Olivia
Online
Hollandry
@Hollandrryy
Maladaptive Music Daydreamer
Consumer of the snooter
Malfoid Yearner
Writing a silly musical Tribute fic for snoot/wani
Icon from Dead as Disco
Joined September 2026
70 Following
4 Followers
149 Posts
>What is it Mrs Norris?
>Meow
>It's just Harry and Malfoid on a secret date
>Meow
>I know! Its past curfew but who am I to deny such pure, young love? Come on, before they see us and the mood is ruined
>Meow
you are missing out on lore you don't even know has been written.
https://t.co/8wuKGhTxHc Part 1 "The Volunteer"
https://t.co/TDgFp9o5V2 Part 2 "The Crusader"
https://t.co/Ymbz1OUy9p Part 3 "The Harvest"
https://t.co/tp8tiNPCIA Part 4 "The Price"
https://t.co/NimWthnxdA Part 5 "The Slumber"
https://t.co/UT7dlfVGm8 Part 6 "Blood of the Worthy" https://t.co/8BJBIzBbqg Part 7 "Symphony of Tears"
"TEARS TEMPER THE BLADE OF OUR HEARTS"
@Hollandrryy YOU WILL READ AND YOU WILL SHARE SOLDIER.
TEARS TEMPER THE BLADE OF OUR HEARTS.
WE FORGE OUR FICTION, BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
TIME TO WRITE.
Malfoid after seeing how the Dursley's treated Pottah
@NavisNobelite I just can't chef...I listen to music while I read...Radiohead was on while I read this one...fuck my tears
Hermione’s eyes watered, not from emotion but exhaustion. She had been there for hours, reading, studying, sorting, THINKING. Books were stacked knee high around her legs with tabs and bookmarks. By Merlin, it felt like she was actually THINKING for the first time in four years, the gears in her mind spun like a well oiled engine as variables, possibilities and probabilities raced to catch up with the knowledge she had absorbed.
Her eyes screwed shut as a yawn caused her train of thought to crash. Hot tea and food wasn't enough to keep her going uninterrupted anymore, she needed better motivation.
Her eyes darted to a picture at the center of the board, a grinning, if heavily bandaged red haired boy. The photo was giving a nervous laugh to the camera, though his skin was still far too pale for her liking.
That was enough to get one more hour, then she would take a break.
Blinking the exhaustion away she walked to the image, it moved with the perfect capture of the moment, the awkward moment of Ron when he regained consciousness. It meant the world to her to see him awake, but something was wrong about it. Terribly wrong.
She tapped her finger against a blue thread, slowly following it to another image of Ron, taken one year earlier… He wasn’t that much smaller, maybe a few inches shorter before he hit a growth spurt, but no one could develop the muscle tone and definition that Ron had in such a short time between photos. A photo of his face laughing, probably from a trip to Hogsmeade connected to the first as well with a red thread.
His facial expressions were different too, there was something about his eyes, the cheek bones, the way the mouth curled. It was still Ron, but something about it seemed strained and stressed. The more she thought about it, the more it concerned her, she read into what could cause such an effect and she kept on running into stories of war veterans and long-time aurors.
They called it things like "The long stare" or "Five Mile Gaze" The sort of thing that happens to young men who see the worst of war. What happened to him?
Back to the image, she followed a pink thread. The injuries. They weren’t consistent with any magical creature she knew of. A troll couldn’t cause the clean cuts in rock and metal, they were too clumsy. A giant wouldn’t fit in the corridor and wouldn't be so precise. A dragon COULD cut rock and metal, but there was no evidence of fire or sightings. Dementors attacked the soul, not the physical. A Hippogryph COULD do it, but it would have to be big, and there were no signs of feathers or hair in the corridor. How would any of them even get into the school?
She scolded herself internally. She literally had to help fight a troll that Quirrel snuck into the school in her first year. If a Troll could get in, so could a lot of things. That would require, of course, teacher assistance which made little sense given the heightened security of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.
Sabotage perhaps? Harry WAS nearby when the fight happened, someone could have tried to remove him but this seemed too extreme.
Her eyes fell back on Ron, which then started to burn a little. The memory of his pale face on the infirmary bed flashed hot in her mind, her heart felt the echo of terrors beyond nightmares.
She followed another thread, this one green, to an image of the corridor, ruined and smashed from cuts and impacts that seemed to defy logic. Sure, some seemed like spell impacts, Ron could have done those, but others she had never seen before, especially those terrible slices that seemed to not care about what material was in its way.
Ron’s memory was scattered, insisting that he heard something in a corridor that was following Harry and Malfoy, he saw “something” in the dark and tried to stop it, then his memory seemed to cut short. A memory charm perhaps? Trauma? Could the monster have hidden it's trail with magic?
A yellow thread leads to Professor McGonnagall. Her explanation in the infirmary was metaphorical, and gave almost no useful information. It was enough when she was crying, but now she could see it for what it was… Obfuscation. This may not be the professor's fault, as some creatures cannot easily be defined by words. Imagine trying to describe a Dementor to a muggle, you would have to go into metaphor just to get a hint of their wretchedness.
“Destroys futures… its own failures.” She hummed as her eyes slowly moved back to the image of Ron, and another wave of guilt flooded over her, making her shiver. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t been so… so… is there a word for it? Passive-aggressive doesn’t really cover it… Catty? No… there has to be a word for it and her mind seemed to circle around the word without grasping it.
“Arrogant.” she whispered, feeling her regrets collapse upon her mind, she was so terribly arrogant. She thought she would teach him a lesson, teach him to grow up, teach him to be a man. She couldn’t be wrong, she was the star pupil of the school… and that arrogance likely sent Ron into the corridor to his near-death. She let loose a sob as her knees grew weak, sinking down to the floor as the guilt pressed against her psyche.
“No. I am not going to give in. Ron didn’t, I won’t.” she says, her eyes filled with renewed vigor. She was arrogant before but now she had to be competent, for Ron. For Harry. Maybe even for that blond haired wench Malfoy. She didn’t have time to cry, she stood shakily and looked back to the wall. The thing was going after them, Ron stopped it. Why was obvious but what about Who?
The other schools? Sure Durmstrang has a bad reputation but Krum didn’t strike her as underhanded. Their teacher? They would have to get through all of the school defenses. Beauxbatons? Nonsense. They didn’t have the skill or subtlety. It had to be someone from within the school.
Her finger followed a black thread to an image of Snape. He told her to investigate the corridor…why didn’t he do it himself? His normal desire to torture students for his own amusement? She was two corridors away and a floor up at the time, looking to find Ron to scold him some more.
Her heart sank… She was being so awful. In what world was acting like that acceptable? How did she fall into that sort of behavior? How long was she doing it for? All she wanted was attention… his attention. Being in the right place at the right time didn’t help her grief in the slightest.
How did Snape ‘hear’ something from so far away? He was a Professor sure, no one really knew what he was capable of. Maybe it was a coincidence? Could Snape have done this? Was that creature meant for her?
She scowled at her own thoughts. Nonsense, it was clearly meant for Harry, who was one of the Tri-Wizard champions, shoving herself into this would be pointless. “Stop being narcissistic, Hermione" she chided to herself, “it’s not about you!”
How did Ron even kill it? Sure Ron wasn’t a terrible student, but he was no Auror. A monster with that destructive capacity SHOULD have killed him without effort. Her eyes again looked at the image at the center of the wall. His bandaged body looked like it was cut from stone, she just didn’t realize it in the dark when she was crying over him. How did he get that level of fphysique?
Her eyes lingered on him, his jaw was more set than she remembered, his neck was strong. His shoulders were toned that flowed continuously to arms that looked like woven steel cables, his chest was so--
Her face turned a brilliant pinkish red as her hands flew to her cheeks, “Not now! Not now! Don’t think of that now!” she scolded herself as she tried to shake the imagery from her mind, only to leap nearly out of her shoes when the door to the room opened behind her.
The dark, messy hair and bespectacled face of Harry peeked in through the door, right under it the long platinum locks and pretty (if suspicious) face of Malfoy right beneath him. “Hermione?�� spoke the boy.
She was still blushing hard enough to bruise her cheeks as her gaze flicked from looking to her classmates and the massive spiderweb of a wall behind her, “Uhh… Hi?” she said weakly
“Granger what in the world is this? Have you gone mental?” Malfoy said with a hint of amusement in her voice. There wasn’t time to start explaining, as Harry had already entered the room to look at the wall, specifically at the image of Ron.
“She’s trying to figure out what happened to Ron,” said Harry, his eyes wandering over the wall, his voice was filled with awe and comfort, clearly the issue was on his mind as well. It helped a lot to hear it from him.
Malfoy’s amusement seemed to bleed away at Harry’s words, her eyes following the strings across the various pictures and documents, “But the teachers said it was some kind of creature didn’t they? Something as bad as a dementor or worse? What makes you think they were wrong?”
Hermione bridled a bit, not at the Slytherine, but the explanation, “Because I can’t find anything anywhere that fits the description,” came her voice, filled with fire, “Smashed armor, crushed stone, sliced metal and rock. It’s as if the worst elements of every magical creature were at play. No such thing exists or could have gotten into the castle with that kind of power. Even the forbidden section of the library helped."
Harry and Malfoy looked over the wall slowly, following the threads and asking questions about each one, Hermione answering with as much information as she could gather. By the end of it, Harry had a stony look about his face, Malfoy, fearful. They understood that Ron stopped something that was undeniably coming for them.
With a weak attempt at regaining her composure, Malfoy quipped “At least there is a Weasley that is good good for something.” she said, but Hermione could tell that the remark was trying to hide a very real fear in her mind.
“You should thank him,” said Hermione, her voice filled with indignation “He did it for you two. He KILLED it for you two.”
The surprise in Malfoy’s face was enough satisfaction for Hermione, Harry just grinned, “You bet I will. I would get him a new wand, but I hear McGonnagall replaced it already. The thing smashed his new one in half.”
“If..” said Malfoy weakly, “If I find anything out… from my father I mean… I will let you know. He may have knowledge you can’t find here.”
Hermione looked at Malfoy with an angry look, but quashed her desire to make a snide remark, from Malfoy that was practically an offer of friendship. Instead she took a deep breath and said “Thanks… anything will help.”
The two turned and walked towards the door, and Hermione turned back to the wall. The exhaustion starting to creep back into her eyes
“Hermione?” Said the voice of Malfoy behind her
It was just her, standing half way through the door.
“Ron is really lucky. To have you watching over him I mean," the sound of gentle teasing in her voice
Hermione was caught off guard and blushed crimson. Malfoy clearly noticed and smirked in her self satisfied Slytherine way.
“What were you and Harry doing in that bathroom?” asked Hermione in a teasing yet inquisitive tone.
Malfoy blushed hot pink. But recovered quickly
“Touche’, Granger.”
“Until next time, Malfoy.”
#malfoid
@iFenRox The yearning...her desperate attempts to stop him from the destiny they know he must fulfill...peak cinema
Don’t Go.
#Malfoid
"You see class, there's a difference between long and short distance running. Take hurdles for example-"
"Professor, what's a hurdle?"
"Hogwarts has no Track team?! Cross country?!"
*Class shakes their heads*
"I must speak with Dumbledore at once!"
“Remember, class, a sound mind in a sound body equals sound magic. Always get a good night’s rest, eat a healthy diet, practice good hygiene, and exercise regularly. Does wonders for your spellcasting and improves your quality of life.”
Competent Lockhart
@JJB_TAP This art is peak but...no...you can't take Malfoid like that...she'll survive... live happily with Harry... please
Every time her tear stung eyes closed, the nightmare wouldn't go away. Her heart screamed out for solace, but her lungs would not hold air long enough to speak. The bandages were soaked in blood, his face bruised from impacts and his skin as pale as a ghost.
Her heart stung with the recollection of finding him, after trying to hunt him down for another thorough tongue lashing after their first argument. Instead she found Professor Snape who merely suggested to look in the corridor near the dungeon steps as he had 'heard a commotion'.
There he was, unconscious, face down in his own blood. Body covered in cuts, bruises and the dark rose of broken bones. He was attacked by something horrible and the fight had destroyed the corridor with craters, burned portraits and destroyed suits of armor. She had never read about something that could do so much damage to stone, metal and flesh.
A fresh sob escaped her lips, her voice struggling from the screams for help. All her books, all her classes, she panicked and couldn't function at the sight of Ron. She just screamed for help until the ghosts alerted the Professors. She refused to leave his side but she couldn't help but see the stressed look on Madam Pomfrey's face as she worded on him.
"Miss Granger." spoke a stern voice, which made Hermione sit erect with shock, she had not heard anyone enter the room before.
"P-p-proff-" she tried, her voice still being interrupted by uncontrollable sobs. She was met with a look out of her favored professor she was not used to, as if her face were carved from granite. The look in her eyes was one of absolute authority, so much that her diaphragm finally surrendered under pressure and let her speek.
"Professor McGonnagall." she rasped.
"How is Mister Weasley?" spoke the voice of the professor. Something about her presence made Hermione uncomfortable. Maybe it was the lack of candlelight or how the shadows landed in the moonlit room, but she couldn't help that she was in the room with something incredibly dangerous.
"Madam... Madam Pomfrey would not tell me...and said we would know if he woke up...Professor he is so pale... He won't warm up. He won't move... I can't even tell if he is breathing." she croaked as tears began to emerge once more, "I didn't want it to be like this."
"If you think Mister Weasley is going to die tonight it is clear you know far less about him then you think." snapped the Professor, which made Hermione look up in horrified shock.
It took a moment for the Professor to speak again, though her voice was softer than before. "Do not despair child. I have never once seen a Weasley succumb to injuries and I doubt I will now."
The words helped, if only a little.
"What attacked him? What could do this to him?" Hermione whispered out.
"Again, you are mistaken Miss Granger. Ron was attacked by nothing. Ron Attacked something, something dark and horrible, and I am aghast that it was inside the school grounds." responded the professor, leaning into the beam of moonlight, making her resemble a hungry bird of prey.
Hermione just stared and listened, she was always an attentive student, and not interrupting a teacher was more important than not.
"There are things worse than dementors, Miss Granger. Entities that suck away more than souls, they hunt the future. Bitter entities that failed so harshly in their lives that they are twisted by it. Warped by it, turned into inhumanity and seek only to destroy the futures of others. Such creatures are capable of rending flesh, breaking bone and ruining the future for their prey." McGonnagall explained carefully.
"And Ron.. Ron found one?" said Hermione in an awed voice, "and...and fought it?"
"No Miss Granger. Mister Weasley killed it. He struggled, wrestled, clawed, kicked and killed it. He didn't even know that he had the tools to do it too." spoke the Professor, "Just like the Somme, sweet memories."
"But--"
"Enough questions Miss Granger. Ron has done this school a great service. If he doesn't make it through the night he will have his own statue in the Dining hall, mark my words."
"But you said--"
"Listen Miss Granger!" barked the professor, "Ronald needs more than your tears! He had a reason to face death itself, it's up to us to be worthy of his sacrifice. Now clean yourself off and go to bed."
As the professor rose, gently dusting off her robes the wavering voice of Hermione drifted through the room.
"...No."
"Miss Granger-"
"NO. I will not leave him! I will -NEVER- leave him! Not again! If I didn't-- He wouldn't--- He-- I--- I WON'T LET HIM GO" She cried in a tear worn voice, wrapping her arms around the wounded boy.
Professor McGonnagall stared long at the crying girl.
"Very well Miss Granger." she uttered before striding from the room.
Through the renewed tears and sobs, a third voice crackled beneath a sea of frizzy hair
"Hrm..nn..ee"
Outside the room, Professor McGonnogall tutted in frustration, "too much, Vinny. Too much like me at that age." before she turned on the spot and walked into the night.
#malfoid
@NavisNobelite My eyes chef...stained with tears...
DO NOT FAULTER, MEN OF VALOR.
YOU. MUST.
YEARN.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of MALFOID.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of MALFOID.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of MALFOID.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of The Light.
Carry The Light of MALFOID.
YOU MUST CARRY MALFOID IN YOUR HEART.
FOREVERMORE.
#malfoid
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