Neville was now barely speaking to Harry, which strangely struck a chord somewhere in his chest. They’d never been great friends—how could they? Neville had never been so against Muggles and Muggle influence as most purebloods, but he always seemed to regard Harry was a strange sort of perplexity, as if he were a plant that he couldn’t quite understand and was acting the opposite way than it was supposed to. It was a quiet form of judgment, but one that Harry didn’t need. For certain, it was a lot less taxing than Ron’s constant judging or Hermione’s loathing of everything Muggle, including her own heritage. Still, he never felt completely comfortable, which just added to the general stress he felt among wizards.
His next letter to Krum was surprisingly personal. He hadn’t planned on spilling out his confusion about Neville, but still he took out a nice sheet of parchment and found himself confessing the offer. I know you know me, and I wouldn’t—but he wants it so badly.
Quickly sending it off before he could change his mind, he sat impassively. Malfoy had once again supplied him with the paper. “Name you first child after me.” There had been a sparkle in his eye as he said it. Harry was beginning to not take his rambling seriously.
Despite himself, he almost began to look forward to the letters.
Red for anticipation—red for fancying—red for a future.
Krum talked about Bulgaria, of the ancestral palace they could move into or the little flat he’d purchased in Sofia to be closer to his Quidditch team. The palace was up in the mountains, he wrote, and they could live wherever they desired.
What of children? Harry asked in one letter.
They will come, was the response.
“You’d adopt an heir,”Malfoy explained to him on the way to dinner, Kevin close behind. “Preferably one related to your husband, but one relate to you would be just as acceptable.”
“And we’d raise it as our own?”
“Of course. The parents would be hon-or-ed.” He sounded out the three syllables, surprising Harry. He thought it must be some pureblood mannerism. Harry’s eyes were lingering on the curve of his white neck again. By all that was holy, he was a horny teenager. He just couldn’t get it to stop.
“Enjoying the view?” Malfoy drawled, looking back. Their gazes met and Malfoy actually winked at him.
“You should invite him for Christmas Eve,” Kevin suggested. “He could come to church with us.” He looked at Harry imploringly. “That way he can see your culture and you wouldn’t have to wait for owls.”
‘Yes, Entwhistle!” Malfoy commented. “Bring a wizard prince to church,” he all but sneered. “Gods, I need a fag just thinking about it.”
“There’s a corridor down to the left,” Harry suggested, thinking instead of bringing Krum to church. The thought had some merit.
don’t kill me – this was marked as “unfinished”
The reason why this is here and not still stored away on my computer is because “Red Ribbon” and “Red Ribbon Redux” are very likely what I am most proud of as a fanfiction author. Why? you ask – well, because this ‘world’ deals with the core issue I struggle with, mainly being Christian in an increasingly secular and hostile world.
If that’s not your cup of tea, fair enough. However, no trolling, thank you.
Excentryke's Musings 
I really love both the red ribbon series. It’s interesting to read a fic about Harry being religious and having someone accept him for who he is when even his own father couldn’t do that for his mother who he claimed to be madly in love with. I hope you update these series and I’ll be patiently waiting for when that day comes!
LikeLike
It has been over ten years … just to warn you.
I adored the Red Ribbon, however. It was a bit of a self-exploration of what it’s like living as a traditional Christian in a modern secular world. Sadly, Viktor Krum never came and rescued me 😉
LikeLike