#forbidden forest
I did a thing!
When October comes to an end, don’t let the Dementors catch you
Bellatrix Black working on a spell in the Forbidden Forest.
-taken by an enchanted camera, autumn 1975
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amelia bones, thinking in the forbidden forest.
-taken by a hufflepuff boy, summer 1975
{ suggested by @spilledinkandspilledwords }
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andromeda black creating some sort of potion in the forbidden forest.
-taken by sirius black, winter 1976
{if anyone has any suggestions/images they want me to post, please send them in!! i will ofc give credit to the person who sent it in}Post link
Inktober day 6 - Spirit
“You’ll stay with me?”
“Until the very end”
![audkoch: the forest again / harry potter / by aud koch [ This piece is for sale on my Etsy shop! ] …](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e0083df616409596d9a2d254b97b7bff/tumblr_ny33m67jLE1qhh673o1_1280.jpg "audkoch: the forest again / harry potter / by aud koch [ This piece is for sale on my Etsy shop! ] …")
the forest again / harry potter / by aud koch
[ This piece is for saleonmy Etsy shop! ]
… . Obviously I did not reread the chapter before I drew this, sigh. All factual inaccuracies should be blamed on my faulty memory.
Also in other news, I’ve been waylaid by a mean bout of the flu the past few days, so please forgive my radio silence. All I want to do is curl up in bed and shiver.
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No one thought of Neville Longbottom as a boy with secrets. No one, as far as Neville could tell, thought about him much at all. It wasn’t hard to keep a secret when no one was looking at you.
No one was looking when he went to the Forbidden Forest. Anyone who might have seen a boy in Gryffindor colors trudging out that way across the lawn would shake their heads anyway. Not Longbottom, they would think. He’s not the sort. The forest was, after all, full of mystery and danger. It was the sort of place that other boys might go to try to prove their prowess, their toughness, but certainly not Neville. Neville wasn’t tough. Neville was cautious, hardly the picture of Gryffindor courage.
But, you see, Neville was not afraid of the Forbidden Forest. He never went in very deep; it wasn’t a mission of exploration. He simply walked amongst the trees, read his text books while seated on an old fallen log. He listened to the whisper of the leaves, the sound of faraway (and not so faraway) hooves and paws on the ground, the groan of old wood. He felt calm here, more confident than he ever did within the harsh stone walls of the castle. His spells worked better here, like magic was flowing through the soft ground beneath his feet, blowing in the breeze through the trees. And that was his little secret.
Forbidden was a strong word, and one that Rubeus Hagrid had never put much stock in. The union that made him was forbidden too, after all, and though there were times that it was hard to be who he was, it never occurred to him to wish himself different. He wasn’t the kind of man to dwell on such things, wishes and impossibilities. He liked things that were solid, things he could touch (and that would not break) with his own two, big hands.
The Forbidden Forest was full of things like that. Tough, magical things with their own bizarre beauty. He was not so different from them, something he knew in his bones if not in his conscious mind. He felt safe in the forest, and not just because he was large and strong. He sometimes felt more at home beneath the gnarled trees than he did on the cobblestones of a wizarding village. Here, he was never too big. He was only himself.
