Sketchblog Archive for Tags: Hogwarts AU

I draw more Hogwarts AUs than I’ll ever draw Harry Potter fanart.

Groot and Rocket (Professors of Herbology, Hufflepuff) caused quite a controversy when they were hired, as non-humans are prone to do. Neither had attended Hogwarts or any other Magical school (and were honorarily Sorted into Hufflepuff upon their arrival), but they were clearly magical. Despite (or rather because of) their oddness though, the pair are rather popular amongst the student body.

Professor Rocket has a sharp tongue and a short temper, but his penchant for action, explosions, and not-so-secret desire to entertain make for very interesting classes (it seems a surprising number of magical plants produce substances that can cause explosions). Professor Groot is a creature of few words, but he is kind and patient and teaches effectively through example.

The professors’ mysterious origins are a popular gossip topic. They’re believed to be ex-Ministry, and many students speculate that Rocket’s wand is actually a branch from Groot.

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“So this is why you didn’t want to tell me what your Patronus was.”

“Don’t even start, Steve.”

“I should have guessed!”

“How about we just hurry up and figure out what your Patronus is?”

“Have you named it? Because it could get confusing–”


“We can’t name it Steve; that would be even more confusing.”

“I hate you.”

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The man had been sitting by the bus stop for nearly an hour, and it was starting to make her feel uneasy.

Buses came and went, as did the Muggles who rode them, but he ignored them all, and they, for their part, ignored him back. She supposed that he did not look too much like a wizard though. His robes were tattered and dirty, as was his hair and face, and even from her distance, she could guess that he probably smelled. The wizarding homeless did not look so different from the Muggle homeless, in the end.

It was speculation on her part, of course, but with all the recent controversy at the Ministry, she didn’t think it was a baseless guess. Everyone still seemed fuzzy on the details, but it was a fact that a lot of people had lost their jobs.

At the top of the hour, Mrs. Figg finally mustered up the courage to approach the strange wizard. He did not look up at her as she neared, but she was a little surprised to see that he was younger than she’d thought.

“Do you need some money for the bus, dear?”

He did not look up.

“I have both Muggle and wizard change if you need it,” she said. “Do you have your wand? Unfortunately I don’t have a way to call the Knight Bus for you…”

There was no one else at the bus stop, and the tattered wizard seemed to realize now that she was speaking to him. He had very brown eyes, but she could not read them.

“Here, dear,” she said kindly, pressing a mess of coins into his right hand. “Get where you need to go, and.” She pulled out a few Chocolate Frogs from her pocket. “Have some chocolate. Whatever happened is over and things will get better soon, okay?”

He stared at her and said nothing, but he accepted the things she put into his hands.

Feeling that her good deed was done, Mrs. Figg scuttled away awkwardly from the bus stop and returned to spy safely from her kitchen window.

The young wizard did not flag for the Knight Bus, and he did not get on the next Muggle bus that came. She watched him unwrap the chocolate. He did not eat it, but he spent some time looking intently at the cards that came with the chocolate.

She thought about going out again to try and get some answers out of him, but she realized that there was a chance that he was waiting for someone. She pondered this when she broke away from the window to make supper. The sun began to set while she set the table, and when she looked back to the bus stop, the wizard was gone.

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(The events of Winter Soldier in HPvengers-verse are basically the same as they are in MCU except all the characters are teenagers because only teenagers can save the world in HP-verse???)

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes (Gryffindor, 6th Year, Quidditch captain & Chaser, prefect; halfblood – MIA) was Steve Rogers’ best friend. Always the more talented wizard, Bucky was recruited to contribute to war efforts ahead of his friend, but was captured by enemy forces.

As a prisoner, he was subject to similar but different experiments involving superhuman strength and magical amplification. Unfortunately, the full extent of his capabilities were never fully realized by either himself or others. Bucky lost his wand in an ensuing battle, was stunned, and fell to his presumed death in the mountains in 1945.

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“I asked you to help me with Potions, not to sit on my back and play Pokemon,” Bruce said.

Tony might have noticed that he sounded more irritated than usual, but his Flaafy was so close to evolving.

“Tony!” Bruce said, louder this time, but it almost immediately turned into an exasperated sigh. “I regret giving that DS to you. Where did you get it charged anyway? I thought you ran out of battery a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, I meant to ask you,” Tony said, not looking up from his game. “Why don’t we have a generator power thingy set up in our room? Jane has one set up in hers to charge all her Muggle stuff. Electricity is basically what Muggles have instead of magic, seems like.”

“That’s–wait, Pepper let you into the girls’ dorms?”

“Pepper was busy putting out a fire in the common room.”

“A literal one?”

“It might have been breathing literal fire.”


“Only a little!”

Bruce sighed again and looked back at his cauldron, which was bubbling a little faster now as the potion heated up. “So are you going to help me with this homework or not?”

“You put too many cricket legs in,” Tony said, still not looking up from his game. “It should explode in another few seconds and then you can start over.”

“What?” Bruce looked down at his notes, then at the textbook, then quickly at the cauldron again. “Why didn’t you–”

And then the potion exploded. After that, Bruce didn’t ask for Tony’s help anymore.

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Happy birthday, Stephanie! Here is, um, kind of a depressing drabble thing for you~. :D;;;

No one pointed it out to his face, but the fact remained that he was the only one in his year that had yet produced a corporeal Patronus.

It was nearly Halloween, and they had long since moved onto other spells and charms in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The professor had agreed to see him for ten or fifteen minutes ahead of each class to continue helping him with his Patronus, but it had been weeks, and there had not been little to no progress. By now Bruce knew what the problem was, but knowing did not help anything, and he was ready to give up on it. He knew the professor would be disappointed, but it didn’t bother him much. It didn’t really matter.

“Well, there are other badass spells you can learn,” Tony said, shrugging. He was quiet on the subject now; Bruce guessed that he’d run through his small stock of awkwardly encouraging remarks some time ago.

There was no time to guess at why a cloud of Dementors was descending over the grounds. The first to notice stood, yelling and screaming, but by the time the rest of the crowd looked up, they could no longer see the sky. The cold hit first. Moments later, black spectres landed amongst them and almost immediately, the sound of screaming shrank away, replaced in many parts with dull groaning and muffled sobs.

Bruce felt goosebumps rise on his skin, but his mind was curiously blank all of a sudden, and he didn’t really feel much of anything.

Here and there, he could see small explosions of white light through the darkness, but they were weak and shrank away quickly. He could hear the voices of his friends somewhere. They seemed far away now. They had been sitting next to him; he didn’t know when they’d been separated.

He couldn’t see anything, just black hooded figures and black wisps of smoke and fog, a black sky. White, for a second, and then black again, and then black again. It was very cold, and it didn’t feel like he was surrounded by people anymore, even though he was sure they were still there. The yelling quieted gradually as long minutes passed, replaced by more sobbing, whimpering.

Bruce was reminded of his mother.

He didn’t remember raising his wand or uttering any incantations, but in the next moment, all he could see and hear was an endless rush of scales rendered in blinding white light and a booming, screeching roar that seemed to split right through the smothering black sky.

It did split the sky.

The Dementors parted for the white dragon – for this mess of wings and claws and teeth, for this screaming, roaring, angry thing – and he could glimpse the pale mid-afternoon blue behind them.

His friends rose around him and stood again, shakily. They held their wands up together and shouted forth a dozen new animals to join his dragon in the sky.

Later on, afterwards, Tony asked him how he’d figured it out – what his “happiest memory” was.

Bruce hadn’t found any happy memory to draw power from. It had been anger, and, he thought, some distant sort of acceptance of that anger. He didn’t really know. He hadn’t thought about it much, and it was impossible to look back and dissect what he’d been feeling.

He did think it was kind of funny, the idea that his anger maybe constituted his “happiest memory,” but he didn’t tell Tony that. He just shrugged and said he didn’t remember, and Tony didn’t press.

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Obsessing over Free! has led me to agonize over way too many cute comics on Pixiv. I hate bothering fluent friends to translate for me, so I’ve kind of unwittingly been re-learning my kana and a handful of kanji and I think this is hilarious. Maybe I’ll finally give this language learning thing a serious shot who knows.

Putting a compulsive eater like Nagisa in the house by the kitchens seems like a dangerous thing.

Tony Stark had a lot of owls.

He was always ordering parts and ingredients for experiments and spells, and frequently those items came from overseas or from hard-to-reach places, which would occupy a single owl for days, or even weeks. He also kept correspondences with researchers here and there and contributed occasionally to journals and magazines. It was too much work for two or even three birds to handle on a regular basis. So Tony had a veritable fleet of owls fetching and delivering mail for him.

One of these owls, though, Bruce was not sure was an owl at all, or maybe it used to be, and wasn’t anymore? It was a very old owl, and he assumed that it never carried anything important, because every time it arrived in the Great Hall, it landed by crashing into someone’s (frequently his) orange juice and soaking the letter or parcel it carried. Its legs were far longer than was normal for an owl, and one of them seemed longer than the other. It always appeared ruffled and confused, eyes wide, head rotating around and around its neck in such a tight knot that he wondered if its bones were made of jelly. (It wasn’t impossible.)

Its feathers changed colors, too. It seemed to happen arbitrarily. Sometimes the feathers would shift colors quickly and go through a full rainbow in a few minutes. Sometimes, they mutated gradually through natural owl patterning, or other animal patterns, like tiger stripes or leopard spots. Sometimes, they didn’t change at all. He imagined that Tony had done a lot of experiments on the poor bird over the years, and all the oddities were the result. And yet, Bruce couldn’t imagine that Tony didn’t know how to set the owl back to normal, so then it had to be that Tony preferred it strange?

The owl did not seem to notice or mind though. For all its unusual features, it still acted more or less like a normal owl and would nip affectionately at its owner’s fingers while its owner insulted and threatened it casually over breakfast.

No one else was allowed to insult the owl though. All of the older students knew this already, but occasionally some poor first or second year would make a comment about the bird and leave the Great Hall with feathers coming out of their ears.

Tony Stark had a lot of owls, but Dummy was his favorite.

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“You’re not seriously upset about what the little Odinson brat said, are you?”

Bruce shrugged noncommittally.

“Like he’s one to talk anyway,” Tony continued. “He didn’t get his corporeal Patronus until last week, so he’s hardly first in the class (that’d be me, as you know). And there are plenty of others who haven’t got theirs yet, so seriously, you’re not behind!”

“Thanks, Tony,” Bruce said quietly.

“Besides, you’re sure to get a cooler Patronus than that boring raven of his,” Tony chattered on. Bruce wasn’t sure how all the words were managing to leave his mouth in between the bites of cake. “What’s with all the birds, anyway? Barton’s got a hawk. No one’s surprised about that, but then that Coulson guy got that weirdo ostrich thing too. Maybe they should be in Ravenclaw, except they’re idiots. Yours will definitely be much cooler than theirs (but probably not as cool as mine).”

“I don’t know about that.”

Tony shrugged and finished off the rest of his cake. “We’ll see. Betchu’ll manage your Patronus soon enough. Maybe you’ll even beat Rhodey!” He stood.

“C’mon. Are you done? Let’s go. I wanna stop by the kitchens before class. Do you think they’ll have that peanut butter cake today? They’ll probably make some if I ask though…”

Bruce laughed and followed Tony out of the tower.

Uhhh, that doodle actually ended up way gayer than I intended. <_< WHOOPS.

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At the last table at the end of the last row of bookshelves, he’d finally found his brother contentedly sitting amidst a messy collection of books, parchment, and quills.

“Brother, you’ve betrayed me,” Thor said, unraveling his Transfiguration homework across the table. “All the answers you gave me were incorrect!”

Loki did not deign to look up from whatever it was he was reading, but an unrepentant smirk slid into place on his face. “Yes, well,” he said. “That’s what happens when you cheat, I suppose.”

“You’re the one who offered to help! I didn’t want to cheat, but I really needed the grade! You knew that!”

“Thor,” the Slytherin said, turning to him finally. “I haven’t even taken that class yet. Why would I know the answers?”

“Because you’re clever! I trusted you!”

At this Loki’s smirk became a grin and Thor could see laughter in his eyes. “Well, it looks like Gryffindor will be down a Beater tomorrow if Atwell won’t let you play now.”

“That was your ploy?! Did you make a wager against Gryffindor??”

Loki laughed openly now. “The odds are stacked in your house’s favor still, brother,” he said. “Though I suppose that might change if Rhodes also befalls some tragedy… there’s not another Keeper, after all.”

“Loki, you’re a conniving little cretin,” Thor said, though for some reason he could not help but also laugh. “What have you done to James??”

Thor rolled over in his bed. It had been two years since that conversation. James Rhodes’s arms both sprouted tentacles that afternoon, but he had played in the game anyway. Gryffindor still lost, but only just barely; Ravenclaw beat them by fifty points or so. It had amused him, at the time, that Loki had gone to such lengths, not even to help his own house win, but just to see Gryffindor lose. He supposed it still kind of amused him.

They had not spoken for a while, and though he was certain that Loki still had plenty of schemes, they’d become subtler, and he was no longer privy to the details. Even before, he had not known about everything, and he had not understood Loki’s motivation on most occasions, but still. There had been a basic sort of trust. He didn’t approve of everything his brother did, but he’d gladly take another failing grade in Transfiguration to get even a little of that trust back.

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In his third year, Clint got into the habit of watching each of the other teams practice. Just watching was fine, but it frustrated him when he saw the Snitch and the practicing Seeker did not. Eventually, it accumulated in his leaping from his perch in the announcer’s tower, kicking off on his broom, and grabbing the Snitch himself, nevermind that Slytherin had the pitch for practice.

Natasha gave him a very, very dirty look, but she let her captain yell and threaten him.

For one reason or another, this only made Clint want to do it again. It wasn’t about breaking rules as much as it was about being the best. He saw what they didn’t. The Snitch was his. It was always his. Later in the week, Gryffindor had booked the pitch to practice for the evening. Clint watched from his tower. When he spotted the Snitch, he gave Matt a good five minutes to get a clue before jumping in to catch it himself.

And then he flew off with it.

The rumor circulated that Barton had bewitched the Snitch somehow. It came to him willingly, they said. He’d tricked it into coming so he didn’t actually need to find it. The Snitch was alive, they said, and it liked him. He’d swallowed a Snitch as a child, they said, and other Snitches were naturally attracted to him because of that. Students swore that every time they saw him, they’d see the glint of the Snitch flying nearby.

Hufflepuff easily led that Quidditch season, but none of the other teams were getting much practice in – their Seekers, particularly.

In the end, Clint was banned from setting foot in, or entering the airspace of, the Quidditch pitch except for games and his own team’s practice.

But students would still see him around the castle with a glint of gold shining nearby.

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Ron had always thought that Natasha was okay for a Slytherin, and especially for a Slytherin prefect. She seemed nice enough and didn’t go out of her way to give him a hard time. He had even thought she was kind of cute. But then he found out what her Patronus was, and that was the end of that. Slytherins. If it isn’t snakes, then it’s spiders. Ew.

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Odin Allfather (Minister of Magic, Gryffindor; pureblood) has been Minister of Magic for over a hundred years, and it’s difficult for many wizards to imagine anyone else leading their careful society. It had been a sure thing, winning the seat after stopping the years-long Giant Invasion, and there simply hasn’t been anyone impressive enough to challenge the incumbent in a century. As Odin has aged, his strange coma-like restorative sleeps have become more frequent, and some have speculated that he’s grooming his elder son for his position. This is met with mixed opinions though. They’re not a monarchy, after all, and Thor is just a little too bullheaded to be a suitable minister, isn’t he?

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Nick Fury (Head of the Auror Office, Slytherin, former Quidditch captain & Beater; halfblood) gets things done, but he will get things done his own way. If your rules and guidelines hold him back, slow him down, or are otherwise just stupid, then he will elect to ignore them. In the end though, things get done. Just don’t ask why he doesn’t get a magical eye put in that empty socket of his; in that case, you’ll get a string of colorful profanities and something about how Mad-Eye was an idiot anyway.

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Margaret “Peggy” Atwell nee Carter (Head of Gryffindor, Professor of Charms, former Chaser; halfblood) accepted a long time ago that Steve Rogers would probably never wake again, so when it actually happened, she had a hard time believing it. He does not recognize her though: her name is different than what he remembers, and she has grown so very, very old. Probably it’s for the best though, so she makes no effort to reveal herself. He is a student again, and she is his teacher. Again. It is all very nostalgic, but she’ll just keep the memories to herself.

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This is my first major divergence from canon, MCU or otherwise, where Peggy remains unmarried. But I really needed a Gryffindor Head of House and this was a good way to do that while still postponing awkwardness with Steve until I have a better idea of what they’re doing in Captain America 2. Now, I just need a Hufflepuff Head of House. D;