#harry Potter and the deathly hollows
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cursedmoon-doll13 · 1 year ago
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If It Serves You.
(Headmaster!Severus Snape x Reader)
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Cw: Non/Dubcon + Aftermath, Afab Reader, Dark-ish Snape, Unprotected Sex, Powerplay, Sex as Bargaining, Facefucking, Crying, Fingering, Creampie, Begging, Degradation (use of slut) and Praise, Reader calls Snape ‘Headmaster,’ Former Student Reader, Mentions of Torture/Child Abuse, Denial of Feelings.
READ WITH CAUTION
Word Count: 3.7k
Summary: As a professor of Hogwarts, your past ambitions, your fragile hope and unrelenting diligence have all led to nothing. Now, you are powerless beneath the rising force of He Who Must Not Be Named and his army of Death Eaters. The only thing left you have to give is your pride; your weak and vulnerable body.
Or, you beg the new headmaster to show mercy to your students in exchange for sexual favours.
Dividers by @/saradika
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Of course, there was no pressing need to check and recheck the potions’ storage. Certainly no need to catalogue it twice. You did almost it out of instinct, or force of habit. Yes, It’s healthy to maintain a routine, including routine inspections, just like- just like-
“Professor ___,” comes a gruff voice from behind. In your nervous state, you imagine it is a Carrow, and freeze in panic. “Why are you here?”
You whirl around. No. It’s Professor Slughorn.
“Oh,” you straighten your robes. “Horace. I was just taking inventory.”
“Were you? I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” He says brusquely.
“Of course, of course you can.”
Your voice carries the same placid, appealing tone with which you’ve used to calm your pupils. You wince at the sound of it. Then, his expression loosens. Not immediately, but little by little, settling into the creases and wrinkles of stress and age. His walrus moustache droops into a familiar frown.
“I’m… I’m very sorry, ___,” he says. “Whenever I leave my storage unattended for too long, I take this terrible notion that some very bright and brilliant student is going to brew a polyjuice potion. Heh.”
His laughter rings rather hollow.
“Yes, those were my thoughts exactly,” you concede, heaving a sigh. “It would be so simple. Not for all of them, but some of our best could do it. And then they would make a reckless attempt at escaping, or even try to impersonate one of those Death…”
You stop yourself, and peer carefully into his face.
You’ve noticed how Horace has visibly deflated, how he has lost his colour over the past few months. How could you not? You would never accuse the Slug of being slovenly, but you’re well aware that beneath all the powder his eye-bags are as sunken as yours.
“It is unfortunate that one of my… One of our best…” It seems that he cannot finish his sentence. Nonetheless, you know who she is.
“It’s a very unfortunate thing,” Professor Slughorn mutters idly. “Very unfortunate…”
He’s fiddling with a ring on one liver-spotted finger. His lips purse periodically, as if a throb in his temple is threatening to burst.
“Horace, It’ll all be alright,” you try to reassure him, knowing you cannot guarantee this.
The only response you receive is a distant nod. He does not stop fussing over his ring. Then, he turns abruptly stony again:
“Well, then,” he says. “You’d best be on your way.”
He dismisses you as curtly as he would a student, but you don’t protest. You know that when you leave, he will pacify his anxiety with a sleeping draught.
As you exit the dungeon and traverse the silent halls, the early winter chill rattles straight through your bones. It seems that Hogwarts grows colder each passing day; colder and emptier. Even when teaching, your classroom is as quiet as death.
Alchemy has never been a popular elective, and now you are down to very few students. Some had also disappeared completely over the Summer, mostly those without Pureblood status or families to support them… You try not to ponder too deeply on it. For their sake - and perhaps also for your own - you keep it together.
Yes. You must stay stubborn and strong. Especially considering what you are about to do now.
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You shiver in your thin robes outside of the Headmaster’s office. The griffin sentinel glares haughtily down at you, and for a second you fancy it alive, judging you guilty for some crime. Thinking this, You glance this way and that, wary of onlookers. 
But all of the students are asleep; or at least, they should be. Most of your coworkers have also retired for the evening. You here stand alone. 
You take a deep, shuddering breath. 
“Sugar Quill.” Your voice echoes eerily. 
The griffin does not budge. The new headmaster has changed the password, of course. You suspected as much, but it was still worth attempting.  
“Amortentia,” you try next. No response. 
You shift, acutely aware of how ridiculous you must appear; a Hogwarts professor stumped by a statue. 
“Polyjuice. Veritaserum. Bezoar… Asphodel.” 
Nothing. 
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you huff, already spiked with tight, uneasy tension. “It was so much easier when Dumbledore…”
A low, heavy rumble breaks your train of thought as the spiral staircase emerges. You quickly mount it and climb upwards, boots clattering on the rising stone. It gives way to a large study lined with bookshelves.
You’ve made it into Dumbledore’s office. 
Except it is no longer his. You must remind yourself of this fact often, and each time it stings, like a tiny pricking thorn ingrown into the heart. The study is far draughtier than you remember; devoid and bereft in the absence of Fawkes.
No, Albus is not here. Instead, what scowls over at you from behind the Headmaster’s desk is the unmistakable face of Severus Snape, and he does not appear pleased to see you.
“Kindly inform me why you are in my office.” His voice is slow and measured, but you can sense the venom lurking underneath. 
“I don’t remember ever giving you the password,” he continues, alighting from his chair. “Or have you picked up that nasty eavesdropping habit from one of our pupils?” 
He spat that last word as if it was a curse. 
“No, Severus,” you say quickly. “I guessed it.” 
Severus. Or Professor Snape. But now…
You think you catch him pale ever-so-slightly, or perhaps that is the dim lighting of the room, casting dark, creeping shadows across the floor. While there has never been a cordiality or warmth to your relationship, you recognise that you have been spared the worst of his barbed hostility.
Before now, that is; now, the distance between you is far too great. 
“Did you now?” He sneers.
In response, you draw up, mindful not to appear challenging as you tip your chin. 
“I’m here because I have a proposition for you,” you announce clearly. “I hoped you would be reasonable and hear me out.” 
Snape’s eyes narrow icily and suddenly you are in his Potions class again, overseen with strict authority. One wrong move, and the concoction will spoil and poison you. His black robes billow as he approaches, expanding like the hood of a cobra. 
“There is nothing you could possibly offer me,” he says, folding one shrouded arm over another. “And so there is nothing to discuss. Leave.” 
Your nerves are strung so tight, you can’t help but object: “The Carrows are far too cruel in their methods! Too brutal. The students-” 
“Are very fortunate to have been granted mercy by the Dark Lord,” Snape interrupts, and you swallow thickly. Of course, you could not have forgotten the festering dark mark that now itches underneath his robes, writhing and serpentine.
“But it isn’t enough,” you say, throat sandpaper dry. A rush of urgency floods your system. Now. It needs to be now, before you lose your courage. 
(A gash on the cheek, a row of dark-purplish bruises and welts, a swollen eye, whippings and burns, scars from chains, all so frightened, but brave still.)
“If you agree to grant my students your protection,” your voice falters. “I will give… Myself to you.”
The silence that follows is agonising. His expression is indecipherable; taut and stiff. You’re beginning to think that maybe you weren’t transparent enough. 
Your trembling hands drift towards your top buttons, and you start to undo them bit by bit. 
“Stop,” Snape orders. 
At this, you freeze. Your heart plummets starkly into your intestines. Oh. You hadn’t even considered that he would - or could - reject your offer. You fear you may have tipped the bubbling cauldron over and left it melting through the carpet. As you linger numbly, Snape’s tongue darts between his lips. Light flashes behind his stern black eyes. 
Perhaps he’s considering it, perhaps… 
“Come here,” he says sharply. You obey. 
Shuddering in the winter chill, you watch the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, the twitch of his lids as his gaze dips steadily downward… Snape’s forefinger comes to brush the fabric from your shoulder, his knuckle grazing your collarbone, and your pulse quickens anew. 
“I’ll do anything,” you plead. “Please, Severus.” 
“You will refer to me as ‘Headmaster,’” he corrects.
“Headmaster…” 
You suck in a shaky breath. Standing this close to him, you can make out the lilac rims of his sunken eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 
He’s tired… The thought springs to mind, unbidden. 
The hand that tends to the rest of your buttons is not rough, but the coldness of his touch makes you flinch. Snape pulls down your outer robes in one swift motion, and you can’t help but gasp. Your nipples perk from the chill, skin prickled with goosebumps. Underwear was unnecessary, and though you knew that from the start, you are stripped so quickly it still leaves you cringing. He moves to fondle your breasts, and your breathing shallows. You stare desperately towards the floor, towards some old, faded tea stain.
“Fall on your knees, ___,” he tells you. 
You kneel quickly in front of him, and he moves to cup the nape of your neck. You don’t need to be instructed; you do your best to steady your hands and unfasten the button over his crotch. You nudge out his dick, and see that he’s already half-hard. 
Before he changes his mind, you spit into your palm and use it as lubricant as you get to work jerking him off. You can feel him watching you, silent and still. This situation is completely wrong, all wrong, but the awkwardness of it is almost juvenile. 
“___,” he calls above you. You stiffen. You know that cautionary tone. “If you have enough cheek to wag your tongue at me, you can also use it for this.” 
You nod faintly, licking your lips. Of course, you should have prepared for this, too, but you have barely even steeled your nerves. Hesitant, you lean forward and run your tongue along the shaft, tracing a vein. Your movements are practically mechanical; dispensing small, kitten licks over the tip, continuing to stroke him. This is now a kind of out-of-body experience for you, the sort of bizarre circumstance you can only encounter in a very strange dream. 
But then, Snape decides your next course of action for you, clutching your jaw and muffling your whimpers as he sinks into your mouth. 
A teardrop falls softly onto your chest, and it only occurs to you now that you’re crying. You gag out a sob as the tip of Snape’s cock hits the back of your throat, unable to prevent loose spit from dribbling down your chin. Above you, his breath hitches. 
“Open your eyes,” he demands. 
You didn’t know you had closed them; squeezed them tightly shut. You peek up at his pale face. 
His pupils are blown wide, almost entirely black. Snape forbids you to keep eye-contact with a firm grip over your head, and you gag again as he rocks his hips. You clutch his thighs for purchase while he fucks your face, tears streaming down your cheeks. For distraction, you try to focus on him, and his pleasure-stricken expression lulls you in like hypnosis; the tightness of his lips, his dark brows slightly furrowed, the minute twitches in his jaw. 
Snape’s thrusts begin to stutter, but he tightens his hold on you and forces you to take all of him. He drags in a sharp intake of breath, and warm, slightly bitter cum pools onto your tongue. 
“Swallow it. All of it.” 
You gasp for air, gulping it down hastily. 
“You'll be getting used to the taste of me. Stand.” 
Snape urges you up and steers you over to his table. Before you can blink, you’re whirled around and caged against his desk. The edge of it cuts harshly into your naked thighs, and you yelp. You can feel his long black hair sweep over your neck, a sensation that is almost ticklish. Snape yanks down your robes and they fall limply around your boots. Now, you are truly exposed, shivering and naked. The only source of warmth is his body heat pressed into your back, the starched, dark fabric of his clothing. 
His cool hand dips around and feels down your stomach, and your breath hitches as Snape unexpectedly plunges several fingers into your pussy. You shock yourself with how slick you are, mortified at the way he tsks behind you:
“Little slut. Is this what you’ve always wanted?” Snape hisses into your ear, spreading the pads of his fingertips over your labia, teasing your clit. 
“Yes!” You choke out. 
“Yes, Headmaster,” he pinches your clit warningly and it feels like an electric shock. 
“Yes, yes Headmast- ah…!” 
He starts to rub in rough, merciless circles, and you immediately try to stifle a cry against your wrist. Snape rips it impatiently from you. 
“Don’t even try to deny it. I can feel how wet you are.” 
It’s surely not the truth. Surely, you tell yourself... 
One long, deft forefinger slips into your slit and pumps steadily in and out. You let out a soft moan, unable to resist the quivering thrill that coils in your abdomen. You didn’t realise he would even try to prep you, and, against your will, you feel some of your fear dissipate. 
“You think I didn’t notice, did you?” He scoffs. “Always so desperate for my attention, always clamouring for a better grade.” 
Memories of your seventh year at Hogwarts resurface and spiral dizzily in your head. The newest, youngest professor, but strict and competent, and— 
Dark, sweeping cloak, black hair, black eyes… 
I even once wished I could brush away the strands…  
Then he retracts his fingers, slowly, torturously, You hate how you yearn for his touch in its absence, how you crave the buzz to smother your discomfort. 
Snape bends you cleanly over the polished table, your still damp breasts pressing into the hardwood. He traces a long, thin finger down your back, tracing languidly across your spine; you could almost believe his touch is tender. Almost. Instinctively, you try to turn your head to face him, but he denies you with a firm hand gripping the base of your neck. You whimper as he lathers cold precum on your thighs, positioning his straining dick over your entrance:
“…Or was it praise you were hoping for?” His voice is low and subdued. Snape’s breath fans over you, and for a moment you falter.
No, of course you don’t expect— 
No, not from Professor Snape. Only your best was acceptable. To elicit a nod of approval, or even a commending glance, you couldn’t possibly hope—
“Headmaster, I— I only ever wanted you to…” 
“Beg for it,” his tone sharpens again. 
Snape slips the tip of his cock inside your folds. But then, he stops, and does not move. You are trapped between his desk and him, left pitiful and squirming. 
“Headmaster,” you say weakly. “Please.” 
“Please what, ___?” 
You grit your teeth, still bristling at the indignity of it all. But you know that, whether he’s enjoying himself or not, Snape has the patience to wait this out. 
“Please, fuck me!” you plead.
You gasp as he grips your thighs and slides himself in further with a lewd, wet sound. Your walls stretch around him as you adjust to his length. He groans softly and rolls his hips, sinking deeper into your cunt, until you’re utterly full of him.
Despite it all, it feels sinfully good, but his movements are so sluggish that you can’t help but whine pathetically into the wooden table. 
“And what exactly is it that you’ve always wanted?” 
What I always wanted, when I was in Potions class… 
“For you to p-praise me, Headmaster.” 
In an instant, you realise this is true. Deep down, you have always hoped for his sole attention… And now he’s invading that dark, primordial world in between, spurring on those secret and forbidden desires you should never have conceived. 
Snape slowly pulls out, dragging every inch of his cock, and then snaps his hips back in, briefly hitting that sweet, sensitive spot that has you seeing stars. 
“Please!” You add, letting out a shrill moan. 
“And do you? Do you want this…?” 
He mutters so quietly, it almost sounds like he’s begging you. Snape’s pace is set now, rocking powerfully into you as you fill the air with loud, desperate whimpers. 
“I do!” You breathe, mind-numbingly uncertain. 
But it doesn’t matter anymore if you want it or not; the sensation is so overbearing and so ruthless, unforgiving and unfair, just like him. You’re barely cognizant of the arms that curl around your naked waist, almost embracing you, until they provide cushioning against the sharp desk. 
“You take me so well,” he murmurs, “So well.” 
Your head spins, threatening to give up on you completely. You could never have predicted such a drastic change in demeanour. The way he’s treating you now is so different from his earlier cruelty; his affectionate caresses might be almost loving. 
“So tight, so good for me…” He groans again, heavily, and the vibrations thrill up your spine as he spears you on his dick. “You’re doing perfectly.” 
He kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, sighing blissfully. You can feel the spiking thrum of Snape’s heartbeat, the soft touch of his lips on your neck, kissing reverently over your shoulder blade. You wish you could just see the expression on his face, if you could only see Severus for one moment…
“Headmaster,” you pant, craning your head. 
“Don’t,” he says hurriedly. “Don’t look at me.” 
Snape doesn’t relent, forcing you firmly in place with a hard squeeze on your shoulder. There’s something thick and vulnerable in his voice that you can’t place, but all you can respond with is a needy cry as he speeds up, angling his thrusts just right. You can feel the familiar shock of pleasure coiling up in your belly now, surging from how deep he reaches. 
“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, aren’t I?” He snaps without warning, bursting with emotion again. You can only nod frantically in response.
“Yes, yes, Headmaster!” You sob, your eyes stinging with tears again.
Snape’s movements only grow stronger, his breathing heavier and huskier. His fingernails are digging small, half-moon indents into your skin. You don’t try to stifle the wanton moans that spill from your lips anymore, clawing for purchase at the wood. 
“___… When you cum, you cum for me.” 
Uncontrollably, you arch into the table. Your leg is cramping up from the exertion, muscles pulled taut, and you’re going to, you’re going to—
Your orgasm drowns the rest of your thoughts in static, white, hot bliss that smothers you. Snape shudders and moans as he buries himself to the hilt, pumping you full of his seed. His black cloak sweeps over you as he pulls out, far too soon, leaving you quivering and dripping with his cum.
The last, mangled strands of lucidity swim hazily in your mind. It takes a moment for you to remember why you were here at all.
After a few seconds, he releases you from the confines of his desk without a word. You bend down and hoist the ring of fabric up past your hips again, though your skin is sticky and damp. After a deep, shaky breath, you dare to glance at Snape. 
There’s a thin sheet of sweat beading his forehead. Snape helps you pull your robes over your shoulders. He silently fastens your buttons back up again for you, and his touch is surprisingly gentle. You don’t rebuff him. Your hands are trembling enough as it is. 
“Promise me that you’ll…” You halt.
Your vision is still blurry, but you could swear he looks like the old Severus. Not the figurehead or the professor, but the man. The Severus you once knew. 
There’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t understand, and maybe you never will. 
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You’re so dead tired you can barely drag your feet back to the staff’s living quarters. You wake Minerva— or, no, she is already occupied by her usual routine of restless pacing, tugging at her tartan dressing-gown. While she does interrogate you a bit crossly, you can tell she empathises with your ‘insomnia.��
After that you gulp down a contraceptive and stumble into bed, boneless and weary. You don’t cry at all, though you feel that you probably should.
In a way, you’re glad that Minerva doesn’t appear concerned or worried for you. That means she hasn’t found out. There was a persistent paranoia in the back of your mind that she had, that Minerva had seen or heard or sensed it somehow.
You wonder if she’d feel disgusted, or if she would simply pity you. Maybe that would be worse.
You flick your wand and flush out the light.
No. No one needs to know what you’ve done.
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A month passes. The grip of winter releases its hold, and spring emerges in its wake, fresh and pure. It’s as if you can finally breathe again.
You hope that you do not imagine the way your student’s faces regain some semblance of warmth. You hope you do not imagine the unmarred bodies, mercifully free from wounds. You also hope that it is not their own schemes or plans that embolden them.
They should leave those matters to you.
Somehow, it feels like the nightmare is almost over. But not yet. Not yet. You still await your orders, and nurse lofty dreams of freedom in your heart.
When night falls, you strip off your underclothes and climb the spiral staircase once more. It is not excitement that tightens your chest, but it is also not dread. Perhaps something else you also do not understand, and cannot afford to think of now.
Headmaster Snape is standing by his desk. You realise he’s been waiting for you. He has that strange, mystifying look in his eyes again.
He offers you a hand.
“Come here,” he says.
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motherfuckingmaneater · 1 year ago
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Book Bellatrix is (part one):
Very tall. Taller than all three of the trio according to Harry when Hermione uses polyjuice to turn into her.
Quick. She’s able to stun four snatchers at once even when they’re in an uproar against her. They all ‘fell where they stood’ suggesting they didn’t even have time to stop her. Greyback is also restricted before he can even try to stop her and bound and kneeling at her feet.
Still very attractive after Azkaban again according to Harry despite that she makes his stomach lurch every time he looks at her.
Has ‘very long rippling black hair’ that’s not curly. It’s still rippling but now it’s become slightly coarse rather than silken and shiny like it was before Azkaban.
Bloodthirstier. She interrogates Griphook and when she’s satisfied with his answer she casually flicks her wand to cut him deep in the face then doesn’t even look back at him as he falls to his knees and screams in agony.
Thin. Not gaunt looking like she was right after her release from Azkaban but that’s part of why she’s so intimidating. She’s tall and thin.
Violent. She hit Ron across the face (just to get him to shut up) so hard his mouth was filled with blood and the sound was so loud it echoed around the room. She’s so violent it seems second nature.
Low (almost sultry) and disdainful in her baritone / voice. I always read her lines in Angelina’s Maleficent voice.
Not thin lipped! Just puts her lips into a line or purses her lips from time to time.
Feared and revered even amongst the goblins of gringots who ‘do not get involved in wizarding issues’.
Has an outright ‘malevolent aura’. So much so she’s never questioned or affronted. All along Diagon alley people were quickly stealing away from her to hide, too terrified of her to stick around.
Known to be closest to Voldemort even in public and non-pureblood circles.
Terrifying. She’s described as ‘frightening, mad’ when she’s screaming orders — so much so even her own sister who had been reluctant to do as she wants does so anyway. Even Fenrir Greyback is scared of her. When she finally releases him he ‘appeared too weary to approach her’ and would rather ‘prowl behind an armchair’ than get too close to Bellatrix.
Physically strong. Certainly strong enough to drag Hermione by her hair into the middle of the room. Strong enough to throw off Lucius’ attempt to grasp her and capture him herself in her grasp.
Ruthless. ‘If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next. Blood traitor is next to mudblood in my book.’ Something she tells Ron after she’s hit him. She’s also incredibly calm when she’s being violent or hurting people. She doesn’t think twice on it.
A natural leader. She takes charge in most situations. She gives orders easily and she doesn’t care who she’s giving them to. She tells Draco to ‘move this scum outside. If you haven’t got the guts to finish them then leave them in the courtyard for me.’ When indicating to the snatchers she left unconscious.
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nevermindigotthis · 8 months ago
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Oooookay, so in my quest to find a Drarry fic I like I came up with my own idea. Basically, instead of Harry, Ron and Hermione all being captured (during the war), Harry manages to draw attention so only he is captured and manages to hide his face (similarly to what Hermione does). He gets taken to the manor and Draco is asked to identify him. Harry is absolutely sure Draco knows it’s him, but Draco hesitates to say so. In that moment, Harry gets a Voldemort vision: Voldemort has found the Elderwand. However, Voldemort also sees what Harry sees, which is Draco, with the absolute certainty that Draco knows it‘s him and isn‘t saying anything.
So Voldemort returns to Malfoy manor absolutely PISSED and accuses Draco of treason and starts torturing him while Narcissa tries to reason with him. Voldemort demands all Malfoys prove their loyalty by torturing Draco with Cruciatus. Bellatrix does not hesitate. Lucius is reluctant, but too afraid to resist, so he complies. Narcissa begs that he‘s her son and she just can‘t. Haven’t decided if he kills her for it.
Then Voldemort turns to Harry, who doesn‘t want to die and tells Voldmort that he‘s a horcrux so he won‘t be killed (Hermione figured it out earlier). Voldemort tortures him a bit too and then throws the both of them in the cellars of the Manor. Which is where this picture comes in (with a lot more humor than the fic would have).
I haven‘t decided how this would end (apart from Drarry, lol), but the glorious escape would entail Harry realizing Draco is the master of the Elderwand and them using that fact to escape. Now that I think about it though, Voldemort torturing Draco would probably make him the master… eh, I haven‘t figured it out yet.
But enjoy the image, because writing is hard and I probably will never actually write this fic.
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lostinwoods · 8 months ago
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What I love the most about Harry is that he always refers to Tom as Voldemort and then Voldemort as Riddle. This might not seem quite special in the beginning but if you look really deep, you will realise that Harry's way of interchanging both Tom and Vee has a major effect on the ending of HP. Where Harry tells Riddle that he had got that one last chance for redemption.
Harry's belief that Tom is still present there somewhere in all the madness that is Voldemort and that Tom would probably want a redemption is what makes Harry Potter my most adored character.
Just absolutely beautiful!
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thathuffgurlsart · 22 days ago
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Harry & Ginny’s Wedding, 2002
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marauderenergy · 2 years ago
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Voldemort: *fires a spell at Harry and misses*
Harry: strike one
Voldemort, firing another spell: that’s not how this works!
Harry: strike two! One more and you’re out
Voldemort, under his breath: fuck
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gellert-1899 · 11 months ago
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I think as a fandom we are not showing enough respect to Bathilda Bagshot. I mean if she didn't think the boys would get on well with eachother and forced them to meet, they probably wouldn't have met.
So Bathilda, thank you. Your work is appreciated. We love you.
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multivstx · 1 year ago
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same energy
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audreyestok · 1 year ago
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After the battle… Trio + Ginny and Draco
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hinnysupremacy · 10 months ago
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When Ron left in Deathly Hallows and came back saving Harry's life, Harry said what he felt for Hermione: "She's like my sister," he went on. "I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that, I thought you knew." I think all that was left was for Harry to say "and I like your sister, you idiot"
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potterwatchsblog · 3 months ago
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44 years ago on 31st July, 1980:- The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Harry Potter, was born.
Happy Birthday Harry James Potter 🎂
33 years ago on 31st July, 1991:- Hagrid showed up at the Hut-on-the-Rock with Harry's Hogwarts letter and told him "You're a wizard, Harry".
33 years ago on 31st July, 1991:- Hagrid took Harry on his first visit to Diagon Alley and gifted Harry an Snowy owl and Harry named her "Hedwig".
32 years ago on 31st July, 1992:- Harry met Dobby for the first time in his bedroom.
31 years ago on 31st July, 1993:- Aunt Marge arrives at the Dursleys Number 4 Privet Drive.
27 years ago on 31st July, 1997:- Harry Potter turns 17 years old, and his Ministry trace is removed as a result of him coming of age in the wizarding world. Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour interrupts Harry's birthday celebration to discuss Albus Dumbledore's Will with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Most importantly 59 years ago on 31st July, 1965:- J. K. Rowling's was born.
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mrsnerdygirl · 2 months ago
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My favourite thing to do when i want entertainment is to remember all the times that Peter got what he deserved.
He sold his friends for power, and in the end, he got treated as a worthless person. Lord Voldemort treated him well in the beginning, becuase he needed the information Peter was giving, but later he had to be careful, after all we know the saying, once a cheater, always a cheater.
Nobody trusts him, noone likes him, non of the death eaters are James, or Sirius, or Remus.
The Death Eaters called him Wormtail, some as a joke, but others like Voldemort and Snape who knew the deep meaning behind it, did it as a form of reminding him every day of his mistakes, of his betrayal.
He sold Harry of to Voldemort for the second time, all to get a full hand in the end, and the fact that it was that hand that killed him, is proof that karma is real.
Throughout the months he spend with the Dark Lord, or Snape or even at the Malfoys, he had enough time to realise that he made a big mistake, that wasnt worth it after all.
But it was to late, not only had he killed and destroyed his best friends, but now that he had a chance to make some things right with Harry by saving him, he gets killed, by the hand he sacrificed everything for.
And i know we dont talk a lot about this, but i really like the fact that the last thing he saw was the friend he spend years admiring, the James he betrayed for a tattoo and a name, he saw the eyes of the cheerful woman, who spend her last minutes on Earth begging for her son.
Most people say that Harry should have killed him, and while sometimes i think that aswell , i know that this way of dieing makes it all the more painful, because while Harry spared his life, and didn't kill him, Wormtail sold him off either way. In the end Harry still helped him, tried to save him from being suffocated to death, and that is what makes all the moments of Wormtail as a death eater, all the more entertaining for me, i love knowing that karma is real, and i love reminding myself that people do not change, they just show a part of themselves that was too well hidden.
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motherfuckingmaneater · 1 year ago
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“You have done exceptional magic with that wand, my Lord.” Snape insisted.
“No, I am exceptional,” Voldemort said, “but I have done my usual magic with it.”
Go off King.
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facettenherz · 2 years ago
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We all know he is evil
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but...
Gellert Grindelwald was dying protecting the one he loved most.
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somelokivariant · 1 year ago
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1: James + Sirius 2: Remus 3: Peter
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thathuffgurlsart · 24 days ago
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Molly and her children
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