Helga Hufflepuff (14 mentions)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I wish I did!


They had the same eyes: stony and gray, with flecks of emerald that seemed to scatter with every blink.

"Snake-eyes", she'd teased, secretly coveting his stern air, abandoning her softness for his strict constraints; forcing youthful curves into pin-straight lines.

It all came rushing back, the age-old story she knew so well: the fatal attraction, the subtle courtship, the follow-through.

It was all too innocent, a twinkle in the eye threatening to shatter the normality of polite society.

She looked back on it almost wistfully now, remembering the naïve infatuations, "young love (nothing to concern one's self over, unimportant in retrospect)".

No more than sheer innocence, exchanging only half-smiles and unsure looks and small gifts: a delicate silver pendant, a badger.

They told her she was young, naïve, but Helga had never been young, not in the mature sense of the word, at least. "Old soul" they had called her, but "precocious" might have been kinder.

Hands clasped in a brief few, precious moments, glancing sideways to avoid the accusations of the others.

She knew what she was doing; it was a conscious, twisted effort to abandon any inhibiting morals, leaving behind baby fat and childhood courtesies. She wanted to be brave, like him.

"Ginger," he sneered back, challenging her with those penetrating, glinting eyes; for a second, he wanted to be soft like her, let go of his cold, stone prison.

He couldn't… wouldn't.

She couldn't… wouldn't.


Ahhh, so you basically have no reason not to review, but if you can somehow justify it in your head, at least tell me this:

Who is "he"?

Basically, just review.

-Mo