Dumbledore's Got Style Novels & Stories

because the pictures inside were alive, kinda like a harry potter book which make my eyes glued to them. "Yeah! Yeah!!….. Stop Shouting will you!...Who is it?..". (Old man) "Ol' Grim!…is this how you handle your shop?….". (Baroness Lydia) An old man comes out of the door behind the counter, scratching his head in an annoyed tone. He looks like what a wizard should be, with a long white beard and hair, a wise-looking face, and a long grey robe (kinda look like someone cosplaying as Gandalf). At first, he was annoyed as Baroness Lydia was lecturing at him, but secretly he was trying to cast appraising magic at the 3 of us.

I let my purse slide down my arm and drop to the floor where I stood in front of his desk. “Because short skirts and Harry Potter T-shirts are so professional,” he retorted. I wore a black, pleated leather skirt that sat high on my hips and flared out with bare legs and black combat boots. On top, I wore a white T-shirt that read, “I’ve got 99 problems, but a snitch ain’t one,” with the golden Harry Potter snitch on it tucked into my skirt. “Whatever, Muggle.” I plopped down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

It’s cute, seeing them make the effort for me. Closing the door behind me, Alek speaks as we start to walk out. “I love how cute you look. It will annoy me the day the Luna academy starts to change your style, but I’m praying it’s only for certain things, not everything. This style suits you.” I smile, replying equally excited. “You in a cotton polo is definitely different from your usual button-down shirts, but it’s twin number two over here who has me speechless.” Dahynael’s playful glare at me makes me giggle over nothing—just his expression alone.

Tall shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, overflowing with spellbooks, artifacts, scrolls, and, the least conspicuous of all, at least three magical familiars sleeping in jars I didn’t dare to get too close to. Professor Dana sat behind a desk carved out of polished obsidian. Her hair was a sharp opalescent silver, shimmering like a blade’s edge. Not gray, not white. Silver. Silver with veins of purple and blue pulsing just underneath, lightning caught in silk. She tilted her head at me. “You’re not on my schedule, Mr. Reed.” “I know,” I said, shutting the door behind me and resisting the urge to flinch when it locked itself. “But I think this is… urgent.”

A few students turn subtly, their curiosity obvious. Of course they do. Albert doesn’t even bother lowering his voice. “You are dressed like you own the place,” he continues, his gaze dragging over me in a way that feels far too deliberate. “Short dress… heels… that attitude? Yeah… you knew exactly what you were doing.” My fingers tighten slightly around my pen. I shift in my seat, crossing one leg over the other—not because of him, but because I refuse to let him think he’s affecting me. But the movement only seems to encourage him.

A few students turn subtly, their curiosity obvious. Of course they do. Albert doesn’t even bother lowering his voice. “You are dressed like you own the place,” he continues, his gaze dragging over me in a way that feels far too deliberate. “Short dress… heels… that attitude? Yeah… you knew exactly what you were doing.” My fingers tighten slightly around my pen. I shift in my seat, crossing one leg over the other—not because of him, but because I refuse to let him think he’s affecting me. But the movement only seems to encourage him.

Prince Ollivander was another epitome of beauty, his dark hair falling to his back, he was wearing a black torso and black sleeve, and his wide and broad shoulders were visible. He exuded an air of confidence and sophistication, his every movement a symphony of grace and refinement. His striking dark hair cascaded down his back, a stark contrast to the milky white of his complexion. His choice of attire only served to enhance his allure, the black torso, and sleeves hugging his lithe form and accentuating his broad shoulders.

“Let’s make her look like a queen.” The staff swooped around me like vultures dressed in Gucci, their hands tugging at fabrics, holding up styles I’d never even seen before. Reds, silvers, slits that could murder reputations. Draco sat back on a velvet chaise lounge, legs crossed, sipping wine like he was enjoying a private show. “I feel like a doll,” I muttered as someone pulled a zipper up my back. “You are,” he called from the corner. “Mine.” My jaw clenched.

As she emerged from the shower, her skin still flushed from the warm water, I summoned the perfect attire for our impending meeting with the Necromancer King. The stunning silver dress I produced for her seemed to shimmer and shine in the light, accentuating her curves and radiating an aura of elegance. I mirrored her splendor with a dashing silver suit, complete with a black vest and shoes that gleamed like polished onyx. My own dark hair was impeccably styled, every strand falling into place with precision, as I ensured that we presented a united front of refinement and poise, befitting our audience with the Necromancer King.