the Common Roon and headed to the forbidden third floor corridor, three eleven-year-olds out to save their little part of the world.

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can u please please write a jealous tom drabble?! I love tomione but there’s so few stories that are original and you’re just the best and now that you wrote some tomione…PLEAAAASE XD

shadu-kiam:

She’d been trapped in 1944 for four months.

Four months of cursing Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley under her breath – she didn’t know which one had the grand idea of aiming a reducto at the time turner while she was standing so close to it, and if she ever got back, that was going to be the first thing she found out. Then she was going to throttle the guilty party until they were dead. The end. If they were even alive by the time she got back, that is.

After seeking out Professor Dumbledore in a panic, Headmaster Dippet and the rest of the staff had been apprised of her situation; unfortunately, there was no lie good enough to fool any of the teachers as to why she was suddenly there. The students were told that she‘d been homeschooled while her parents were abroad in America.

For the most part, the students seemed to believe that. Save one.

She couldn’t think about Tom Riddle, right now. That weird, creepy bastard. He was still in sixth year, and she was in seventh, but he acted for all the world like he had ten years on her. And he’d never bought the homeschooling story.

As if summoned by her thoughts alone, he slid into the chair opposite her in the library, and she scowled at her book. She could already imagine his amused smirk at her easy-to-read expression. Maybe that was the problem; he’d known the homeschooling story was a load of bollocks because she wasn’t all that good at lying. Thankfully, most of the students didn’t really question her about it, so she didn’t need to be.

“Go away, Riddle,” she seethed. The incident with Hagrid and the Chamber of Secrets had been a year ago, and by all accounts she shouldn’t know about it, but she did and she loathed him for it.

“I’m allowed to use the library, too,” he said, with a cool smugness that made her want to lob her book at his face.

Setting her jaw angrily, she buried her nose in her book, intent on ignoring him. She had to focus, come hell or high water; she needed to figure out a way to get back to her time before her best friends did something really, really stupid without her. The thought of them wandering through the Forest of Dean without her constant spellwork to keep them hidden made all of her hairs stand on end. So far, she’d hungrily devoured most of the library – there were a lot of books that hadn’t yet been confined to the Restricted Section – and had yet to come upon a single spell that would propel her forward in time.

And the timeturner wasn’t an option, because it shouldn’t have been able to send her flying decades into the past at all – it shouldn’t have had that power. And she wasn’t about to test any theories by casting reducto at it. The last thing she needed was to end up somewhere in the 19th century, pulling her own hair out by the roots.

“Why are you always reading about that?” he asked, and she jolted a bit. She’d actually nearly forgotten he was there.

Frowning up at him, she tried to resist the instinct to act as cagey as she felt. “What?” she snapped, defensively. His gaze dropped pointedly to the title of her book – Wards Through Time – and she stiffened a bit. She’d read a lot of books in hopes of finding some random tidbit of information she could use. There was no way he’d determined a theme. “About what? I read about a lot of things.”

His eyebrow lifted a bit, and he sighed through his nose. He didn’t have much patience for her badly-built falsehoods, she’d discovered, finding them to be an exhausting waste of time.

Usually, it made him leave. This time, he didn’t.

“Where’s your band of witless lackeys, anyway? You’re quite sure they’re remembering to breathe without your direction?” she asked, archly. If she loathed Tom Riddle, she certainly loathed his little band of idiots just as much. Pale, spineless little cowards – just like the people he’d later attract as Lord Voldemort.

He lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “If they forget, I’m sure I’ll find some more,” he said, his smile returning.

It sickened her to know that if she didn’t know what he was – and what he would become – she would have found that smile very charming. She would have found him handsome. She would have been flustered that he was even talking to her. Tom Riddle the young man was a far cry, indeed, from the terrifying wraith he would become. “Your friends are really that expendable to you?”

Of course, she knew he didn’t consider them friends. But he didn’t know she knew that. Every word she spoke was an invitation for Murphy’s Law to rear its ugly head and strike her down.

This was why she hated talking to him. There were too many opportunities to slip up.

“It was simply a joke,” he defended, spreading his hands. After a moment, he added, “You did well in potions today.” At her harried glare, he clarified: “For someone who never attended school. It was almost as if you’d already made polyjuice – several times, even.”

“Just because I didn’t attend school doesn’t mean I’m uneducated,” she grit out. “My parents taught me.”

“They must be very smart. What are their names, again?”

She slammed the book closed, boiling with fury, and stood. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” she demanded, hauling the book up to her chest and crossing her arms over it defensively. “You’ve no reason to talk to a Gryffindor, anyway. Leave me alone.” Pivoting on her heel, she stalked into the book cases to replace the book.

When she turned from putting it back on the shelf, she nearly screamed when she almost ran right into him. “You’re quite nervous,” he observed, softly, when she recoiled from him. Reaching past her – and ignoring her stiffness – he pulled the book she’d just been reading back out. “I think I’d like to have a look at this, next, actually. If you don’t mind.”

“Do what you want,” she muttered. The proximity of him had her skin crawling, and she quickly edged around him and fled the library entirely.

“My father has a pretty extensive library,” Henry Shadhorn said. He was a Ravenclaw in her year, and after hearing her housemates lightly tease her about how she was going to run out of books to read in the Hogwarts library pretty soon, he hurried to walk her out of Herbology. When she looked at him, she saw that his ears were a bit pink. “I mean, maybe over the holidays you could stop by and have a look, read something that Hogwarts doesn’t have, or something…”

She blinked, a little flustered by the offer. He wasn’t a bad-looking boy, and she felt her heart flutter a bit; it wasn’t often she received male attention, unless she was dressed to the nines for a Yule Ball, that is. “Really? I’m actually staying at the school, my parents are abroad again, so maybe Professor Dumbledore could escort me there one day.”

“Yes,” he agreed, promptly, looking fairly shocked that she’d accepted. “It’s really a fantastic library, you know. I’ve been reading from it all my life and even I haven’t gone through everything. I think you’d find it really interesting. Maybe we could even, um, talk about some of what you’re reading, afterwards.”

“Sure, Henry,” she agreed, feeling her own cheeks start to warm. “That’d be nice.”

Of course, if she found what she was looking for, leading a nice boy like Henry on would gnaw at her conscience for the next ten years. But it was kind of nice to pretend that she wasn’t embroiled in a war and stuck in the wrong decade, for a second. It was nice to pretend she was just a girl with an admirer, however unlikely that scenario was.

Looking chuffed, he told her to have a good time in Potions, and left her at the entrance to the dungeons.

It wasn’t until Tom walked past her, shooting her a cool smirk, that she realized he’d been behind them for most of the conversation. Suddenly, she felt a chill steal over her as he turned away and headed into the classroom. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d just gotten the worst feeling.

“Did you hear about Shadhorn?” Her ears perked a bit, and she tore her gaze from the book to turn her head a little, trying to hear better. Whoever the girl had been whispering to must have shaken their head, because she continued after a pause. “He was found outside the infirmary, unconscious and really beaten up. I heard all of his bones were broken.”

“That’s ridiculous, all of his bones couldn’t have possibly been broken,” her friend said, snidely. “Only his leg was. It’s a shame, he was Ravenclaw’s best player and their game’s this week.”

“Don’t be obtuse,” the girl huffed. “It was obviously done by the Slytherin team to ensure they’d win.”

The friend made a disbelieving noise. “I doubt they’d be so stupid as to beat up the star player of the opposing team right before the game,“ she said, although she didn’t sound entirely certain. Lately, nothing seemed to be too devious or rotten for a Slytherin to do. Hermione was only learning now that this was a fairly recent development, thanks to Tom Riddle.

Before, Slytherin had always been a somewhat snobbish and enclosed group, but they hadn’t been rotten. Or, at least, any more rotten than any other house.

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Hermione turned blind eyes back to her book. Surely it had nothing to do with her.

“Pity, about Shadhorn.”

She about jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t even heard him sit next to her – and now he was too close, leaning in to glance at her book. She could feel the body heat from his skin and leaned away from it. Catching the movement, he looked back at her, and smiled. This wasn’t like his usual charming smiles; there was something cold in this one, almost angry.

Feeling another chill steal over her, she stared at him. He didn’t blink. Slowly, she asked, “What did you do?”

“Me?” he asked, cocking his head a bit. “Whatever do you mean?”

She felt sick. “Why?” she asked, desperately.

He dropped the pretense of innocence long enough to shrug, his eyes half-lidded. His dark eyes took in the horror of her expression, and he smiled, satisfied. “Why not?” he returned, in a low drawl.

Breath coming a bit short, Hermione gathered her book up in a scramble, desperate to get away. When she made to stand, she felt his hand clamp down on her wrist.

It was the first time he’d ever actually touched her. It felt the same as being burned.

“Hermione,” he said, slowly, sounding out the syllables of her name with great interest. His smile widened a bit as he leaned towards her, dropping his voice to an almost intimate murmur. “I would be very careful about what you do, next. I’m not the sort of person that gives the same warning twice. Or even once, really. You’re very lucky.”

She knew she was breathing hard and fast. She could see spots starting to dance in front of her eyes – she had about a minute to get out of this man’s toxic presence before she passed out.

“What am I being warned about?” she demanded, her voice growing a little shrill with the terror she was trying to keep hidden behind a show of anger.

His thumb on the back of her wrist shifted, sweeping over her forearm in an arc. It was an almost tender gesture, reminiscent of old married couples and newlyweds. She ripped her arm out from beneath his hand and cradled it protectively against her ribcage, and he laughed. The sound was warm and throaty, by all means an attractive laugh, and she felt nauseous at hearing it.

“Come now, you’re a smart girl. I think you can figure that one out,” he assured her. He stood, then, and brushed an errant curl behind her ear.

She nearly threw up.

Then, he was gone, and it was like the atmosphere came flooding back into the room. Hermione sucked in a ragged breath, feeling like she’d been punched in the solar plexus. She was frozen there for several minutes, her skin clammy and her heart racing. She needed to get home.

She needed to get the fuck home, right now.

snapslikethis:

important things to remember

  • three houses stood between harry potter and pansy parkinson
  • mr & mrs weasley fought the battle of hogwarts without knowing where ron was
  • harry was so caught up in battle prep he forgot about the horcrux thing
  • neville & his herbology buddies threw mandrakes @ death eaters 
  • then neville used venomous tentacula to ensnare them
  • sir cadogan being IN HIS ELEMENT and rushing from painting to painting shouting encouragement @ people
  • mrs norris hissed & batted at owls
  • firenze showed up to fight 
  • poor hermit bewildered alberforth dealt w/ literally hundreds of people passing in & out of his house & then came to fight when he realized what was happening
  • slughorn finally decided his loyalties
  • ron: “so what’s new with you?”
  • colin creevy snuck back in after the evacuation
  • ron went after the basilisk fangs & remembered parseltongue to get them
  • hermione’s quick thinking w/ that slide literally saved their lives
  • mrs augusta longbottom put on her hat before she came to see what the what was up @ hogwarts
  • even the Headless Hunt people showed up
  • all the portraits encouraged ppl
  • instead of grieving in the great hall, ginny went outside, probably to be alone, and found it in herself to comfort a scared, lost girl whimpering for her motherneville & wood gathering the dead
  • professor trelawney throwing crystal balls down @ people
  • percy cursed the minister of magic & cracked a joke
  • minerva in her tartan dressing gown w/ a flock of galloping desks trailing behind
  • peeves dropped snargaluff pods onto death eaters so they were covered in wriggling, fat green worms
  • a dying snape was still with it enough to give harry those memories
  • He is dead!
  • mcgonagall’s scream
  • He beat you!
  • neville charged voldemort and mouthed off to him & slayed tf out of that snake
  • hagrid had his bro carry him from the cave to hogwarts, got shoved through a window, got carried away by giant spiders, and sobbed & carried dead harry all the way back to hogwarts
  • the rest of the centaurs, everyone & their mom, the threstrals, and even buckbeak came to fight
  • kreacher leading all the house elves w/ carving knives & cleavers stabbing & hacking @ death eaters
  • Not my daughter, you bitch!
  • harry literally waited until the opportune moment to reveal himself & it was so dramatic. bless him, sirius would’ve been so proud.
  • harry tried to get voldy to try remorse and redeem himself
  • ppl throwing food out the window into grawp’s mouth
  • blessed luna saw that harry was exhausted & distracted ppl so he could get out of the great hall
  • peeves immediately made up a verse about moldy voldy
  • harry: i’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime. *immediately joins the aurors*

sparkitors:

Has there ever been a graduating class as skilled in the art of Harry Potter Protection than the Hogwarts Class of 1978? We submit that there has not! And so, for your viewing-while-sobbing pleasure, we present yearbook photos from a simpler time. A time when Wormtail’s only crime was being the least cool friend. A time before Harry, and the line, “you have your mother’s eyes.”

Class of ‘78, we salute you.

All gifs by the incredible @vitoriabas!

accio-shitpost:

tbh in any other movie franchise, the fact that hogwarts looks different in every harry potter movie would annoy me but like? hogwarts changes its aesthetic every year, wouldn’t surprise me if it turned into a massive tent one year because fuck you, students