Hufflepuff Banner Novels & Stories

Some returned pale, others trembling, a few silent as stone. When my turn came, the attendant’s voice called, “Aria Hale.” I rose. My legs felt heavier than they should. The council chamber was circular, its walls lined with old banners bearing the academy’s emblem: a wolf beneath a rising moon. The floor gleamed with polished marble. A faint scent of cedar smoke hung in the air.

I was fascinated by the majestic carriages wondering what the people inside it looks like. As I saw the last of the rainbow irises, the towering shiny silver gate of the Lockes Eofore filled my vision. Welcoming the wizling’s inside was a gigantic ornate fountain. The porcelain fountain was scintillate clean with daedal and sophisticated symbols adorned of flowers and green little vines. I entered the gates on foot, leaving my broom with a securing spell on the Demesne, the parking area of the Academe. The flagstone steps made a mum sound as my shoes made contact and I began to hasten my steps. The Academe was easy to spot. With its lofty stature and eye catching towers it was jaw dropping e

Cat barked back happily. We finally made our way through the throng and walked up three short steps onto a dais where the high table was placed horizontally. It was set like the other tables but this one had two thrones behind it and then two more modest chairs; one to either side of the thrones. Behind those thrones, hanging on the vine-covered wall, was a banner with a device embroidered onto it. The shield outline was filled with a grayish lavender color, like the stones of the castle, and over that lavender field, directly in the center of the shield, was a large, silver star. The symbol of the Twilight Court appeared to be a star, which explained all the star decor... and my name eviden

Taking a deep breath, I swipe right. I continue on, and also swipe right on three other men. One mentions Slytherin—I decide not to tell Charlie, who told me to only date Hufflepuffs—one mentions he has a beagle, which is my favorite breed, and the third also has a photo of him with a dog and, in the background, a World of Warcraft poster. All three of them are smiling and are normal looking, maybe seven out of ten, which is what I consider myself to be, so hopefully they’re not out of my league.

"Of course, honey. Here, wear this - it's chilly in here." I’m taken aback when she hands me a yellow hoodie. It is a strikingly bright hue, and it is adorned with a logo that I had never seen before–a howling wolf beneath the words ‘Bluehills Wolfs’. It was a simple but profound design, and it immediately caught my eye.

The paired swans were nowhere to be seen and she took that as an omen, though she could hear a frog’s distinctive ‘ribbit’ close by. Xander yanked on the rope and she managed to scramble to her knees in an undignified manner just as a shout from above heralded the unfurling of yet another flag. Beside the orange and mauve pennant of the Sylvain clan, complete with pomegranate, now hung a yellow banner with a bull’s head at the centre and a diagonal green stripe going from top right to bottom left. Her captor acknowledged the salutes of his men with a raised arm.

It was peace. We lay tangled under silk sheets, whispering about baby names, imagining what they’d look like, how we’d decorate the nursery, how we’d handle midnight diaper changes. We made promises in the dark—soft, sleepy vows to never let each other go, no matter how loud the world got. We even argued playfully over which Hogwarts house the baby would belong to. I insisted Ravenclaw. He insisted Gryffindor. We settled on Hufflepuff. There was laughter in the dark. And there were quiet tears, too—the kind that came from overwhelming gratitude.

I blinked. Wait, What?! He must be joking. My thoughts slowed. Vasska passed by me pretty quickly, leading us straight ahead. I almost laughed. Almost. "I'd rather employ the services of a stick than let you anywhere near me." I muttered. His back shook with quiet laughter as we walked, "When that time comes, I won't make you beg for long." Pompous ass. We turned a corner into a wide hall lined with banners — each one displaying a sigil: a black sun, a silver leaf, a green flame, a crescent moon, an iron hammer. Only one spot was empty — where the red fang should’ve been.

The silver circlet gleamed atop my brow not ostentatious, but elegant in its simplicity, a subtle reminder that though I wore the crown with pride, it had been forged in blood, loss, and the kind of sacrifice that leaves permanent marks on the soul. The Great Hall of Unity, once nothing more than shattered ruins of a forgotten fortress, now stood magnificently reborn. Towering marble pillars infused with elemental sigils rose toward a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations that seemed to move in the morning light. Banners from every supernatural species lined the walls: the silver wolf of the lycanthropes, the twisted staff of the witches, the flowering branch of the fae, the crimson ro