#hufflepuff love

[winterxisxcomingx]

HUFFLEPUFF! 💛✨

videos belong to their owners! I only made gifs!

[karlrincon]

Rest in peace to an absolute treasure, Dame Maggie Smith.

They’ve been reunited 🤍

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Y/n, whispering: you know I love you, right?

Draco: why are we whispering?

Y/n: so Harry thinks we're conspiring against him

Draco: oooh

Harry: what are they talking about?

Snape, having heard everything: murder

[the-nameless-poet]

Petition to make

'loud, chaotic and dramatic husky girlfriend x sunshine, lovable and adorable golden retriever boyfriend'

to happen.

"Chaos follow me everywhere I go." Boyfriend x "Are you calling me chaos!?" Girlfriend

[sunder-soul]

hiii cud u pl do a headcanon/oneshot where its a muggleborn reader who smhow ends up befriending the tom riddle who always seems to soft only to her, including tolerating her sassy attitude and its a study session together and they're bantering or summin? i think it wud be nice. thank you!

A/N: Girl I gotchu

･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

Unsaid

Summary: By now you've got a pretty good idea why you're friends with Tom, but sometimes, when it comes up, you wonder why he's friends with you. [GN reader ★ no pronouns ★ Hufflepuff house (but ngl it doesn't really come up u just gotta trust me)] Word count: 1.2k

･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

“I’m dropping out,” you announce, dumping your bag on the table and falling emphatically into the seat adjacent to Tom’s.

Tom, for his part, does not look up. His quill doesn’t even hesitate as he writes in a smooth, unbroken script across his parchment. Instead, he says: “Your bag is on my book.”

You shove it unenthusiastically to the side to reveal the open textbook he’s been working from, and then fix him with a pointed look. Tom is set up in the same little spot in the library as always, his bag at his feet and at least ten other books neatly stacked off to the side of the table. He looks (as Tom always looks) like the poster boy of adhering to the uniform dress code.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?” you say, slightly put out.

“I would not bother,” he says simply, leaning forward and dipping his quill in a small inkwell in front of him. “I’ve come to accept the inevitability of you telling me all sorts of things I don’t care to hear about, whether I ask about them or not.”

He resumes writing.

You kick his chair leg lightly and his quill skips sharply down the page, leaving a jolted line about an inch long off where he’d been writing the word putrescence.

This finally makes him look up, fixing you with a supremely irritated glare that’s made his whole face go tense.

You lean your elbows on the table and smile at him.

Tom’s jaw works slightly, and he takes a long breath. “What’s wrong?” he asks sarcastically.

“Well,” you say as he puts down his quill and bends to pick up his bag. “In Herbology this morning when we were cracking Wiggentree nuts, Lucy Grollen had this horrible allergic reaction and her feet swelled up so much that her shoes burst.”

“And this affects you how?” Tom drawls, diligently rubbing a Spellfriends eraser across his parchment.

You give him a scandalised look. “She’s my friend, Tom.”

He gives you a very dry look and then flips the eraser over to the purple side. “I hardly think you’d be tempted to leave the school because your friend is allergic to nuts.”

“Well she’s also my greenhouse partner,” you say dramatically, throwing yourself back in your seat, “and because she had to go to the hospital wing I had to finish the rest of the assignment alone­, and obviously by the end of class I didn’t have all our nuts cracked so Beery made me stay late to finish them. And that meant that I missed the sign up for the fieldtrip to the Menagerie of Mirabilia.”

Tom throws down the eraser and exhales in frustration. The ink remains unmoved. “You have been talking about that fieldtrip for six weeks,” he says in a clipped tone, pulling his wand from his bag. “And I have been telling you for six weeks that it was going to fill up quickly. Evanesco.”

The eraser shavings on his parchment vanish and leave both of you staring at the tenacious line of ink—which if anything, now just looks a little smudged.

His little comment about the whole six weeks thing has not left you feeling very sympathetic for him. “Wow. You have got to tell me what kind of ink you buy,” you say with a smirk as Tom tosses his wand onto the desk in frustration.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he says hotly, folding his arms and finally looking at you properly as he leans back in his chair. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What happened with the fieldtrip?” he prompts irritably.

“Oh – so as I’m sure you remember, I promised Madeline I’d go with her on the fieldtrip because she’s obsessed with magizoology at the moment, so then I had to tell her I wasn’t going, and she was so upset, and I couldn't stop thinking about it because I felt so bad. So then I was really distracted in Transfiguration and of course Dumbledore notices and asks me to recite the whole definition of Amandation’s Command in front of everybody.” You sigh loudly. “So I can’t do it because I hadn't been paying attention, but then he points to the board and the definition is written right there and I just hadn’t noticed, and everyone laughed at me.”

You cross your arms too, feeling sorry for yourself. “The only solution is to drop out,” you reiterate moodily.

“This is one of your jokes,” says Tom delicately.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Yes well spotted.”

“You’ve ruined my assignment,” he says, nodding at it.

“You ruined your own assignment. With your callousness.”

Rather surprisingly, Tom snorts a laugh. “I would loathe to be my friend, to hear you describe it,” he says with suspicious ease as he extracts a new roll of parchment from his bag. “It begs the question as to why you persevere.”

“Very occasionally, you do something really nice,” you say, watching him with suspicion. Tom’s irritability rarely fades this quickly. “I just kind of zone out all the bits in-between where you’re weird and sarcastic.”

“Weird and sarcastic?” Tom repeats, lips curling. “Have you been listening to yourself since you sat down?”

“My life is ruined, and you’re worried about an assignment.”

“Your life is not ruined,” he says monotonously as he begins diligently copying over his work.

“I’m upset about this and all you care about is telling me that it’s not a big deal!”

Tom sighs curtly and looks up at you, leaning forward a bit and resting his forearms on the desk. “Your life is not ruined. Lucy Groggen is going to be fine, Wiggentree nut allergies are fairly common and the reaction doesn’t last more than an hour, the worst she’ll have to deal with is buying a new pair of shoes. Beery should never have made you complete a two-person task by yourself and it’s ridiculous that he kept you late because of his own poor class management. If Dumbledore was half the teacher that he claims to be, he might have noticed that you were upset about something and think to ask you about it, but his mistake is made all the more egregious given that he chose to single you out in front of the whole class with what sounds like a very silly little trick. And I wouldn’t worry about upsetting Madeline if I were you, because I signed you up for the fieldtrip.”

He resumes writing without another word. You stare at him, dumbfounded. A full ten seconds passes before you can rouse yourself to speak again.

“You signed me up for the fieldtrip?

Tom’s eyes remain level on his work—he’s writing at lightning speed like he’s trying to make up for the lost time. “You have been talking about it for six weeks. It seemed odd that you failed to show up.”

You look at your bag still lying dejectedly on the table in front of you and attempt to process the glowy, warm feeling spreading up through your chest. “Thanks,” you say blandly.

He just looks up at you with a glint in his eyes about halfway between wry and cynical.

“I feel bad about your assignment,” you announce.

Tom slowly smiles, this time very wryly indeed. “You have certainly changed your tune.”

You grab your bag and pull out your water bottle, placing it emphatically on the desk beside him.

Tom’s dark eyes flick from it to you, and he lifts a brow. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

“You have to wet a Spellfriends for it to work,” you mumble, folding your arms and resting forward on the desk.

He stares at you in a sort of frozen state of disbelief. “You mean you let me suffer through all of that for absolutely no reason?” he demands in half-subdued outrage.

“There was a reason!” you protest, smiling at him again. “It was funny.”

He blinks once, and then snatches the drink bottle off the desk, shaking his head. “You are extremely irritating,” he says icily, twisting the bottle open.

“Huh, sounds like a nightmare being my friend to hear you describe it,” you parrot back at him with a grin. “One wonders why you persevere, Tom.”

Tom pauses, and instead of the scathing look of irritation or perhaps a biting remark back, he just looks at you with an unplaceable expression like you’ve caught him off guard.

“What?” you frown, sitting up a little in concern.

Tom blinks slightly and then holds out his hand. “Pass me the Spellfriends,” he says colourlessly.

You arch a brow right back at him, and retrieve the eraser from where it’s been lying discarded for the last few minutes in front of you. “If you were wondering what I meant by the weird part in weird and sarcastic…” you say to him pointedly, placing it in his hand.

Tom silently erases the offending ink stain with a taut jaw and an irascible look darkening his eyes.

“Hey,” you say.

He ignores you entirely, sweeping the fresh shavings off his parchment and setting the eraser aside.

“Hey,” you repeat, reaching out and taking his arm.

Tom’s gaze immediately flashes to you and he goes entirely still.

“Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “For the field trip.”

He does not immediately reply. A second later his lips part like he’s going to say something, but they close like he thinks better of it. He blinks, and then pulls his arm from yours to reach for another book. “Are you intending on actually doing work this evening, or was this visit’s entire premise just to disrupt me?”

You roll your eyes, and reach for your bag again with a smile.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

[keri-mcberry]

It’s hot out there, everyone. Stay cool 😎❄️

[suicidalt33n]

BACK SCRATCHES | MATHEO RIDDLE

☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆

Y/N sat contentedly in Mattheo Riddle's arms, the warmth of his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. The soft flickering light from the fire in the common room cast shadows across the room, adding to the coziness of the moment. They had spent the past few hours talking, laughing, and just enjoying each other's company. Now, they were simply resting together, basking in the quiet.

Mattheo's fingers gently traced lazy patterns on Y/N's arm, his thumb grazing over her skin with a soft touch. He wasn’t usually one to speak up much during moments like this, but today, he had a peculiar glint in his eyes, one that suggested something was on his mind.

Y/N looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest as she smiled. "What’s on your mind, Mattheo?"

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You know... I heard you'd be a pretty cruel person to deny your very awesome boyfriend of back scratches… just saying."

Y/N blinked, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Back scratches? Are you seriously asking for that right now?"

Mattheo shrugged dramatically, his hand sliding down to gently rest on her waist. "Just think about it," he continued, his tone light yet full of mischief. "I'm here, all comfy, and you’re here, all perfect and snuggly... seems like the perfect opportunity for a back scratch, doesn’t it?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head at his antics. "You’re unbelievable," she muttered, rolling her eyes playfully.

Mattheo pouted slightly, his fingers tracing soft circles on her arm. "Come on, Y/N... Pretty please? I’ll make it worth your while."

With a small sigh, Y/N moved her hand to the back of Mattheo’s neck and gently ran her fingers through his hair before pulling her hand down his back. "Alright, alright. But only because you’re my very awesome boyfriend," she said, her voice mock-serious.

The moment her fingers made contact with his back, Mattheo let out a satisfied hum, his body relaxing completely against the soft cushions. "Mmm, that’s perfect," he murmured, a content smile spreading across his face. "See? You can’t say no to me."

Y/N chuckled softly as she continued to scratch his back, feeling his muscles slowly loosen with each stroke. "I guess I can’t," she admitted, her fingers tracing the contours of his spine.

Mattheo’s hand found its way back to her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer, as he closed his eyes in contentment. "You’re the best," he whispered, his voice soft and full of affection.

And in that moment, Y/N knew that despite all the teasing, despite all the mischievous glints in his eyes, Mattheo was exactly where he wanted to be—wrapped in her arms, relaxed, and loved. The small request for back scratches had only added to the warmth of the night, making the bond between them feel even more perfect.

☆☆☆

[speedysart]

Kisses

At first, a fleeting brush with his fingers over her skin, the nervous beating of their hearts til their lips meet in a soft kiss. They didnt dared to move an inch, afraid to ruin the moment. Scared to hurt the other.

But that moment grew over the years. They had to be near, feel the warmth and love of the embrace and passionate kiss. Knowing that their future was right in their arms, forever.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt.7]

"Fenton, Daniel!"

Tim freezes in his seat. His stomach sinks down what feels like all the way to his toes, and it takes an incredible amount of effort to turn his head towards the High Table, where Deputy Headmistress is holding the Sorting Hat, ready for the next first-year to approach her.

The Great Hall is solemnly quiet - as much as it can be, when there's over a hundred people in here, all eager for a chance to catch up after the summer break. Tim hated it when it was his turn to go up and be the center of attention. All those whispers, and muffled snickers, and studying gazes on him, it's like they made his skin itch.

Danny, on a stark contrast, seems to be completely at ease with that, though. He walks up to the front and climbs on the wooden stool with little grace, but he is smiling. He even winks at someone at the Gryffindor table, getting a few chuckles from all around the Hall for his cheeky behavior.

Tim can't take his eyes off him.

He is taller now, which is unsurprising given that it's been more than two years since they've last seen each other. His hair is short, even if it's still a mess on top of his head. But, what's more, he looks.... less round, if that makes sense. His chin is sharper than before, kind of like Mr. Masters'. And the black, unmarked yet robes of the school uniform hang from his shoulders like he's a coat rack and not a human.

The stern woman that greeted them all at the entrance - Professor McGonagall, as she introduced herself - carefully drops the Hat over Danny's head. It tips down, covering the boy's eyes, and-

Tim slowly releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.

It doesn't help the tight, suffocating knot of guilt in his stomach, but at least he is breathing again, so that's good.

How do you forget about a whole ass person?! Because that's exactly what Tim did, he forgot, like Danny's entire existence completely slipped his mind. Which is absolutely mad, and Tim really, really wants to run up and apologize, even if he is not sure what exactly for.

On a second thought, he thinks he knows how, to be honest.

Breaking his leg a week after his ninth birthday, as it turned out, also broke his whole life into 'before' and 'after', and the 'after' was a thousand times more interesting than 'before'. Wayne manor was nothing like his home, no empty halls and cold white curtains, no silence filling his life, no boring, identical days spent in the library. Instead, there was a kitchen where Alfred - who refused to be addressed as Mr. Pennyworth quite insistently - kept bickering with the house elves, and the polished dark railings of the grand staircase that were very fun to slide down, and racing Dick through the hallways, or, sometimes, flying with him above the manor grounds. There was Jason, who read books just for the fun of it and not because he wanted to learn something useful specifically - makes sense for him to be a Ravenclaw - and Bruce, who pouted like a kid every time Tim called him Mr. Wayne, and the portraits of Wayne ancestors who all had an opinion on everything, and three owls, and a secret passageway in the drawing room, and a grumpy ghost in the attic, and Ace, and-

Just everything 'after' was loads better than 'before'.

Which doesn't really excuse Tim from forgetting a person. If anything, it kind of makes him feel even more guilty. Because Danny, even if he was from 'before', was still amazing, and Tim should have... done something. He is not sure what, but definitely not just forget about him.

There are whispers breaking out in the Hall now, Tim notices. It's been almost a minute already, and the Sorting Hat still has not announced a House for Danny, instead grimacing and scrunching its wrinkled face. Which is not that odd if Professor McGonagall's calm face is to prove it, but it hasn't taken its time with anyone else yet.

Someone nudges Tim with an elbow from his left, and when he turns, there's a bulky boy with a crooked, unpleasantly toothy smile, looking at him.

"Your friend?" He asks, and it takes Tim a moment to actually think about the answer. Is he?..

However, before he gets to come to any answer at all, the Hat finally speaks, "HUFFLEPUFF!" And Tim promptly shuts his mouth. No matter his personal opinion on Danny, it's considered uncouth for a Slytherin to be friends with a Hufflepuff. A Ravenclaw friend is acceptable, but the only thing worse than a badger is a lion.

So, at least for now, Tim gives the only answer that is expected of him. Meaning, he winces and huffs, "I'd rather eat a slug," and turns away to watch the table full of black and yellow and laughs and smiles cheer for their new arrival as Deputy Headmistress calls for one Foley, Tucker.

He is still the Heir to Drake family, meaning that even as a first-year in Hogwarts, he needs to keep up with his reputation. Besides, to be fair, he is not even sure if his answer would have been 'yes'. Or if it could have been 'yes' because, in order to figure that out, he'd need to talk to Danny first, and that's-

Well.

Maybe he should think about it later.

Tucker Foley gets to join the Ravenclaw table, and then there are Valerie Gray, Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan all going into Gryffindor in a row, which is met with roaring applause that gets louder and louder with every new arrival. It kind of makes Tim's head hurt a little.

But, just as he is about to turn back around - it can't hurt to get to know his housemates as soon as possible - he catches a glimpse of another familiar face and stops short.

She is not wearing pink anymore, and, just like Danny, her face looks a lot sharper now, but he would recognize that violently violet glare anywhere.

"Manson, Samantha," Sure enough, Professor McGonagall calls next, and the Hat takes less than a split second on her head to pronounce her a Slytherin. Tim's housemates clap and cheer their welcome, but Sam's gaze is all but zeroed on Tim for the whole time, and it kind of makes him want to shrink down and hide under the table.

"Long time no see, Drake," she drawls as soon as she sits down at his side. Then, just when Tim is opening his mouth to answer, she adds, "Or, should I say, Drake-Wayne?"

"You'd know how to address me, Manson, if you cared to listen when the names were called," he snaps without even thinking, "Other names than yours, that is."

It's not that he is ashamed of associating with Waynes or anything. He is actually rather proud of it. What irritates him is the obvious distaste that the girl shows at him, and the fact that he is not sure if it's because he is, although unofficially, one of the Waynes, or because she is craving some kind of revenge after he ignored Danny, or because of something else entirely.

"I don't pay attention to things that hold no importance," Manson brushes him off with a scoff, her chin held high.

Yeah, okay, he really does need to talk to Danny. Because he likes Danny, or at least because he liked him when he was seven, and because Danny is the only nice person in their year that Tim knows.

And because he also knows that he still absolutely doesn't like Samantha Manson, and he just might be friends with a Hufflepuff in order to spite her.

—☆—☆—☆—

We all know how the Great Hall looks, but hey, making an aesthetic is a tradition now:

Tim, Danny, and Sam:

[Picrew]

Jazz (Gryffindor, fourth-year), Jason (Ravenclaw, fourth-year), and Dick (Gryffindor, seventh-year):

[Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

Notes that turned into rambling and got long again:

A month or so later, Tim makes the mistake of calling Sam 'violent violet' out loud, in the presence of other Slytherins. It sticks with her for the rest of her Hogwarts years. She doesn't like it at first, mostly because she doesn't like Tim and he was the first one to call her so, but she later grows fond of the nickname.

If you didn't catch that by the names mentioned, this is set in 1989, two years before Harry Potter shows up in Hogwarts. So, other first-years of importance that went unmentioned in text were Weasley twins, Cedric Diggory, Cassius Warrington, and Stephanie Brown, who is a Hufflepuff now, by the way. I considered putting her in Gryffindor (because, admittedly, she is very brave), but decided against it because in my head, her first and foremost character trait is loyalty to her own beliefs.

While Hufflepuffs are usually portrayed as kind and timid, I believe that what this House values most is a strong will and the desire to do what is fair and just. Hufflepuffs set a goal and reach it even when the world is against them, fight for it even when their hands bleed. Hufflepuffs stand up when they are knocked down, no matter how many times they have to. If Gryffindor is fire, Slytherin is water, and Ravenclaw is air, then Hufflepuff is earth. It's a mountain, a stone, a power that you don't pay attention to most times. You don't notice how hard the ground you're standing on is until you try digging it with your bare hands.

Steph might not be your 'traditional Hufflepuff', but she is hell-bent on getting her way.

Also, I think it's funny to have her and Danny in the same House. Also also, I think it's even funnier to have Steph bemoaning how her House colors are absolutely clashing with her regular clothes and acessories, which are all shades of purple.

By the way, that guy who asked Tim if Danny is his friend was Marcus Flint.

[<- part 6 | part 8 ->]

[ivmaruva]

Hufflepuff Hermione 🦡💛

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about this baby girl after THIS twitter post.

[katsune-nya]

If you asked a Slytherin, they would tell you each one has a pet Hufflepuff. If you asked a Hufflepuff though, they might tell you each one has a Slytherin assistant.

It could be the way Slytherin aren't afraid of saying what they mean and always make it creative. Something Hufflepuff appreciates since they aren't treated like innocent children. Or the way Hufflepuff tries to understand where it comes from before retorting, surprisingly, sometimes as harshly as them. Understanding Slytherin's feelings before even they acknowledge them, yet standing up for themselves.

Maybe it's the universal balance at work again. Pulling those extremes together to make them better.

Or the way Slytherin will break the rules for Hufflepuff and the latter just has to play dumb to prove the former's innocence.

You turn your head towards Draco. "When did you do that?!" An expression of shock and disappointment on your face.

He looks dumbfounded. "Never! You saw me!"

Both turn towards the teacher with looks of confusion.

"He was with me the whole afternoon. When would he have had time for that?" You ask, aghast and confused.

After some time, they leave, now unconvinced of his guilt.

You continue down the hallway, silently at first.

"You're too much of a good liar." He grunts.

"Not a liar! A performer!" You correct as you walk away next to eachother.

Few people would understand the two houses' relationship, but the only understanding they needed was from eachother.

[moonyloony28]

unpopular opinion but theodore nott would 100% date a hufflepuff

[harritudur]

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin."

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 6: Wrapped Tightly [OS]

Pairing: Young Severus Snape x Young Female Hufflepuff You

Set in: Year Seven of Yours and Severus’s Hogwarts time

POV: Second, Reader

A/N: I wanted to write something sweet, something cute, something fun and warming in a one-shot to take a little break from the serials of Brandon, Gruber, and Turpin that I have going on so far this Rickmas so here we are with a young Snape 🥰 Now, it was supposed to be short but… umh, yeah… 👀 P.S the potion in this story is completely made up.

Also, side note, we had a family Christmas crafts day at work (the library) today and there was so much happening I feel like I've been in a whirlwind and I need to finish tomorrow's prompt but I'm all drained after the super-energy at work 😅

Tags/TW’s: Mutual Secret Pining, Young Love, First Kiss, Hand Holding, Knight In Shining Armour Vibes, Illegal Potion Making, Rule Breaking, Sneaking Around After Curfew, Disastrous Potion, Slight Banter/Teasing (fun kind!), Nervousness, Low Self-esteem

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - Your Last Name

Word Count: 4.6k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Wrapped Tightly

Your hands ached, your mind solely focused on counting the stirs of the cauldron. …forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one… On and on it went, you would count until you hit eighty-three and then stir the potion counter-clockwise sixteen times before setting it to simmer for the upcoming eleven hours — perfectly timed for when you’d return from breakfast the day after. You’d have to get an early breakfast to make it in time but curfew was coming closer for this Friday evening so you had no choice but to make it at this time.

What you were doing wasn’t exactly allowed, but then again, no great things are discovered or created by strictly following rules and regulations, right? There, switch to counter-clockwise and one, two, three, four, five… It was a relief to move your arms in the opposite direction while you focused on counting — trying not to let the potentially disastrous outcome of brewing an illegal potion in a restricted tower of your school could yield; especially if the potion didn’t go as planned.

You pulled the wooden spoon of honey-waxed oak out of the potion at the exact right time, staring into the still-swirling potion for any signs of it changing colour for a long minute. It did not, and you let out a sigh of relief. The icy blue liquid was thick and white fumes with what looked like minuscule crystals wafted up from the cauldron as you adjusted the burner beneath it. Nothing happened, the potion remained the same and you clapped your hands giddily.

Before leaving the cold room with a slight shimmer to their walls as the fumes filled the space, you cast another three secrecy charms and a trespass hex for good measure. Rather someone gets a bit of a headache than discovering what you were up to, honestly.

The clock struck nine, the giant clock tower not far from the tower you occupied boomed it out and you closed the door to get yourself back to Hufflepuff quarters. You were on the wrong end of the school, and at the top of it which also happened to be opposite to where your dormitory was. Hufflepuff wasn’t as deep down as Slytherin in the dungeons but still, like the badger representing your house, you were down below.

You sneaked down the swirling staircase of stone, staying close to the inner wall, and made sure to keep your steps light and quiet. The curfew was in effect and now, with the halls lit with more candles and dressed in sparkly globes of magical ice, your reflection could be spotted as well if a teacher on patrol happened to pass nearby.

“Miss Y/l/n,” came a quiet voice and you halted while stiffening. “Perhaps you should take a left, lest you run into old Filch in a minute,” it continued as you turned your head only to find Sir Nicholas peaking his head out from the wall, literally just the head and the tiny flap of skin holding it attached to his shoulders which were hidden within the wall or perhaps behind it — you weren’t sure how thick the walls actually were. “Sir Nicholas,” you whispered. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the teachers’ side?” He smirked, his moustache twitching. “Oh, I like a good joke as much as anyone and what you’re brewing will be a fantastic one.”

You scrunched your brows. What you were brewing wasn’t intended for any joke. “What do you mean?” “Come now, he’s nearly here.” You looked around. “I can’t walk through walls,” you whisper-hissed. “No, but you can open the door,” he chuckled and disappeared. Door, what door? “In here,” came a voice you knew all too well. Your heart quickened at the dark drone and you looked slightly behind you. “Severus?” “Come on,” he said and a hand shot out through the wall— no, through a crack in the wall that suddenly opened wider. A hidden passage? I thought I’d found all— woah! You got yanked through the second your hand landed in his and darkness wrapped tightly around you along with stale air and an eerie quietness.

He pulled you closer, you stumbled on the uneven stone floor and planted your face against his harsh chest in the process of nearly falling face-first. He smelled too good. Sage, peppermint, and a scent all his own. Your heart leapt anew and your pulse quickened rapidly. “Sch,” he hissed as you were about to apologise for stumbling into him.

Footsteps moved past the other side of the wall— erh, door. You both stood absolutely still and you could not help but inhale his scent deeply, feeling that ever-growing warmth in your gut once more — as you did each time you lay eyes on the young man who a year ago had fully caught your attention when he saved you from a potion about to explode in class. It hadn’t been your potion, but the benchmate you sat next to. Had Severus not pulled you away and down from the bench next to you on the other side you would have ended up in the Hospital Wing for weeks, like Mr Biscy (the boy who was brewing) had.

You’d liked Severus before that, mostly by his appearance and this strange allure he had. You’d chalked it up to the bad-boy-vibes and the utter lack of interest he seemed to hold in anyone — even the world — and that was something you were fascinated by. Fine, alright, given your badger status, you were also quite happy to make friends and drag those friends along for the crazy ride that was life. To see people realise how not docile Hufflepuff people were was like the icing on the cake, to be honest.

“He’s gone,” Severus said, the dark drone even deeper with your head so close to his chest. You almost whined a complaint as he let your hand go and stepped back. Your eyes had adjusted to the darker space but it was still hard to see much of anything. “Thanks,” you said with a wide smile. “Why are you out beyond curfew?” he asked, and you could have sworn his brow arched and his face hardened a smidge. He was so pale and his hair and clothes so dark that the features were actually visible even in the gloomy space. “Wouldn’t you like to know."” “I would not have asked otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes, the saying going over his head apparently. “It’s my business. I could ask you the same question, you know.” “True.” He turned and began walking, you followed quickly. "But I am not the one nearly caught. Good for you Nicholas told me.” “Wait, he told you? What did he tell you?” Please, nothing about the potion for Merlin's sake. “That you were about to get caught by Filch. I can come out of that unscathed, you, however, could not.” The drawl of his voice nearly sounded smug.

You knew the squib and Severus had some strange form of friendship, or even a bond perhaps, but there was never a chance for you to ask anything about it. Hell, you barely got a chance to ever speak to or even be this close to Severus — he was a bloody expert at keeping distances… Annoying. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to admit that you truly fancied him, because there was no happiness to come from that given Severus barely acknowledged anyone's existence — yours included.

“There should be rules about teacher pets,” you said quietly. “True. It would not have any effect on the caretaker of Hogwarts, though. Would it?” he said, again, a hint of smugness to his voice you could not quite remember ever having heard before. “You’re awfully smug, bit of a git behaviour that,” you said in a we’re-talking-about-the-weather kind of voice. “Smug? No.” “Then, what?” He stopped, you nearly crashed into his back before he looked over his shoulder at you. “Happy…” he murmured before speeding off in long strides while your brain misfired and your legs had to start sprinting on instinct to follow the leader - so to speak - as you had no idea where you were or where the small hallway was taking you.

Happy? Why happy? Have I never heard him happy before? I don’t think I have. Why is he happy though? Is it me— pfth, don’t be daft. But why? You caught up to him as your brain fired thoughts at you in rapid form. “Happy?” you asked. “Why? What makes you happy? I love it, but why?” you rambled while walking as fast as your shorter legs would carry you. Severus took such long strides you had to fight to keep up as the hallway twisted and turned, sometimes going down a few steps, and sometimes going up.

“I could help you,” he said quietly, his words barely audible. “Help me? Well, yeah, Filch would have caught me so I’m very thankful for the help.” It looked as if he nodded at your words but you weren’t quite sure in the gloom. Come on, get him talking, this is your chance! But Severus beat you to it. “Why are you… sparkling?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

You held out your hands and arms, well, shit, you hadn’t thought about the fumes sticking to you as well as the surrounding area. “Erh, glitter bomb?” Severus snorted. “Sure, glitter bomb. Engineer a better excuse.” “Unicorn farted on me?” you said with a whitheld laugh. “Better. Try again.” What, no laugh out of that? “Fine, a Christmas elf sprayed me.” He sighed. “Try again. Careful, steep drop here,” he said right after and slowed his steps.

Severus stepped down, turning him a few inches shorter than you which looked so odd. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand. You hesitated for a moment while your fingers tingled with the prospect of getting to hold his hand. You grabbed on, he took a sturdy grip with those long fingers, and you stepped down the high step with a bit of manoeuvring. “Where are we?” you asked and he released you. “Almost by Hufflepuff.” “What?” “Yes.” “But we were over on—” “Hogwarts has many passages and secrets.” Severus glanced back at you. “Now, another, better, excuse.” How about the truth? “Alright, I was brewing the Dragon Ice potion and the fumes got all over the place.”

Severus halted, you crashed into his back with an oomph! and a thud. “You what?” he asked, turning to face you. “Brewing the Dragon Ice potion—” He grabbed your upper arms. “Are you completely out of your mind?!” he hissed. “Where’s the potion? Where are you doing it?” “Southwest tower, the restricted one with the—” “Idiot. Come on,” he said with exasperation and annoyance mixed with urgency. “What? No, it’s not done until eight in the morning, it’s simmering for—” “For eleven hours as per the recipe in the restricted section, yes, but that’s the incorrect recipe!” he snarled, grabbing your hand and pulling you back the way you came.

You dug your heels in. “What? But it says the same thing in all three books,” you said, halting all movement. “Yes, and they are all incorrect to keep people from brewing it!” “What?” you asked, worry beginning to gnaw in your gut despite the warmth and absolute joy it was to have Severus so close. “What will happ—” “It will explode, turn everything in close vicinity to ice.” “You say that as if you’ve done it before.” “I have, and I learned,” he said. “You’re about to learn that you don’t brew dangerous, illegal potions at school where, if things go wrong, the evidence is in everyone’s faces. Y/n, what were you thinking?” he asked, anger and frustration seeped through his voice but he was not quite mean to you. “I need the money.” “So brew less dangerous potions!” “No, I need a lot of money.” “Don’t we all…” he muttered

“Come on, we need to break the potion cycle before it turns half the castle into an ice cube.” “Wait, what?” He jerked on your arm and you both began moving again. “Yes. The fumes are already turning your clothes hard, aren’t they?” When you thought about it, yes, your cloak felt stiffer than usual and your skirt wasn’t moving as swiftly around your thighs. “I’m becoming ice?” There had been no bloody warning about that in the books. Severus snorted. “No, of course not. It’s more like your clothes being covered in frost, not ice. It stops after a few minutes. The potion, however, is another matter.”

You both walked at a brisk pace all the way back to where you came from. Sir Nicholas appeared just in time when you reached the wall that was really a door. “Back so soon?” “Dragon Ice,” Severus said, and Sir Nicholas smiled and chuckled so his head nearly toppled to one side. “Yes, quite the jester our Miss Y/l/n.” He glanced at me with weird eyes of mischief one usually didn’t see in them. “It will be so much fun when—” “No, Sir, it’s the wrong recipe, half the castle will turn to ice if it explodes. And it will.” Sir Nicholas stiffened. “Oh dear, Miss. Quite the pickle we’re in now.” But there was definitely mischief in his eyes, it looked wrong on this specific ghost but not in a necessarily bad way.

He floated backwards, out of the wall, and then reappeared again. “All safe, onward mighty students, to stop the botched potion!” he said with fanfare as if you two were knights in shiny armour. It was endearing but the bravado was a bit too much at the moment. “Let’s go, Severus said and pushed open the wall— door, before grabbing your hand anew and pulling you close behind him toward the entrance to the tower.

You started up the swirling stairs, rushing up them. Truth be told, it was hard to be fast when Severus held your hand, but you had no incline to let go. Who knew, perhaps you’d never get to feel his fingers squeeze around yours ever again after tonight? It felt as if you were in a whirlwind — there was so much happening that you barely had time to reflect on the fact that you were with Severus, holding his hand, nearly running with him and that he’d spoken more to you in the past fifteen minutes in one go than ever before. And he said he was happy… But you had no time to think any more of it as you reached the door.

“Good hex,” he said, grabbing at his forehead with his free hand while you drew out your wand and undid it. “Thanks, it was in—” “Uncomfortable Spells For Protection, restricted section.” You chuckled. “Yeah.” “And here I was, thinking you badgers were sweet, none rebellious creatures,” he said, that smug sound in his voice once more but now you knew better. “Aren’t you serpents supposed to be greedy, evil people? Not ones to help those in need with diffusing disaster potions and keeping people out of harm?” “Touché.”

You chuckled before pushing the door open with the back of your wand-holding hand and arm. “Shit,” Severus said, seeing the room filled with a blue-tinted fog that wasn’t at all the type of fumes you’d left it filled with not too long ago. “It didn’t look like—” But Severus let go of you and rushed toward the cauldron, looking into it and interrupting you. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” he muttered before starting to search through the pockets of his robe. “Where is it, where is it?” he muttered further as you moved closer in the freezing room with walls, ceiling and floor covered in a thin sheet of ice and small icicles were forming across the ceiling, too.

“Well, this is bad,” you said, not sure if you were panicking or having a laugh at the whole thing. “Yes, bad, very bad,” Severus muttered distractedly, still searching his robes. “Maybe we should get a teacher?” “No, this will not end well for us.” “Us? You haven’t done—” “I’m here, aren’t I?” True… “But you haven’t done anything, you can go to the dungeons while I get a teacher.” “No time for— Shit! It’s going!” Severus snarled, nearly tearing his clothes apart when ripping at the pockets.

Panic surged through you as the cauldron began trembling and creaking while the potion swirled like a whirlpool. A very beautiful whirlpool of glitter, silver, and blue. But ominous. “Get out, Y/n!” “No way!” you shouted back. “This is my fault!” “We’ll be pop-sickles in a minute!” Had the situation not been so grave you would have burst out laughing. But Severus looked far too serious. “We’ll melt eventually!” you shouted over the sudden storm-like winds spinning around the room, coming from the cauldron. Small flecks of ice scratched at your skin and forced you to squint.

Severus grabbed his wand, shouted something, and a small cluster of purple twigs with white leaves flew from a pocket and into his hand. “Get down!” he ordered and you ducked as he threw the material into the cauldron before covering you with his own body. Your heart hammered, your pulse raced and in the midst of whatever was going on with the potion and dire situation you were in some bizarre form of heaven with Severus holding you tight while half laying over you to protect your head and back was there too, wrapping itself tightly around your heart.

The cauldron exploded. You gasped and whimpered from the shattering sound before the noise of splattering liquid came a second later. Another second passed and quietness took over. No more storming winds, no creaking cauldron. Only the odd dripping noise now and then along with the drumming of your own pulse in your ears and the feel of Severus’s heart against your back with his harsh breathing fanning over the top of your head.

After another moment you both straightened. The room was an absolute mess of darkly blue goo. A dense liquid closer to slime than anything else covered everything, including the wide-eyed Severus standing before you. He had protected you from most of it. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gruff and low. You nodded. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” you replied while looking around the room before landing back on him again. “You’re not though, your hair, it’s turning blue…” “Blue?!” He reached up and grabbed at the long black strands turning blue from root to tip like the black lake freezing over.

“It’s not so bad—” He gusted out a harsh breath through his nose while glaring at you. “Not, so, bad?” he snarled. “I’m blue, Y/n. Blue.” You couldn’t stop the giggle as all that had been black on him turned blue. A vibrant blue to boot. “It’s pretty, very, umh, Christmasy,” you said, endeavouring to hold back the laughing. But, in your defence, he looked like a blue gnome with porcelain skin. “Christmas is red and green, if you’ve not noticed.” “No, it can be any colour you—” “By Merlin, if you say one more word about it I will hex you, Y/n.” “Well—” you stepped closer, loosening the tightly gripping fingers out of his own hair “—hex away if it makes you feel better, I owe you big time for this… I mean, I could have been blue. Can you imagine a vibrantly blue badger? Nope, nope, nope. Blue snakes exist, so, no worries there.” “Pacifying me with facts, are we?” he asked, but he seemed less angered and softer as you brushed away some blue hair from his face and adjusted the now blue coat that had been askew.

Looking up at him, you found his onyx eyes mesmerising. He looked slightly alarmed, but there was something to say for being the focus of his attention. Your heart certainly had a say about it, it galloped along like reindeer across the Christmas night sky rushing to bring the sleigh of Santa all around the globe.

“Purple,” you said. “Purple?” “Plum purple, now that would suit you splendidly. Perfectly matchable with black, too, mind you.” He arched a brow. “Plum purple?” You nodded. “Make plum juice next time then, badger.” “Next time?” you asked, your knees turning slightly wobbly. His eyes hardened and widened a bit at the same time. “Or not, not like I care either way.”

His voice trembled ever so slightly, a lightness to it — as if he was suddenly embarrassed or something along those lines. You were too occupied with wondering what he meant to think much of it.

“You know, it’s not nice to say you’ll stick around if you have no plan to do it. I keep my friends, forever. Unless they do something shitty I can’t forgive,” you said. He glanced away for a second and then looked back at you. “Well, I wasn’t suggesting friendship.” You tilted your head, trying with all your might to understand if he was rejecting you despite having helped you immensely or if this was his way of saying he felt something for you as you certainly did for him. You had hinted at it, you had tried to get closer to him — but Severus, well, he wasn’t one to allow distances to shrink.

“Severus, are you saying I should keep my distance or are you asking me out on a Christmas date?” you asked, throwing caution to the wind and diving in head first. The blue hair shimmered as he glanced all around the room except at you. “Maybe…” he muttered, redness creeping up along his neck and covering the tips of his ears peaking through the still-moist hair.

You sighed, trying to find his gaze with your own. “Maybe what? Maybe a date? At Madam Puddifoots next weekend with some sweet treats and hot drinks in the corner booth?” “Something like that, perhaps…” His voice was so deep, so low, you barely heard him. “Will you still be blue? Should I match?” you asked, unable to hide the warmth and giddiness in your voice despite trying to lighten the mood as the poor bloke seemed absolutely stressed about the potential of going on a date. Pfth, it's probably more just talking and being with someone and admitting to feelings and all that stuff but bloody hell I am right now damn thankful for potions going wrong.

Severus still hadn’t said anything, he just looked at you. “Well? Will you still be blue?” “Are you— Are you making fun of me now?” he asked and the depth of his voice turned uncertain. “Absolutely not.” “You will go on a date, in public, with me?” he asked, his features tight but his eyes soft. Better be clear here… “Yes.” “I didn’t think you actually liked me.” “I’ve been trying to show that for a year now, you're very difficult, you know.” “Too difficult?” “HA! There is no such thing as someone too difficult to love, Severus.” “Love?” he asked, alarmed. “Well, I’ve had a crush on you since Biscy nearly landed me in the Hospital Wing with his potion exploding.” Severus snorted. “How he messed up so grandly I’ll never understand.” “Perhaps not, but you noticed before anyone else did. I’ve always found you interesting, you know.” “Have you?”

You smirked, wiggling your eyebrows at him while the atmosphere softened and eased. “Well, yeah, I’m a friend collector and I always want to rope in as many kinds of friends as possible — you certainly are one of a kind, helpful, too.” “Why does that sound incredibly ominous, badger?” “’cus it is. And if you’re my boyfriend, well, all the more fun things I can rope you into doing. Do you think failing a Dragon Ice potion is the only mischief I’ve ever been up to?” you asked, laughter and mirth in your voice as Severus’s eyes widened in alarm. “I believe I am about to find out…” “We badgers are on a whole other level. Like the time the cups turned into mice in the great hall, that was us. The singing trees in the dungeons, also us. The ice rink in the hallway on the fourth floor, also us. Remember that time everyone started floating about as if gravity went haywire?” Severus nodded. “Well, that was me. Who knew messing with gravitational spells to create a new one could make such a bloody mess of everything?” “Anyone with two brain cells to combine,” he snarked and you smirked at him, he wasn’t serious or harsh about it — it sounded as if he were joking with you, to be honest.

“Think you can handle it?” you asked, stepping closer. “Obviously. I may be blue, but we’re alive and the castle is whole, no thanks to you.” Severus looked down at you as you inched even closer, feeling all tingly as his eyes warmed a bit. “So, knight in shiny armour it is,” you said, grabbing his hand and squeezing. He arched a brow, not impressed apparently. “Shiny armour?” “Ugh, fine, black knight,” you conceded and reached up on your toes.

Before he could react, or step back, you planted your wanting lips atop his and kissed him with everything you believed he could handle. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it certainly appeared to be his as he stiffened and did not so much as soften his lips — it was sweet, endearing even. When you leaned back he looked paler than a ghost but he didn’t appear to particularly dislike what you’d done.

He stared at you for a long moment while your hands warmed each other. “You kissed me,” he said, eventually. You smiled widely. “Supplying me with facts?”  “I wasn’t prepared.” “Oh, shall I do it again on the count of three?” you asked, joking and smirking at him. His eyes flickered from yours to your lips and then up again. “If— If you want to…” His ears turned scarlet red at that and your heart absolutely melted. “Three, two, one,” you said quietly as you leaned closer and then you kissed him again. This time, he softened and tentatively kissed you back while his hand turned utterly warm around your own.

When the kiss broke, Severus seemed as shocked as before. “You did it.” “Well, yes, I wanted to,” you said brightly. “Now, will you still be blue for our date and the breakfast tomorrow?” “No. It will pass in about six hours with a good shower and new clothes.” “So no matching then,” you said with a smile. “And no plum purple,” he replied. You laughed as he smiled carefully. “You’re quite the hoot, you know that?” “Perhaps you hit your head when you ducked?” You laughed again. “Perhaps, perhaps, but at least my head isn’t blue.” “Touché,” he replied before turning to look at the mess of the room. “This will take time to undo,” he continued. “Nah, a few spells and we’re good. On toward the next mischief.”

You never did tell him why you brewed the potion, or why you needed the money only illegal and dangerous potions to sell could bring in. That was a future discussion; if the relationship led to something more serious. For now, you’d enjoy a Christmas with the Slytherin you’d wanted for over a year — even if he were currently very blue you had no qualms about kissing him for a third time when he undid his cloak and rolled up his sleeves to help with the cleaning. The fact he stiffened and his ears reddened this time, too, only made you feel as if he was the sweetest thing that you’d eventually corrupt with shenanigans, of course.

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Well, this was fun 🥰👏 It really was supposed to be a short thing, just like a small tidbit of fun teenage shenanigans and then boom - inspiration hits and you gotta type type type 😂👌

I hope you’re enjoying this first week of Rickmas - which character is your favourite to read about when it comes to Alan? 😍❤

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[teenageheartthrob]

Maruaders- Types of Love

James loves like a happy puppy, with his full heart. It’s almost innocent, as if he hasn’t yet been touched by the hurt of the world, and you supposed in many ways he hasn’t. Although naiveity can often be exciting, you could barely keep up with the hyperactive toddler. It was a shame really that he wasnt the dog, it would’ve been much easier to get him to run laps of the Quidditch pitch. He loves in all five love languages, you’re never short of displays of affection, and James would rather die than to leave you questioning his intentions. He followed you everywhere, physically or otherwise. Even on the pitch his eyes found yours in an instant, the softness behind the contact making your heart beat just a little faster.

Sirius loves fiercely, like he could lose you at any moment. As if his next breath might be his last and maybe breathing you in will save him from the empty clutches of death. Sirius loves with the weight of the fear of his entire family behind him. Perhaps each emotion is as passionate as the other. He loves you like a whirlwind romance, burning and intense. Your friends wouldn’t be surprised to hear one day that the two of you had actually been married for months, having eloped as a display of your endless affection.

Remus loves tenderly, with patience and care. Maybe he's scared of himself, of what he could do to you, but in reality, he's more scared of what you could do to him. He has a tough exterior, he has to, it was the only way he could hope to survive, but you could tear all that down in a second if you looked at him the right way. It fucking terrified him. He loves tenderly, treats you as the love of his life (because you are), but he loves from a distance. Ever so cautious, calculating the damage each of you could feasibly sustain. He watches with a loving gaze and lazy smile, behind shaggy hair, unaware of your blush hiding behind your own.

[severussnapemylove]

(Severus shows up with his Hufflepuff s/o)

Sirius; 'What in the fuck-knuckles is this?"

Severus; "They're my partner, you little shit."

Sirius; "Whoa! Pump the hate brakes. I'm just surprised anybody would date you. Especially Pinky Pie from My Little Pony."

Y/N; *uses wand to throw something heavy at Sirius*