Hairy Potter Novels & Stories

He was using a cane, his hair was totally white and thinning on top, and he had so many wrinkles, even a turkey neck. Santos laughed inside my head, ‘you’re mean.’ “Don’t be so fucking loud then. You can mindlink, so if you don’t want anyone to hear you, just say it inside your fucking head like the rest of us. They took your legs, not your brain, stupid.” Cyrus said, lessening my guilt for mentioning his turkey neck. I growled at Cyrus, but my growl didn’t even impress the old guy anymore. “But what about Harry Potter reminds you of our conversation?” Lily asked.

It was like the man in front of me had changed bodies in mere two seconds of time. Before I could answer, a booming voice rang behind me, “Hope..?” And without turning back, I recognized the voice that had been haunting my memories for more than a decade. I turned back on my slippers to see a heavy, big man with beard hiding half of his face and a black bandana holding the curly locks on his head. His mouth was curved up in a smile so big that I could see each one of his teeth. He looked like Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies, accept for the bandana and the body without any fat.

A decent girlfriend? "HARRY! What are you doing? Really? In front of my new coat? You went straight to that bitch and didn't even think about waving at me? Dude!" Yul said. Oh, so he's Harry. His name suits his physical features; he's hairy. Maybe if we get closer, I'll call him Hairy instead of Harry. "Hahaha! Why so jealous, bro? I just want to congratulate your wife! She's beautiful and no one is approaching her. Your guests are too shy to make a conversation with her thinking she's like a gold 'cause of her looks," Harry said.

New characters emerged, each with their own unique insights and abilities. One such character was Sirus, a reclusive scholar rumored to have deciphered ancient texts that held the key to the impending catastrophe. His abode was a remote tower nestled in the heart of an enchanted forest. The heroes ventured into this mystical woodland, guided by the faint glimmers of arcane symbols that marked the path.

Blend in, keep your head down, and move on before anyone gets too close. As she walked down the bustling hallway, murmurs and whispers followed her. She was used to it. She didn't just blend in. She found her locker and fumbled with the combination, her hands trembling slightly. As she opened it, she caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror inside. Her long, curly silver hair cascaded down her back like molten moonlight, shimmering with an otherworldly glow. It was the kind of hair that defied explanation, the kind that drew eyes and sparked curiosity exactly what she didn't need.

Every morning was a gift. Nisan had grown quickly, as half-blood children often did. She was already sitting up on her own, reaching for objects with her tiny hands, babbling in a language that only she understood. Her dark hair had thickened, curling around her ears. Her gray eyes had lightened, becoming almost silver in certain lights. The golden glow still flickered beneath her skin, especially when she was happy or excited or hungry. The First Wolf's power was there, watching, waiting, but not interfering. He had learned patience. He had learned that some things could not be rushed.

I barely even looked in the mirror before rushing out of our house. As I pass the windows of a dark classroom, I regret my decision to not even brush my hair—I resemble Hermione Granger in the first Harry Potter movie, with a bird's nest for hair. Mine is darker, though. I was born with the complex of a ghost and black hair to match. I'm a mess.

I knew what he was thinking without him saying it. His eyes roamed my dried, tangled strawberry coloured hair with questions on his mind. It was rare for a wolf to have strawberry coloured hair. I was grateful that he didn't ask me how I possessed such weird hair colour because I didn't know how. Once, my father told me that every firstborn of the Harper family possessed certain powers and the confirmation of such powers was having a strawberry coloured hair.

“The Lockhart’s are one of the wealthiest families in Britain. Are she and Jade g-” “Yumm that looks delicious!” I interrupt her just in time, as we come into view of a small wooden stand, where Miss Turner, my math teacher, is stirring a large black cauldron with a silver ladle. She’s dressed as Snow White, her black hair held back by a bright red bow which perfectly matches the frames of her round Harry Potterish glasses. Even though I hate math with the passion of a million burning suns, I can’t help but like Miss Turner and her sweet, awkward math-nerd humor.

My skin tingled with excitement at the thought of Harry's hands roaming over my curves, stripping away the flimsy lace. Reaching the seventh floor corridor, I paused outside the Room of Requirement, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. Then, with a trembling hand, I knocked three times. The door swung open and there he stood - Harry Potter himself, glasses glinting in the candlelight. His black hair was messier than usual, like he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times. The white shirt hugged his lean chest and his dark jeans clung to his hips. He was gorgeous.