I absolutely love how your characterization is so strong and your story so detailed that, while reading the ship headcannon questions, I felt like I already knew the answers to many of them. What a testament to your writing.
That said, in the interest of learning even more about my faves, the non-spoiler inducing question that I’d love to have answered is: 🧩 What tiny habit of the other do they find unbearably adorable?
For Harry and Theo, Severus and Remus, and Fred and Blaise please!
Oh, this is so sweet, thank you! I'm so glad people feel like they know the characters so well.
What tiny habit of the other do they find unbearably adorable? I'm going to answer in teeny tiny microfics. Heads up to everyone, these are all my version of these characters from my fanfic series, The Heir to the House of Prince. Enjoy!
And thank you for this fun evening break for me, I had a big breakthrough on my novel today and it was so nice to relax by writing these teeny tiny microfics.
It's the click of the tongue. It took him a while to notice it, Theo is a silent reader, unlike Harry, who shuffles and fidgets and sighs and asks questions. Theo can sit still for hours, simply turning the pages, happy with Harry flopping against him in multiple different positions. But the click. At the right side of his mouth, his expression immovable. At first, Harry thinks it's because he's in the wrong position, so he moves away but Theo pulls him back. Then he thinks it's a swallow, maybe Theo's thirsty, he takes it as a cue to bring a cup of tea. Theo is too immersed to drink it. Finally, he asks. Theo looks bemused, scanning the paragraph he just read for the answer.
'Oh, it's just that they presented a thesis I hadn't thought of. It's new to me.'
Harry smiles to himself. He clicks when he's excited. Harry decides to try and produce that sound in as many circumstances as possible.
In the middle of the night, Theo is often woken from slumber, but he never resents it. Harry is affectionate during the day, but always guarded. Deep in slumber, Harry flings his limbs all over Theo. Tonight he wakes because a face plastered against his neck, an arm stretched across his torso, and a leg tossed over his thighs. Extricating himself to a more comfortable position is always a delicate process, and if Harry does the thing ...
'Nmph,' Harry huffs. 'Nuhuh.'
It's enough of a protest for Theo. He smiles, heart full, and can't possibly move.
He hates when Remus reads his books. Severus likes leather bookmarks, he likes unbroken spines, he likes yellow post-it notes and tab markers made of silver. He does not like tea stains and crumpled up receipts and, Hades below, folded corners. But what does cool his rage, every time, what stops him from casting elaborate curses on all his books to protect them from his lover is this: Lifting a sad book left cracked open and upside down, like a stuck turtle, and seeing an underlined passage. Eyes dancing to the inevitable note in the margin: Saw this and thought of you.
There is no one on the planet as finicky as Severus Snape. Remus thinks of him like a perfectly attuned piece of clockwork or a cryptex, so easy to accidentally press the wrong buttons and ruin everything. So beautifully crafted. He considers it his life's work to be the foremost expert on this man he has chosen to love, and nothing gives him more pleasure than catching a small idiosyncrasy in the well oiled machine. It's the way Severus switches from black to charcoal grey socks after Imbolc. It's how he hand-harvests lavender exclusively from the garden at Spinner's End just for their son's headache relieving potion. Remus catches them, all the tiny raindrops of Severus' habits, and every one makes him smile.
Blaise Zabini is easy to love. His charm has the quality of making life smooth, of softening every bump, he has the talent of being agreeable. Fred gets it, he knows the value of being the unflappable one, the one with the easy joke when the tension rises, the person who can meet any challenge with a firm nod and a wink. But football makes Blaise Zabini flappable. More flappable than Ron watching Quidditch. Beautifully enraged.
'Dai!' Blaise screams in Italian at the television. 'Ma stai scherzando arbitro!'
He turns to his boyfriend, red eyes wide with fury, arms gesticulating wildly.
'Can you believe it?' He exclaims. Perfectly dishevelled. So upset.
'Fucking shocking,' Fred smiles, kissing him.
He has never thought about his body more since he became a shield. He is always aware of the space behind him, protecting Theo, the danger in front of him, chest facing it, for ever more. His eyes are always searching, watching, noticing, assessing. He is the look out, the guard, the one the curse hits first.
But even before he knew about the vow, Fred Weasley was there. Stepping around him to walk on the outside of the pavement through Rome. Leaning Blaise's back against the bar, framing him with strong arms from the rest of the room. Pulling back his chair for Blaise to sit, putting a protective arm around the back of it whilst they eat. Always sleeping on the side of the bed nearest the door and rolling, his back towards it, encasing Blaise in his warm arms. Making him safe.
