romione-trope-fest

[romione-trope-fest]

Thank you, thank you thank you to everyone who submitted, read, reblogged, and supported the fest again this year! We wouldn't be successful without YOU!

Just like last time we created a feedback form for you to tell us what you liked and didn't. And we'd love to see what tropes you want to read next time!

And I've corrected the link to actually be the form (and posted on the right blog. reasons why adenei should not mix work and fic. woops)

#romione trope fest 2024

[romione-trope-fest]

Home Remedy

Fic Title: Home Remedy

Author Name: honouraryweasley12

Selected Trope: Cockblocker Harry

Brief Summary: The aftermath of Malfoy Manor is a time for healing and honesty for Hermione and Ron.

Word Count: 2550

Rating: PG

Any Trigger Warnings: Mentions of torture, descriptions of pain, hurt/comfort

~*~

Hermione tried her best to be silent as she haltingly snuck her way down the stairs of the cozy cottage. It wasn’t as if she could move faster anyway; her entire being was sore from the ordeal she’d experienced.

It was hard to believe they had narrowly escaped a few short hours ago. She should be fast asleep, letting her body rest and recuperate, especially given the amount of pain potion both Fleur and Ron had insisted she drink.

One small issue was bothering her though, distracting her from being able to truly slumber. Ever since she was little, she’d had trouble sleeping when she had a scratchy throat. She hated that ticklish feeling and needed to put a stop to it to have any chance at real rest.

She realized she’d need some light as she entered the darkened room. The wand of her torturer felt foreign in her hand, and she loathed it. That simple stick of dark wood had almost been her end. It certainly had been for others over the years. She nearly gagged in disgust at the thought of it. The lives that had been ruined, Neville’s parents in particular. She’d somehow been spared a similar fate.

Hermione found an empty jar and reluctantly conjured a bluebell flame to illuminate the tidy kitchen, surprised that the wand was capable of anything other than hurt—though the light didn’t burn as brightly as it should.

She shuffled around the unfamiliar space, soundlessly opening and peering into the organized cabinets, not wanting to wake the boys sleeping in the living room. Her thoughts veered, as they often did, to one of those boys in particular.

Ron had saved her tonight. Words had never been his strong suit—he’d often shown his feelings through his actions, all the way back to when he knocked out that troll to save her. At Malfoy Manor it had been both. His actions had brought her to safety, but it was his words that reverberated in her mind.

He tried to take her place with his words, and he’d shown her how he felt—how much she meant to him—with his screams for her in the midst of the worst moments of her life. An anchor she’d held onto. She’d almost lost the opportunity to share her own feelings with him… forever.

Hermione stumbled, suddenly weakened and dizzy. She had truly been seconds away from her death, the realization slamming into her. Her grief caused her to sway, unsteady, and her body spasmed with a wave of burning pain. She gasped for air, overwhelmed, her breathing shallow and her chest pounding.

She managed to get to the table and hold onto the top of a chair for a few moments, half bent over and white-knuckled. Her breaths slowed as she regained her senses and she stood up straight again, the pain finally fading.

Hermione knew she needed to get back into bed, but the episode irritated her throat further, causing her to let out a loud cough, unable to react quickly enough to silence it with the cloth of Fleur’s robe.

A creak of old flooring alerted her and she spun to her side, wand in hand to find the same lanky redhead who was dominating her thoughts standing in the doorway, hands up defensively.

She quickly lowered her arm, leaning her body heavily against the chair as her hand flew to her chest. “Sorry, you startled me.”

Ron’s look of concern did not go unnoticed. “Are you all right, Hermione? You should be resting.”

She nodded, not wanting to worry him with the news of her dizzy spell. He’d done enough for her already. “I was having trouble sleeping.”

“Really? You had enough potion to knock out a hippogriff.”

She nodded. “I know, but my throat was bothering me.”

Ron was immediately at her side. He reached up and his fingers ghosted against the new scar on her neck, causing her to shiver from the brief contact. “Is it this?”

She shook her head, her voice low. “No, Fleur healed that. I think it was from the screams earlier, it’s just feeling a bit irritated. What are you doing up?”

Ron blushed and looked down at her sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I was just going to check on you, but then I heard something in the kitchen.”

Her eyes softened. “That’s sweet of you.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t sleeping well either, not with… everything that happened.” He cleared his throat and let out a quiet cough of his own.

Silence lingered between them for a moment, before Hermione blurted out, “I couldn’t find any Pepperup Potion, so I was going to make an old home remedy. My mum used to make it whenever I had a cold. Would you like some? I wasn’t… I wasn’t the only one screaming earlier.”

Ron blushed again, and nodded, his voice a touch gravelly. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

He watched for a moment as she moved around the kitchen, getting out two ceramic cups and filling a kettle, her outline lit by the flickering blue flames. “Can I help?”

“Yes, do you know where they keep the honey?”

She let out a yelp as she felt his presence behind her. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest as he trapped her against the counter, not quite touching her, but his body heat evident through her thin pajamas and robe. He grabbed the jar of sweetener from a high shelf, and placed it down in front of her, but didn’t move away.

Ever so slowly, she took a step back and leaned against his solid form, both of them letting out a sharp breath from the contact. The comfort of being so close was desired after the forced separation earlier.

“Is this all right?” she whispered.

“More than all right. Hermione, I—”

She grimaced as another spasm of pain suddenly wracked her body, the moment lost. She let out an anguished groan.

Ron’s tone changed immediately. “Shit, what is it?”

“Hold… me.” It was all she could manage through her gritted teeth.

Ron embraced her, enveloping her in his arms and his warmth, his whispered words unclear in her ears. She turned and sunk into him with closed eyes, riding out the agony as she gripped him tightly, all pretenses falling away.

She gulped for air before looking up to see his fringe of copper hair, almost covering his wide searching eyes. “Thank you, it’s passed.”

His hands ran up and down her arms, calming her. He gently walked her over to the chair and helped her sit down, before crouching down in front of her and grabbing her hands. “What was that?”

“Residual effects of the curse. Fleur said it’ll go away in a few days.”

Concern was painted all over his expressive face. “Merlin, Hermione. That was bloody scary. You need to rest; I need you to get better,” he pleaded with her. “You have to get better.”

She freed a trembling hand and placed it on his blazing cheek. “I will, I promise. After the drink, please? Otherwise I’ll be tossing and turning all night.”

Ron relented and nodded, before standing up and pushing up his sleeves. “Look, you sit there and tell me what to do. Don’t strain yourself, Hermione. Let me help.”

She slumped in the chair, exhaustion weighing heavily, allowing herself to be taken care of briefly. “Boil the water and then cool it down a bit. You’ll need to get a lemon and cut it in half, and see if they have any turmeric.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a spice, it should be a yellow powder.”

She watched as Ron pointed Pettigrew’s wand at the kettle, before searching through the cabinets. After a couple of minutes, he turned with a small glass bottle in hand for her to examine. “This it?”

She nodded. “Now that the water has boiled, put a very weak cooling charm on it, and then add a teaspoon of turmeric.”

He nodded and saluted, causing her to roll her eyes. It almost felt normal, for the first time since his return. They felt like Ron and Hermione again. She stared at him admiringly until he waved his hand in her face, breaking her out of her musings, a smirk on his face.

“Now what? Finally a chance to boss me around and you’re lost in thought.”

She couldn’t help but grin at the familiar banter. “I was thinking about how nice you were being, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

He pointed the spoon at her. “So cheeky.”

She shook her head. “Squeeze half a lemon into each cup, and then put in a couple of spoons of honey. Stir a bit and then it’ll be ready.”

She smiled again as she watched him concentrate on the task, muttering to himself under his breath, like he would in Potions class. He seemed to have success as he quickly cleaned up, before coming to the table holding the two mugs. He placed one in front of her, before taking the seat beside her.

She cupped her hands around the warm ceramic and took in a deep breath, the smell reminding her of her mum. Hermione didn’t want to dwell on that thought, so she took a sip, letting the healing liquid soothe her raw throat.

“Mmm, perfect.”

Ron took his own sip. “This is really good.”

“It is, isn’t it? My throat feels better already.”

“Why didn’t you just use magic to heal it?”

She took another sip from her cup. “This is better—magic just can’t replicate that comforting feeling. Besides…” Hermione paused, biting on her lip as she fought the tears threatening to form in her eyes.

Ron clasped her hand on the table, their fingers weaving together in an attempt to comfort. “What is it?”

Hermione nodded at the sinister rod of wood on the table. “I wasn’t ready to use this wand on myself again.”

Ron pulled his chair closer to hers, and put his other arm around her shoulders. “Hermione… you were incredible tonight.”

She shuddered. “I feel so weak, so helpless.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “You are anything but that. You’re so bloody strong.”

She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe and took another sip, before she snuggled into him, her defenses lowered. “I almost gave up, but hearing your voice, it helped me keep fighting.”

“Hearing you…” Ron stopped and shook his head, his face a picture of anguish. He took a few breaths to regain his composure. “Seeing what you’re going through now, I wish I could just take away the pain somehow.”

“This is helping.”

They sat in silence for a moment, until Hermione looked up at him tenderly. “Ron, tell me something good.”

He watched her for a moment, as if he was making up his mind about something. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She gasped, her eyes widening when she realized what he’d said out loud. She let out a nervous giggle and tried to joke, “I thought you’d say something about the Cannons or your mum’s cooking.”

She’d never seen him so serious when he leaned down, his blue eyes locked to hers. “It’s the truth, Hermione. What happened tonight just reminded me…”

She craned her neck to get closer. “Reminded you of what?”

His voice was hoarse, despite the drink. “That you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been laying in bed thinking about how differently this night could have gone.” He shuddered and closed his eyes. “I just kept picturing my life without you and I couldn’t stand it.”

“Oh, Ron.” She lifted a hand to his cheek for the second time that night. “I’m here. You haven’t lost me.”

His face came down and he placed his forehead against hers. The room suddenly felt charged, like something momentous, life-changing was about to happen. Their eyes were locked and their breath mingled. She moistened her lips and nodded imperceptibly, as if giving him permission.

He leaned forward and they both knew what was about to happen. He closed the distance and whispered, “Hermione.”

“Ron.” Her eyelids fluttered to a close in anticipation of finally kissing him.

The floor creaked loudly and their eyes shot open in a panic, causing them to fly apart. Ron’s elbow knocked into his mug, upending his drink in the commotion.

Harry stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes half-open in the dim light as he squinted at them with admonishment. “What are you doing up? You both should be asleep.”

As they scrambled to clean up the mess and come to terms with what could have been, Harry strode to the sink and filled a glass, chugging down his water before dropping into the seat across from them. He was blissfully unaware of what he’d interrupted, though his eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion and grief.

“We were just having some tea,” Hermione stated, her eyes shooting to Ron.

Despite the disappointment evident on his face, he gave her a half-smile as if reassuring her that things would be fine. She met his look and silently gestured to Harry, willing Ron to understand that they’d have to put things on hold for the sake of the mission. He nodded in agreement, though the intensity and love in his eyes didn’t waver, promising her more.

Harry spoke up, his voice low and pained. “We all need to rest. Are you just about done?”

Hermione gulped down the rest of the drink, before standing up and collecting hers and Ron’s cups, placing them in the sink.

“I’m heading to bed.”

Both boys stood up from the table.

Ron offered his hand. “Do you need help?”

Hermione took it, but shook her head. “I can manage.”

“You shouldn’t need to just manage,” Ron protested. “Let me help.”

“You already did. I can do this. I need to do this.”

“I know you can.”

She let go and reluctantly headed toward the stairs, before turning back to them.

“Good night, Harry.” She smiled widely at Ron and reached for him, hugging him briefly. It was better than any home remedy. “Good night, Ron, and thank you.”

Ron nodded, as Harry glanced between them with narrowed eyes, trying to puzzle something out. The two wizards watched as the brave witch made her way up.

“That was… interesting.”

Ron dropped his head into his hands, before looking up. “You have the absolute worst timing, Harry.”

“It’s kept me alive this long,” he answered flatly. “What happened?”

Ron gaped at him and waved his hands. “Did you not see when you came into the kitchen? I was just about to kiss her, finally.”

“You were? Sorry mate, bad luck.”

“Yeah, bad luck.” Ron ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “I’m going to kiss her one day. I don’t care if you know.”

Harry snorted. “If she doesn’t snog you first.”

That quip caused Ron to grin, in awe of the witch that meant so much to him. He stared toward the second floor with longing. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“As long as I don’t have to witness it.”

Ron shot him a dirty look. “You’d better bloody not.”

#submission

[romione-trope-fest]

Title: The new normal

Author: my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass

Selected Trope: Only one bed

Brief summary: New parents Ron and Hermione share a bed in the hospital after the birth of their daughter Rose.

Rating: G

Word count: ~ 3,200 words

Trigger warnings: brief mentions of blood and torture

The soft glow of the street lamps that filtered through the curtains enveloped the small sterile hospital room, as Ron sat in awe, watching his exhausted wife cradling their newborn daughter against her chest.

Hermione looked gracefully beautiful in the dim light, a radiant glow emanating from deep within her. The soft curve of her cheek caught the gentle glow, while strands of her curly chestnut hair had escaped the loose bun on the top of her head, framing her pale face like a halo. That was probably what people called afterglow. Ron had only read about it, and until now, he hadn’t been able to understand what it meant. But as she lay there with their brand-new baby girl nestled against her bare chest, he knew exactly what people were talking about.

With a tender smile, he watched her gently caress the auburn hair of their peacefully sleeping baby girl, and shook his head in disbelief. He marveled at the strength that had emanated from her in the last thirty hours, both physically and emotionally. Overwhelming love and gratitude enveloped him for the woman beside him; the woman who had grown and brought their child into the world with unwavering determination and strength.

The pregnancy had been far from easy. Hermione had suffered from severe morning sickness practically her entire pregnancy. Ron vividly remembered the times when he had rushed her to the hospital in panic because she couldn’t even keep water down. There had been days when her weakness led the healers to keep her in, administering potions to replenish the essential fluids and nutrients crucial for both her and the baby.

“What are you thinking about?” Her frail voice pulled him away from the unsettling memories.

“How incredible you are,” he answered and rose from his chair, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He planted a tender kiss on her temple and whispered, “I love you.”

She turned her head to kiss him and he raised his hand to her pale cheek and kissed her back tenderly.

“I love you too,” she murmured, and he let his lips travel from her mouth, over her cheek, to her forehead, where he placed a final tender kiss before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

The baby girl stirred briefly, scrunching up her face, before she turned her head to the other side and went back to sleep. Ron gazed tenderly at the little being, once again feeling the urge to shake his head to comprehend everything that had happened in the last few hours.

The room was silent again, no words were needed. The only sound to be heard was the bustling hospital floor in front of the door and a distant anguished scream of a woman who seemingly still had ahead of her what Hermione had just gone through.

As he watched his little family, Ron’s heart swelled with endless pride and admiration. His gaze fell back from the sleeping baby to his wife, her tired eyes now closed as she was propped up against a bunch of pillows with their little girl bonding on her bare chest. It seemed as if she had finally managed to fall asleep. She looked so small and vulnerable, lying there with her pale face and her delicate shoulders free, exhaustion radiating from every fiber of her body. Ron knew that this moment would be etched in his memories forever.

Suddenly his stomach grumbled loudly and he noticed that he hadn’t eaten anything for more than twenty hours, as he had been so focused on helping Hermione through everything. Careful not to disturb the peaceful scene, Ron rose from the bed and tiptoed toward the forgotten hospital bag on the wooden chair in the corner, hoping to find a snack to curb his hungry stomach. After quietly rustling through the bag, he found an oat bar hidden in the depths of it and pulled it out with a content grin.

Just as he was about to take a bite, he heard Hermione’s muffled, weak voice in the background, and turned to find her watching him with a curious expression.

“What are you doing, love?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was just looking for a snack. Are you hungry too?”

“No,” she replied with a soft yawn.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he told her again, approaching the bed and placing the oat bar on the nearby table. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“You should sleep, too. I know you’re exhausted.”

“This isn’t about me. You’ve been through so much. You should really sleep while our little miss is still asleep,” he insisted, glancing at the peacefully slumbering bundle on his wife’s chest.

Hermione’s labor had been an arduous journey, spanning nearly thirty excruciating hours. She had endured each contraction with steadfast determination and bravery. She could still see her face in front of him, pain etched across it as relentless waves of intensity had swept through her body for hours and hours on end. The hospital room had echoed with the rhythm of their little girl’s monitored heartbeats and the whimpering sounds of Hermione’s labor.

Ron was well aware of his wife’s resilience. She had always been unswerving and able to cope with immense workload. Yet, the strength it had required her to bring a new life into the world had caught Ron completely off guard. The healers and midwives had worked tirelessly, offering support and guidance through the challenging process, both to her and to him. As the hours had passed without real progress, the toll on Hermione’s physical and emotional strength had become increasingly evident and very hard to witness. Yet, she had pressed on, drawing on pools of inner strength he didn’t know she possessed. Ron had found it very difficult to witness his wife in such intense pain. The room had seemed to close in on him as her distress had intensified and she had started crying and moaning in pain, her noises filling him with helplessness. Stricken by the echoes of the war, he had fought hard to separate her cries from the haunting screams of her past torture. He had to repeatedly reassure himself that this time her pain was necessary and held the promise of a huge reward - their long-awaited baby girl.

“You need to rest too,” Hermione interrupted his memories with a soft smile. “Both of us.”

“You just had a baby, love. I’ll take her and wake you when she needs to nurse.”

She gently shook her head, reaching for his hand. “No, come lie down with me.”

Ron hesitated, as he surveyed the small, cramped hospital bed. “Love, the bed is too narrow for both of us,” he reasoned gently. “You’ve given your last shred of strength and I want you to rest.”

She managed a weak smile. “I appreciate that, but I‘m not strong enough to argue with you right now. Please, Ron, I need you close.”

Ron sighed. “I’d love to join you, really, but I don’t want to add to your discomfort. I know you’re sore. You need to recover, and squeezing myself into this bed won’t help.”

Her exhausted eyes pleaded with him. “I’m not going to argue with you. Just lie down with me. I’ll only be able to sleep if you’re close.”

She gazed at him with her large, fawn-brown eyes, and he sensed his defeat. Despite knowing that wedging his tall, lanky frame onto the narrow mattress wouldn’t be comfortable or restful for her, he was equally certain that in the current situation, he absolutely couldn’t deny her any requests.

“Fine.”

With a careful manoeuvre he joined her on the narrow hospital bed, kissing her pale cheek in the process.

“Let me take her,” he implored. “Then you can try to get comfortable.”

Hermione carefully placed the peacefully sleeping baby onto Ron's chest before turning to her side, letting out a wince as she nestled against him. Ron’s arm instinctively encircled her, supporting her in adjusting her tired and aching body.

As they lay there as a family of three for the first time, a tsunami of emotions overwhelmed him. The tiny, fragile being in his arms, a product of their love, made him marvel at the miracle of life. Ron had yearned to be a father for so long, but now that it had finally happened, the reality felt surreal and, at the same time, quite frightening. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity of the emotions flooding through him in this very moment; emotions he didn’t even know were possible.

Hermione wiggled against him, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she attempted to find a comfortable position for her battered body. Feeling her movements against him, Ron instinctively adjusted his position to make more room for her on the cramped bed. Once she seemed settled against him, he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

“Ron?”

“I told you to sleep, love.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Yeah, sure, I totally buy that. Just went through over 30 hours of agony, shed like ten liters of blood, but nope, Hermione’s not tired.”

“It just feels so surreal.”

“It does, I know what you mean, but seriously, try to catch some sleep. She’s likely to wake up hungry soon.”

“It was a wild ride, wasn’t it?” she mumbled into the crook of his arm.

“Wild is an understatement,” Ron quipped with a snort.

“I didn’t even realize I lost so much blood.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s considered normal, but to me it looked like a bit of a massacre. There was a lot. The healers were surprisingly cool about it, though, so I guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“Thank you for being there.”

“I didn’t do anything. You did all the hard work.”

“You did more than you think. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You were amazing.”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Hermione asked, gently caressing the baby’s cheek with her fingertips.

“She’s perfect,” Ron answered, kissing the tiny head.

“I can’t believe she came out of me.”

“I can assure you, she did. I was right there.”

“It’s so surreal to think we’re parents now.”

Ron smiled down at the little bundle on his chest.

“You were incredible, love. I’ve never seen anyone handle something so intense with such strength.”

“I had my moments of doubt, to be honest, especially during the end.”

“You know, it was really hard watching you in that much pain. I was really worried when you started screaming.”

“I didn’t even notice. I’m sorry I scared you,” Hermione said, a grateful smile playing on her lips. “Thank you for staying strong for me.”

“You know,” he began softly, “I was reliving some of the darkest moments of the war.”

Hermione’s eyes looked up. “Ron…”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, but your sounds - the cries, the pain - it was hauntingly familiar. It felt like I was right back at the manor. I wasn’t prepared for it to be that intense. I tried to remind myself that this time, your pain would be rewarded.”

She nodded, her fingers reaching up to caress his stubbled cheek. “It's strange how life comes full circle, isn’t it? We faced so many evil and dark things together, and now we’ve brought something so good and pure into the world.”

Ron’s eyes softened as he studied her. “You were so brave, love.”

A faint, content smile graced her lips. “I had quite a good motivator.”

Ron leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead again. “I really wish I could’ve taken your place, or at least taken away some of the pain.”

As soon as he had said it, he realized he didn’t really know which situation he was referring to. The nightmare of his life when he couldn’t come to Hermione’s aid all those years ago, or the arduous and agonizing birth of their daughter, just a few hours prior? Perhaps he also meant both, and it was just as blurred together as it had felt a few hours ago.

Hermione sighed, leaning into his touch. “You did more than you know. You kept me going when I felt like I had nothing left.”

Her response subtly implied that she wasn’t specifying one event over the other either.

“I want you to sleep now,” Ron ordered gently and tightened his hold around her. "I’ll be right here.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes already closing. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to her temple, before slowly and carefully pulling the blanket up around the three of them.

As soon as they were settled, Ron looked down at the tiny fragile figure on his chest and then back to his wife whose breathing had finally started to become slower.

He had to take a deep shuddering breath as he was suddenly overcome by a boundless love surpassing anything his heart had ever experienced. He thought he knew what love was. He loved Hermione, and he loved her so deeply that he’d willingly sacrifice everything for her in the blink of an eye. But it had not dawned on him until now that he could love her even more than before after she had given birth to their baby girl. And in addition to the deepening love for Hermione, there now existed another love - distinct and incomparable to what he felt for his wife. It was something entirely different, pure and profound, so omnipresent, all-encompassing and unconditional that he almost couldn’t grasp its intensity. This had to be the kind of love everyone spoke of. This had to be the kind of love Harry and Bill had mentioned. Omnipresent, all-encompassing and unconditional, and although the little girl wasn’t even three hours old yet, and Ron had no idea who she would become, it was a love unmistakably destined to last forever.

He took in a shuddering breath and at the same time, their newborn daughter stirred. His gaze shifted downward, and a tender smile formed on his lips as he watched Rose’s uncoordinated movements. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth parted, and a soft whimper escaped, while her tiny fists clutched Ron’s shirt. Then she instinctively and heartwarmingly turned her little head, nuzzling against Ron’s chest with an open mouth.

“There, there, Rosie. I’ve got all the love in the world for you, but I’m afraid I haven’t got what you’re looking for. The milk bar is right over there with Mummy.”

Very gently, Ron caressed his daughter’s tiny back with his fingertips in an attempt to lull her back to sleep. He continued his tender efforts, hoping to soothe her so Hermione could get a bit more rest. Unfortunately, his attempts proved fruitless as Rosie’s quest for milk on his chest suddenly turned frantic. Shifting his hand, he cradled the small, unsteady head, providing support as the little girl turned it left and right with an open mouth, attempting to suckle on his shirt.

“Sorry, sweetie, Daddy doesn’t have anything for you,” he soothed and a second later Rose added her not so soft voice to the mix, letting out a croaking whimper.

“Oh, no, please don’t cry. Let’s wake Mummy, yeah?”

As the little girl’s whimpers intensified and her frantic search for sustenance continued on Ron’s chest, he gently reached out his hand to touch Hermione’s cheek to wake her up.

“Hermione, love, I’m sorry but you need to wake up.”

Hermione stirred and let out a small wince, her eyes opening but instantly closing again.

“Please, love, she needs you,” he coaxed, as Rose croaked again, her tiny mouth continuing to turn left and right, seeking sustenance from different parts of Ron’s shirt. Between each attempt, she expressed her frustration with a heartfelt cry.

“Hermione!” he urged a little louder while Rose’s cries escalated into full-on screaming, and a moment later her strident sounds echoed through the room.

“Shh, please don’t cry, Rosie. I’ll wake up, Mummy. Just hold on,” he tried to soothe the baby girl with gentle shushes as Rose alternated between heart-wrenching screams and desperate suckling on his shirt.

As his gentler attempts failed, he opted for a more determined shake of his wife’s shoulder, hoping that this would wake her up.

“Hermione! Rosie needs you. She’s hungry, and really upset. Can you please wake up?”

This finally startled Hermione awake, and she attempted to sit up in bed with a wince. However, the lingering soreness from the arduous labor seemed to make the simple act of sitting up very challenging. Noticing her discomfort, Ron quickly stood up to place the heart-wrenchingly screaming and uncoordinatedly flailing newborn in the crib so he could help his wife sitting up.

“Let me help you.”

He carefully supported Hermione, helping her into a sitting position, and positioning a pillow behind her back. Ron then picked up the starving newborn, who was still screaming at the top of her tiny lungs, and held her close, trying to soothe her as Hermione tried to find a comfortable position for nursing. The tiny newborn was in complete distress, wailing and squirming, and Ron was taken aback by how rapidly she had gone from deep sleep to full-on hunger-induced frenzy.

Once he was satisfied that Hermione was in a reasonably comfortable position, he carefully handed the wiggling baby over to her. She cradled Rose to her chest, whispering words of comfort as she tried to get the wildly flailing and screaming newborn to latch on. The little girl had become so desperate that it took several attempts before her cries finally subsided and she began to nurse.

Ron couldn’t help but chuckle softly and remarked, “Well, someone was really angry there for a moment.”

“Seems like she takes after her parents. Strong-willed and not afraid to voice her opinion.”

He chuckled again before leaning in and pressing a tender kiss on his wife’s lips.

“I love you.”

“Love you more,” she repeated his words from earlier and smiled up at him with tired eyes.

After planting another kiss on her lips, Ron took a seat on the edge of the bed again, watching the tender and incredibly peaceful scene in front of him. While the newborn peacefully continued eating, Hermione closed her eyes and tilted her head back onto the pillow.

“I am so tired,” she mumbled and let out a wide yawn.

Her yawn seemed to be contagious because a second later, Ron found himself yawning too. He was so unbelievably exhausted and almost felt ashamed for it, considering how his wife must be feeling after what she had endured. In the fog of his fatigue, Ron suddenly came to a stark realization – this was their new normal. He had to get used to being bone-tired because as of now the red-haired bundle would dictate their sleep patterns and redefine their routines, no matter how worn out they already were.

“I guess this is it,” Ron murmured to himself with a lopsided grin.

Hermione, her eyes still closed, chuckled softly, “Welcome to parenthood, love.”

#submission #only one bed #romione

[romione-trope-fest]

The Girl From The Bar

Title: The Girl From The Bar

Author: Be11atrixthestrange

Trope: Muggle AU

Summary: While studying at a coffee shop, Ron spots a missed connection from years ago. 

Word Count: 2015

Rating: M

—

-Four Years Ago-

The Leaky Canteen was a total dive. As much as the Weasleys wanted it to be a high-end establishment, it simply wasn’t, and it would never be. Grime and dirt lived on the floor permanently, no matter how hard Ron scrubbed and mopped at bar close. The upholstery on the booth benches ripped and frayed, revealing the discolored foam underneath, the paint peeled from the walls, and there was a permanent smoky stench that permeated the air, even though there were strict rules against smoking indoors. 

That aside, the bar managed to remain a hot spot on Friday and Saturday nights. Maybe it was the centralized location, the event calendar that was always too packed to staff appropriately, or the fact that they offered half-priced cocktails to all hen and stag parties. Scratch that, it was definitely the half-priced drinks. That was the reason that it was always bursting with loud, messy, disrespectful patrons, yet still struggled to profit enough each month to pay the lease. 

“Another Gold Rush please!” 

Ron glanced over his shoulder to see a blonde girl, probably mid-twenties, leaning against the bar. The bartop, which was still wet with a combination of beer, vodka, and water, left a dark mark across her dress, but she didn’t seem to notice. One hand held an empty cocktail glass, while the other clutched the countertop for stability as she teetered to the side. 

“You doing okay?” Ron threw his dish towel over his shoulder and propped his elbows onto the bar to look her in the eye. As he had predicted, her pupils were as wide as saucers. 

“Sogood,” she slurred, flashing him a smile. “Havingsomuchfun.”

“Gotcha,” said Ron, rising to his feet. “One Gold Rush, coming up.”

He reached for a coupe glass and a boston shaker, and filled the shaker with lemon juice, orange juice, and honey syrup. He eyed the bourbon whiskey, which the cocktail would normally call for, but instead traveled to the refrigerator, where a small container of chopped jalapenos was waiting. He used a pair of tongs to plop one into the shaker, and a muddler to smash it up. 

A bit of ice and a few shakes later, the blonde was happily shuffling back to the dance floor, her drink dripping down her hand. 

While rinsing the shaker,  Ron half watched the flock of girls clad in feather boas and sparkly dresses laughing and bouncing in the middle of the bar. It wasn’t technically a dance floor as the Canteen wasn’t a nightclub, but the weekend crew didn’t seem to notice or care that there wasn’t an official DJ. In fact, Ron was just playing a random Spotify playlist, complete with the internet’s favorite early 2000’s dance hits. He didn’t even pay for the premium subscription, and the crowd was too drunk to notice they were dancing to car insurance advertisements between songs. 

“Interesting choice with the jalapeno.”

Ron looked toward the voice to see another girl sitting at the other end of the bar. Her phone was lying on a towel on the counter, screen up, as she scrolled with one hand. 

“Shit, didn’t see you there.”

The girl laughed. Ron took in her appearance. Like the other girls on the dance floor, she was wearing a sparkly dress, but the way she tensed up underneath the fabric suggested she’d be more comfortable in a pair of jeans. Her long brown hair formed tight curls that landed halfway down her back. Her makeup was simple and natural, and her deep brown eyes looked like he could get lost in them. She was beautiful, in an effortless, understated way. 

“When you’re completely smashed, it’s hard to tell the difference between the kick of a jalapeno and the bitterness of bourbon.”

“Ahh.”

“And she was completely smashed.”

The girl nodded. “I agree. I was actually coming over to suggest she drink water for the rest of the night, but it looks like you were on it.”

Ron smiled. “Part of the job.”

The girl turned back to her phone, and Ron felt a flash of disappointment. He frequently craved sober conversation during his long weekend shifts, and the fact that she was beautiful was a plus. 

“So, how’s the hen party?”

She glanced up. “It’s fine. I was actually about to head out soon. We’ve been partying since noon.”

Ron snuck a peek at her phone and recognized the uber app. “They’ll miss you if you leave.”

She laughed. “No they won’t.”

“I take it you’re friends with the bride?” asked Ron.

“Hannah? She’s my roommate.”

“But not your friend?”

The girl shrugged. “Well, both. Since she got engaged I don’t see much of her, to be frank.”

So, she’s single. “I know how you feel. Well, sort of.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. 

“My roommate just proposed to my sister. But now I see too much of them.”

She smiled. “That must be awkward.”

“A little. Part of the reason I take Saturday night shifts so often.”

The girl looked back at her phone, and Ron’s stomach sank, willing her to keep talking. He felt his palms sweat when she closed out her phone, plopped it into her pocket, and looked back up at him. “Rideshare surcharges are insane right now.”

“It happens,” said Ron, trying to sound casual, and not overly excited. “Probably best to wait on the uber.”

“You’re probably right.”

“So, can I make you a drink?” he offered.

Her face brightened. “I’ll try that jalapeno one that you made for Hannah.”

“Coming right up.”

Ron disappeared behind the back door to gather his ingredients, and hoped he had managed to hide the blush creeping up his neck. There was a lightness in his movements that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and he formed a genuine smile at the thought of spending more time with this girl. 

Frankly, things weren’t going so well in the relationship category as of late. He and Lavender had broken up just a few weeks ago, and she was still in the process of moving out of Grimmauld place. They were only living there temporarily while they searched for their own apartment together, much to Harry’s annoyance. They had been looking for the perfect flat for months, and finally found one close enough to school and work that miraculously fell within their budget. But the day before they were supposed to sign the lease, she left him. 

He honestly didn’t know why, but he assumed she had met someone else. All the talk about it being too big of a step, and her not feeling comfortable living together felt like reasons to postpone apartment-hunting rather than end the relationship entirely. But what was he going to do, beg her to stay? He didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want him. 

But it didn’t make it hurt any less. 

Now Lavender would get to live in that big apartment by herself, and Ron would still be stuck at Grimmauld Place with Harry. As if to rub salt in the wound, Harry proposed to his sister a few days later Now he found himself third wheeling with the star crossed lovers almost every weekend since then, which only served to remind him how single he suddenly was. 

That was the reason he had taken so many Saturday shifts at The Canteen. 

Fred and George insisted he needed a rebound, and working at the bar was the perfect way to do that. Ron disagreed. He wasn’t one to take a random stranger home with the intention of using her to forget about someone else. He just wanted a distraction. Someone to talk to. 

The non alcoholic Gold Rush nearly made itself as Ron got lost in his thoughts. He garnished the edge of the glass with an orange slice sandwiched between two jalapenos. An added touch for the girl at the bar. 

“Voila,” he said as he emerged from the back. “A gold rush for the lady.”

“Why thank you very much.” She carefully pinched the stem of the glass and took a tentative sip. “Wow. It does taste alcoholic.”

“And I promise you it’s not.”

“Well done, sir. Compliments to the chef.”

Ron felt his cheeks turn pink. “Thank you.”

“I like the garnish.” The girl pulled a jalapeno slice from the edge of the glass and plopped it into her mouth. Her eyes watered under the heat of the spice, but at the same time, she gave a satisfied smile.

“It’s all about presentation.”

She smiled and extended her arm toward him. “I’m Hermione, by the way.”

Ron wiped his hand on the dish towel that was still hanging around his shoulders, and shook hers. “I’m Ron.”

“Nice to meet you, Ron.”

-Present Day-

Saturday mornings were usually busy at Flourish and Pots, the coffeehouse and bookstore where Ron practically lived at the moment, but he didn’t mind. The commotion helped him focus, while also providing a distraction from his tedious economics textbooks when he needed one. The cafe’s close proximity to the airport meant it was frequently visited by tourists and provided the perfect people watching opportunity. And the fact that it was far away from the Leaky Canteen was a plus. No family members would crash his study sessions and insist on burdening him with administrative work that no one else knew how to do. 

His intention behind obtaining his business degree wasn’t necessarily to fix the family bar or turn it into a profit machine, but to hopefully run a better business in the future. Something completely unrelated. But his family didn’t quite understand that. 

Ron reached for his latte and brought it to his lips. He hated to disturb the intricate leaf pattern the barista had formed with the foam, but his second year of graduate school required sufficient caffeine, and his admiration for latte-art would have to come later. 

As he put this mug down, a flash of red caught his eye. A young girl, no older than three had plopped down into an armchair that was way too big for her. Based on her hair alone, she could have been one of Ron’s nieces or nephews, and if Ron wasn’t absolutely sure she was a new face, he’d be looking for Bill or Percy in the bookstore. 

Where are your parents, little girl?

The girl picked up a newspaper from the side table and opened it. The fact that it was upside down made him smile. Her red hair frizzed out at all angles, and her eyebrows furrowed at the newspaper in a way that was strangely familiar. 

“Rose?” came a frantic whisper from across the room. “Rosie, where did you go?”

The voice lingered in Ron’s mind like a once-forgotten song. He’d heard that voice before. 

“Rosie, there you are!” 

A woman came sprinting around the corner and breathed a heavy sigh of relief upon finding the little girl. 

“Mama!” Rosie popped out of the chair and wrapped her arms around her mother’s leg. The newspaper glided gently to the floor as if falling in slow motion. 

“You scared me! Don’t run away from me again.” The woman picked up the newspaper, folded it back up and set it on the side table. “Ready to go sweetheart?”

The little girl nodded and reached for her mother’s hand. The pair turned toward the entrance of the shop and Ron’s stomach felt like it turned to stone as he watched them walk away. 

He didn’t even need to see the woman’s face. Her voice, her hair, the way her hips swayed as she walked away. It was all too familiar. That was the girl from the bar. 

Holy shit. Ron’s whole body immediately tingled, and his heart pounded like a bird trying to escape his chest. He felt like he was observing himself from outside the room. How long ago was that? Three, four years? Give or take a few months? 

Ron lifted a hand from his textbook to find that his palm had stuck to the page, leaving a sweaty handprint behind. He reached for his latte and took a sip, but his hand trembled so much that he nearly spilled it. The timeline matched. And Rosie’s flaming red hair was unmistakable. Unless the girl from the bar shagged one of his brothers too. Or maybe she just had a thing for gingers? 

Who was he kidding? So much had happened in his life since that encounter, and maybe he didn’t even know the half of it. 

But, fuck, he had to find out. 

#submission #romione #muggle AU #romione muggle au

[romione-trope-fest]

Say Yes To Heaven

Fic Title: Say Yes To Heaven

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief Summary: Hermione and Ron dance during Bill and Fleur’s wedding. 

Word Count: 1467

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

  If you dance, I’ll dance

And if you don’t, I’ll dance anyway

Give peace a chance

Let the fear you have fall away

- “Say Yes to Heaven,” Lana Del Rey

“Okay. Out with it, Ron.”

Ron, who had been resolutely avoiding Hermione’s eyes while they danced, finally looked down and sighed. 

“Why are you acting so weird around Krum?” he demanded. Gritting his teeth and glaring in Viktor’s direction, he added, “Blushing every time he looks your way. You told me you weren’t interested in him anymore.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not.”

“Then what’s with the blushing?”

“Well,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, so it’s a bit of a shock, I suppose.”

“Shock doesn’t make people blush, Hermione.”

She grudgingly acknowledged to herself that Ron had a point. The last time she saw Viktor in person, he had given her quite the farewell snog in a cloistered corner of the Hogwarts entrance hall. Hermione had gained much from dating Viktor, and a part of her was sad to end the romance. It appeared that seeing Viktor again stacked uncomfortably on their last moment of bittersweet intimacy, even though she was quite sure those old emotions were long gone. 

But there was no explaining this to Ron without ruining the night. And Hermione was determined to not ruin it, which had been surreally beautiful up until that point. She craved to soak up all the peace and joy she could with Ron before facing whatever was in store for them. So Hermione simply pursed her lips and said, “I think you’re reading into things.”

Ron stopped swaying to the music and let her go. “Oh, am I?”

Hermione felt herself edge towards anger, so she inhaled deeply. She moved her hands, which were resting on his shoulders, to clasp around his neck. “Look, I’m here because I want to dance with you. Not him.”

Her soft plea didn’t work. Ron stood stock still, arms firmly by his side, head turned as far as he could away from Hermione, and jaw tensing. Rejected and resigned, Hermione yanked away her hands and took several steps back.

“Fine then,” she snapped. “If you don’t want to dance, then maybe I should just dance with…”

Ron’s head swivelled in her direction, his hurt eyes quelling her vengeful words. Suddenly, the band began to play another waltz and the crowd cheered. Hermione recognised this as the Unicorn Waltz, one of the most popular wizard waltzes and one of the three choreographies she had learned for the Yule Ball. A whimsical idea took hold—an idea born, no doubt, from the love-filled magic of the celebration. 

“Myself,” she finished. 

Arms aloft as if holding an invisible partner, Hermione began to move to the music, her steps fluid and precise. She waltzed a circle around Ron, who was rooted to the spot, expression dumbfounded at her uncharacteristic behaviour. If others were staring, Hermione did not care. She continued to twirl and sway on her own, catching Ron’s eye when she could. His expression softened with each glance. Finally, she caught him letting out a laugh and a shake of his head. Hermione grinned at him cheekily before pressing on with her solo dance. 

Suddenly, Hermione felt an arm snake behind her waist until its hand slid into the left one she had resting at her right hip. Ron’s left hand grasped her right one. He effortlessly fell into step with her, giving her a spin when the time was right. Hermione was floored. She noted that Ron could keep rhythm during their earlier lacklustre attempt, but as they continued to move in almost perfect harmony, she discovered how truly adept he was at dancing. It ached to know that she had been robbed twice of opportunities to learn this about him before.  

As the song reached its end, Ron gave Hermione a final dip before slowly bringing her upright, eyes locked the entire time. He looked divine under the soft glow of the marquee lights, face and neck flushed from activity. They stood gazing at each other while the audience gave the band another round of applause. His flush grew. 

“Wow,” Hermione whispered. 

“Yeah.”

The band began to play another melody Hermione was familiar with, The Waltz of the Witching Hour. They wordlessly began moving again. After a few measures, Ron’s eyes flickered back to Krum. 

“I remember you dancing these with that prick,” he grumbled before he could help himself. 

“I would have much preferred to dance these with you first,” she responded, her mouth a thin line.

Ron seemed surprised by this admission, even though Hermione thought she had made the point quite clear in the past. Then his expression grew serious as he pulled her closer with an unexpected assuredness, leaving her slightly breathless. 

“Then why didn’t you?” he murmured. “I did ask you after all…”

Hermione stiffened at both implications: that she would be one to go back on her word and that Ron’s Yule Ball invitation was in any way acceptable. “Not in the way that I would have liked.”

Ron’s lips tightened sheepishly into something between a smile and a grimace. “Better late than never?”

Hermione suppressed a laugh, wondering if he intended the double meaning. Though much remained unspoken between them, they had unmistakably entered a new chapter of emotional and physical closeness, slowly shedding themselves of weighty starts and stops of their past. They decided to surrender themselves to the music and the moment, delighting in the act of simply being and being together. A few fast-paced modern songs followed, during which Ron improvised a sequence of flailing limbs that nearly caused Hermione to collapse with laughter.

Eventually, it was time for another waltz. Hermione froze. “I don’t know this one.”

“Don’t worry,” said Ron, reaching for her. “I’ll teach you.”

Her lips curled as she assumed position and followed the basic step. “Ronald Weasley, of all people, teaching me wizarding dance. The world truly is ending.”

Ron let out an incredulous bark. “What a nasty joke.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Hermione said, scrunching her nose in a faux-abashed manner. “I suppose I do learn more things from you than I give you credit for.”

“Nah, that’s all you, Granger. My humour is not that dark.”

“It can be at times.”

Ron pondered this point for a moment, mouth eventually unfurling into a wicked grin. Hermione shook her head with a twisted smile, sure they were remembering the same jokes. “Yeah,” he ultimately conceded with a glint in his eye. “I suppose you’re right. As usual." 

It was not long until Hermione had mastered the new steps. "Nice,” said Ron. “You’re a fast learner. Like I didn’t know that already.”

“It helps that I took ballet lessons all throughout primary school." 

Ron made a face. 

"What?”

“Ickle Hermione in a tutu, dancing ballet. I never would have imagined.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just so…girly. You’ve never struck me as the type to be into things like that.”

Hermione tensed, and Ron was quick to assure her that he didn’t mean it as an insult. 

“I love that you’re not girly,” he added. 

Hermione blushed and her lips eased into a smile. “You love it?” she teased. 

“Well, yeah,” said Ron, his face a mirror of hers. “You wouldn’t be you then, would you?”

A modern slow song came on, and Hermione took the opportunity to rest her head on Ron’s chest. The last time her heart was this full was when they reconciled after his poisoning. “I do love ballet, though. I sort of miss it, now that I think of it.” 

“Can I tell you a secret if you promise never to tell Fred or George? Or Harry. Or Ginny because she’d definitely blab to Fred and George.”

Hermione lifted her head, highly intrigued. 

“Promise, Hermione.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

“I sort of…love ballet, too.” 

“You do?”

“Don’t take the mickey,” warned Ron. 

“I’m not, I’m just…asking to be allowed a tone of surprise,” Hermione joked. 

“Yeah, that’s all right,” chuckled Ron. “Growing up we would see The Magical Nutcracker every year because dad always got tickets from the Ministry. It’s the wizard version of a Muggle ballet, I don’t know if you—”

“The Nutcracker, of course. It’s one of our most popular ballets.”

“It used to be my favourite Christmas tradition. You’ve never seen wizard ballet, have you?”

Hermione shook her head, still dazed by this revelation.

“Oh, just you wait, I bet it’s loads better than Muggle ballet.”

Hermione smiled at the optimism in Ron’s voice, holding no space for the possibility that they might never see The Magical Nutcracker together. She held on to his optimism like a lifeline. She wasn’t sure what would happen a year from then, a month, or even in ten minutes. But in that moment, none of it mattered. For she was in heaven, finally, with him.

#submission #romione #weasley weddings

[romione-trope-fest]

He's Gonna Know

Title: He’s Gonna Know

Author: adenei

Trope: Fake Not Dating & OOTP Missing Moment

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione sneaking around during 5th year because Harry’s miserable and they just like being in each other’s company. Don’t come at me there’s totally a universe where this COULD be canon (and it’d make 6th year hit so. much. harder.)

WC: 573

Rating: G

TW: None

******

“He’s gonna know.” Hermione paces the length of an empty classroom, head bent and brow furrowed as she shakes her head.

  Ron shuts the door and turns to face her. “He’s not gonna know.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.

  “Ron.”

  “Hermione.”

  Ron leans against one of the tables and crosses his arms, waiting for her to finish her mental spiral. 

  “But we never have rounds twice in one week. This was a stupid idea. We should have just said we were going to library or—”

  “Right, and what would you have done if he said he was going to join us?” Midway through his retort Ron changes the tone of his face, making it higher-pitched as he teases, “Oh, did I say library? Sorry, Harry, that was just an excuse. Ron and I are actually just ditching you because you’ve been miserable lately. And we wanted to snog in private.”

  “Oh, will you stop!” Hermione stomps over to him and smacks his arm.

  He laughs jovially and grabs her by the waist, pulling her closer. “Aw, come on, you know rounds was the best option for an excuse.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she admits, hands settling on his shoulders as she lets out a long sigh. “You don’t feel bad for lying to him though?”

  Ron shrugs. “I don’t consider it lying.” 

  Hermione’s eyes widen, and he knows she’s about to admonish him some more, so he decides to distract her instead. His head dips down and his lips brush hers. A thrilling rush crashes over him—it’s the best kind of adrenaline rush. Even better than flying or finding one of the remaining chocolate frog cards to complete his collection.  This shift in their relationship is still so new, and he can’t help but make sure it’s okay to kiss her. Well, when they find time to be alone at least.

  “How do you not consider that lying to him? We literally told him we had rounds tonight when we don’t,” she chastises.

  “Okay, maybe that was a lie, but it’s not like we’re lying to him about us. We’re just…not offering all the details.”

  Hermione attempts to bite back a laugh, but Ron smirks and breaks her resolve. “Fine, I suppose that’s fair. But what happens if he does find out?”

  “He’s not going to.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Sorry, have you met Harry? If it doesn’t directly pertain to him, he usually doesn’t notice.”

  “Are you saying as his best friends we don’t pertain to him then?” She quirks an eyebrow at him.

  “No, I—” Ron stops himself. As much as he loves sparring with her, he’d much rather spend this valuable time doing something else. “Do you really want to sit here and argue when we could be…” He trails off as his gaze falls to her kissable lips.

  The gesture makes her blush, and Ron loves evoking that reaction from her. “Oh, well, I suppose you have a point.”

  “Brilliant.” Ron grins. “So, can I—”

  He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, though, because Hermione wastes no time closing the distance between them. As soon as their lips meet, all thoughts of rounds and their other best friend disappears from his mind.

For all he cares at that moment, Harry can stay in the dark about them for as long as is necessary, so long as he gets to keep doing this with Hermione forever.

#submission #romione #fake not dating #ootp missing moments

[romione-trope-fest]

A Wild Romania Wedding

Title: A Wild Romania Wedding

Author: tumblr- Nena-96, Ao3- Nena96

Selected Trope: Weasley Wedding

Brief Summary: After receiving a wedding invitation from Charlie Weasley, the Weasley's are headed to Romania to celebrate in the beautiful unity between Charlie Septimus Weasley and the love of his life Aria Ung Honatel.

Oh, and let’s just say this wedding is going to be wild.

Rating: T (rating may change )

Word Count: 2,689 (first chapter of 5ish part)

Any relevant trigger warnings: none

---

It was just another tiring day here at the Burrow, the occupants in the living room were all sprawled around attempting to take a break from a day filled with chores courtesy of their dear mum. Which was crazy because they were all adults and none of them lived at home, yet that didn’t stop Molly Weasley from assigning each and everyone of them a specific task to complete. Hermione rolled her eyes as she tried to drown out the twins as they complained about having so much chores to do, which was odd because last she checked the ones who had the most to do were, Ron, and herself.

All day today, Mrs. Weasley had kept her busy and separate from Ron, it was almost like she thought if they were in the same room together that nothing would be cleaned. If you asked her it was most definitely unfair, it wasn’t like they were irresponsible. Then again, Mrs. Weasley did end up catching them in a very, uhm…passionate embrace when they were supposed to finish de-gnoming the garden. It wasn’t her fault that her boyfriend, Ron, looked incredibly handsome, and well Mrs. Weasley could’ve very well sent a Patronus to call them instead for lemonade. There wasn’t a need to come all the way outside…and well interrupt a rather nice snog.

She had managed to keep her focus for a solid five minutes, and threw gnome after gnome as far as she could over the fence, which wasn’t very far because a few of them had ricocheted off from the top and beach into the garden.

If anything it was Ron’s fault, yes precisely it was her insufferable boyfriend that caused them to be caught locked in each other’s embrace. If it wasn’t for him laughing at her, she wouldn’t have turned around to scold him only to be met with him pulling his maroon jumper over his head, Yet, that wasn’t what caused her brain to chor-circuit, not at all, it was the fact that the Ron had accidentally lifted not only his jumper but also his t-shirt up. Thus, presenting her with the most beautiful view of his toned and hard body. It hadn’t been the first time that Hermione had seen the constellation of thousands of freckles that decorated his fair skin; she had managed to take off his shirt a few times in the past, thank you very much.

However, that was the first time she had ever seen his skin glistening with sweat, and let's just say that seeing a droplet of sweat trail down his stomach, and down the line of copper hair before disappearing into the front of his trousers. Well, it was a bit much for a girl to handle, don’t you think?

Besides, there was absolutely nothing wrong with staring at Ron’s body, well that was if you were named Hermione Jean Granger. Which coincidentally she was the only one with that particular name, which meant only she was allowed to gawk-erm politely gaze upon the freckles on the youngest Weasley boy. To be fair, Ron wasn't a boy, he was a hundred percent man and the thought that she was the only one that gets to see him in this way made her cheeks blaze. If she didn’t already have a memory stored into her mind when needed to cast her Patronus, the very sight of her boyfriend was enough of a happy memory to last her a lifetime.

Before Ron could even get his jumper unstuck, Hermione had decided that it was enough torture on her behalf and proceeded to crash into him, sending them both down onto the grass. It was a bit comical, since Ron hadn’t been able to get his jumper off, this had given Hermione full control on their passionate snog, not that she heard any complaints from him. Her hands had a mind of its own, as they trailed up and down his hard chest, all while her lips never once left his. The kiss felt amazing, as it always did, his lips were addictive, she could almost understand how Lavender would always be latched to Ron’s lips like a plunger.

Key word being almost.

The memory of her boyfriend’s ex, had fueled a fire within Hermione, causing her to sink her teeth a bit hard onto his lips. Which resulted in a deep moan that left Ron’s mouth, even though she loved this reaction, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing. At first she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, she was far too busy being lost with feeling his lips against hers, while feeling the way his hips pushed up against her. Even though she was in control of their kiss, somehow she was losing her control at the same time.

Which is why she had to force herself to move away from his addictive lips, as she tried to calm her breathing. It was in that precise moment she knew what felt different when they were kissing, honestly how could she forget something so important.

His face, most importantly his eyes were covered and Hermione didn’t have the pleasure of seeing the way Ron’s azure eyes would darken with lust. She couldn’t see that tale-tell Weasley blush that would grace his face after engaging in such a brilliant snog. That’s what has been missing, all this time. Nothing could compare to the feeling of his eyes on her, so without further ado, Hermione pulled the rest of his jumper off of him.

She smiled at the way he squinted his eyes, due to the brightness from the sun. It was rather adorable, if you asked her. It didn’t take long for Ron to send a lopsided smirk her way, and the way he narrowed his eyes a bit, which made her think of the times he would play chess in the common room. He was always so focused and the way he would clench his jaw would be a dead giveaway that he was about to call for a checkmate. It was a bit ironic that even though she was well aware of the little movements he made, there were times that she couldn’t figure out what he was about to do next.

When he placed his large calloused hands on her waist, she thought this was her cue to lean in for another passionate snog. She had no complaints there, except Hermione failed to notice the mischievous glint that showed in his eyes, as she slowly leaned down, her lips barely touched his, when she felt him tighten his grip on her waist and quickly roll them over onto the grass.

“It was about time I knocked you off your high hippogriff, isn’t that right, love?” Ron joked before she could come up with a witty retort of her own, his lips were on hers again.

Everything about this moment was amazing, the way that his hands rubbed and squeezed her hips. The way her hands trailed up and down his hard chest, before deciding to wrap her arms around his shoulders and bring him closer to her. Their bodies were so deliciously pressed against one another, that she felt his hardness press against her. It should be illegal to feel this good, being with Ron always felt amazing.

“Hermione,” he had whispered against her lips, before he began trailing kisses down her jaw. The feel of his lips on her was tortuous, and Hermione didn’t care in the slightest that they were laying on the grass, where anyone could easily spot the wicked ways that Ron was feasting upon her.

Hermione couldn’t help but lean her head slightly to the left in order to give him better access, it wasn’t shocking that Ron had successfully managed to make her lose all sense of caution. Time and time again, proves that with just one kiss and a touch of his callused hands will send her into a state of happiness.

“Ron, please,” she whispered. Hoping that he’d get the message, however as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. This was a prime example of that, because within seconds they were both soaked to the bone with water. Which had also her to choke on a lump of now wet curls that fell straight into her open mouth, as Ron shouted besides her as he tried to help her now gag on her hair.

“What in the Bloody Hell, what the fuck-?”

Before she could get a grip on what's going on, Hermione heard the shrill voice of the person she least expected to catch them.

It was Molly Weasley.

“Ronald Billius Weasley! You will not speak in such a crass tone to me young man. If I recall correctly, I asked you and Hermione to de-gnome, and this is clearly not a method in getting rid of any gnomes in the garden. Both of you get up and into the house, right this instant,” Mrs.Weasley ordered, as she stood in front of them with both hands on her hips. To say that both Ron and herself were embarrassed was an understatement, it was downright awful getting caught by his mother. Hermione had made a mental note to remind Ron to cast a charm around them the next time, if there was going to be a next time that is.

The memories of earlier this morning made her blush, and hope that she could persuade Ron to sneak out before bed tonight. You know, just for a goodnight kiss, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with kissing one’s boyfriend before slipping into bed. Into each other’s respected beds….not…not the same, well unless he wants to of course. Hermione shook her head, trying to get rid of thoughts that were heading into a very dangerous territory.

She snuck a glance at Ron who was sprawled on the opposite sofa across from her, and wondered if he was thinking of their time outside by the garden instead of listening to the twins complain about their day. Before she could look away, Ron turned and gazed back at her, almost as if he felt her eyes on him. Unspoken words passed between them, as they held onto each other’s gaze, before she knew what was happening Hermione saw Ron smirk before slowly rolling up the sleeves from his jumper. Causing her to momentarily be distracted with his freckled forearms, damn him and his forearms.

Couldn’t he understand what that does to her? It was as if he was teasing her, that bloody git!

Well two can very well play that game, she thought to herself, except she wasn’t going to fall for his little game now while his family were in the same room. Nope, like a true Gryffindor she’s going to wait for the perfect moment to make him squirm. Only time will tell, until then she’ll let him believe that he won this round. She shook her head at him, which made him chuckle before deciding to get up from his spot and head over to where she was on the sofa. Within seconds, she felt him sit besides her, as he wrapped his arms around her.

“What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, love?” Ron whispered just as he placed a kiss onto the side of her temple. Hermione turned a bit more, and placed a gentle yet promising kiss onto his lips, before pulling away and letting her lips hover over his lips, “Nothing, you need to worry about.” She replied, with a hint of mischief in her voice that didn’t go amiss to Ron, considering how his ears tinged pink. “Is that so-”

“....Bloody hell, if this was going to be how we spent our afternoon, we could’ve stayed at the joke shop and worked on the latest anti-jinxing quill.” Fred complained loudly, causing them to turn away from one another.

“Yeah, or even on that forget-me-not potion, honestly the things we do for that woman and then she doesn’t even offer us lemonade like little Ronniekins over here,” George replied with a sad shake of his head while pretending that his heart was just broken in millions of pieces.

“Oi, sod off. It’s not my fault that I actually did what mum said, besides you can make your own drinks but you're too blood lazy to get your arses up to make one,” Ron replied as he rolled his eyes.

Before Hermione could get a word in, she was cut off by Bill, who had just entered the room, a bit out of breath and holding a letter. “Guess what we got through owl?” The eldest of the Weasley boys asked with a huge smile on his face as he looked around the room.

“Let me guess, is it McGonagall? Requesting for my dashing presence to grace the halls of Hogwarts once again?” George said as he did a small little curtsy.

“No, it’s an owl from Charlie, here listen to it,” Bill placed the letter onto the center of the coffee table and waved his wand over it. Within seconds they were hearing the words spoken off the letter.

Dear, Mum….and family

I wanted to share with you the bloody fantastic news that I've had in my entire life. Hell, it’s loads better than becoming Prefect at Hogwarts and even better than my job here at the dragon reserve in Romania!

Yeah, yeah…I know you don’t believe it but it’s fucking true! I know you’re gonna give me an earful for my language, mum. I can practically see the way you have a scowl on your face and shaking your head. Almost like the time that me and Bill snuck into Hogsmead, boy those were the times.

However, that’s nothing compared to all the things that Ronniekins has done throughout his entire SIX years at Hogwarts! If anything you should ground him with not seeing Hermione for at least a week, oh and have him send me a firewhiskey…you know as a form of punishment for disobeying the rules of Hogwarts. HA!

Just, teasing Ronniekins, everyone and their gran knows that you wouldn’t last a day without the bushy-haired know-it-all that you always owled mum about during first year. Oi, and before any of you tosspots (again, sorry mum) dare take the mickey out of Ronniekins, remember neither of you are capable of being days without your birds, so might as well keep ya thoughts to yourselves.

Anyways, sorry for going off topic. Just can’t believe this is happening…. fucking hell!

Mum, I surely hope you don’t mind the next parcels that I managed to send your way…..I know it’s short notice but honestly when have we been one for schedules? Never!

Mum…… Dad…….family,

I’m getting MARRIED!

Yes, you read that right, and I hope that you join me in Romania to celebrate. It’ll be a wedding you’ll never forget.

Plus, mum…I wanted you to make the wedding dress, I know it’s such short notice but thank Merlin for magic, right? Plus, I’m sure the boys can help you if needed. You’ll receive a couple of parcels with the material for the wedding dress and don’t worry about the portkey, I already took care of that, honestly can’t wait until you all come here to Romania.

Especially want you to meet Aria, she’s so bloody perfect and I know you’ll love her.

-Your favorite son, Charlie Weasley

Once the letter was finished, everyone stood were shock on their faces.

“No fucking way!”

“Charlie’s getting married?”

“How many parcels is he sending over for a dress?”

“What does he mean by making mum separate me and Hermione!?”

Questions were being fired rapidly to Bill, however their voices were all drowned out by Mrs. Weasley’s teary voice, “Charlie, my baby is getting married!”

“Does this mean we’re going to Romania?”

[romione-trope-fest]

Sleep Hexed

Title: Sleep Hexed

Author: cheesyficwriter

Selected Trope: Only One Bed

Brief Summary: A No Voldemort tale featuring two idiots in love who don’t quite know it yet. Post-Hogwarts years.

Rating: T

Word Count (if applicable): 3,738

Trigger Warnings: N/A

---

Chapter One

Sleep. 

Interesting, isn’t it? 

All humans need to have the energy to go about their daily lives. Although sleep is unavoidable, the task can become significantly compromised at any moment. 

For Hermione? Sleep has always seemed so simple, yet it causes her much more grief than she cares to admit. 

It’s midday during an impossible season of trials at the Ministry, and she can’t focus on the work that needs to be done simply because she tossed and turned all night long. Instead of her brain deciding that she needed proper rest before a full day of work, Hermione found herself laying awake for the fifth straight night in a row. 

Why can’t she sleep when it feels like she’s tried everything in the books to help her? Hermione always maintains proper hygiene, avoids caffeine as much as possible, performs a nightly Atmospheric Charm to keep her bedroom at an ideal temperature, and even has a set bedtime—no matter how often she has to remind Ron and Harry that the use of her Floo after ten in the evening should only be for emergencies!

Although the cafeteria is bustling with energy during the busy Ministry lunch hour, Hermione’s only point of focus is to mentally strategize ways to get at least an hour of shut eye tonight. Yet she nudges the food around on her plate with her fork, lacking any appetite to eat. 

Her legs are restless beneath the table as she fights the urge to bounce her knee in a jerky rhythm. Ron slides into the empty seat across from her, kinking an eyebrow in her direction as the table shakes from her incessant knee movement. He opens his mouth as if he wants to address it, but says nothing. Hermione bites her lip to hold back a yawn, her eyelids drooping of their own volition. 

“Ron!” Harry plops into the open chair next to Hermione without warning, his eyes bright. She jumps as his lunch tray clatters onto the table. “Mate, that match last night—”

“Was fucking brilliant!”

The two boys fall into a natural conversation, allowing Hermione’s thoughts to drift to topics that don’t involve her. She takes a long sip of her water, hoping the sensation will keep her engaged long enough to excuse herself to the loo without appearing suspicious.

Harry and Ron discuss Quidditch stats for the next five minutes, but her red-headed best friend steals glances her way every so often. A throbbing headache beneath Hermione’s temples grows stronger and stronger with the excessive noise in the room. As she reaches for her glass of water again, her hand collides with the rim and tips the clear liquid onto the table. 

“Bugger!” Hermione withdraws her wand and mutters a quick Scourgify, but nothing happens. She inwardly groans, agitated over her inability to even hold her wand with a steady enough hand.  

Unfortunately, she isn’t the only one who notices. Ron frowns and stops speaking mid-sentence, studying her movements with sudden interest. “What was that?”

“What do you mean?" 

"You. With your wand, just now.” He nods at the 10 and ¾ inch of vinewood dangling loosely between her fingers. “You fumbled a simple spell.”

Hermione scoffs at the critique. “Thanks, Ron.”

“No! It’s just—” He blunders, gesturing towards her face. “I mean it’s you. You’re brilliant. Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel a bit off today. That’s all.” The retort snaps out of her mouth all too quickly. “Maybe I’ll leave early to get some rest.”

“Leave early?” Ron snorts, leaning back in his chair. “You mean actually leave on time with the rest of us for once?”

Hermione rolls her eyes but clamps her mouth shut. It’s baffling how he manages to keep track of her work hours when he’s usually the one cutting out early. But she’s certainly not going to tell him that. 

Ron sighs, propping his elbows on the table as he leans forward. A whiff of sandalwood hits Hermione’s nose, and she struggles to find a way to hold her own underneath the intensity of his gaze. 

The growing lump in her throat is too difficult to swallow down, so instead she averts her eyes while mulling over a way to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Are you getting enough sleep, Hermione?”

He’s so dangerously close, it’s unnerving. Can he spot the dark circles around her eyes? She’s tried so hard to conceal them with magic this week. Hermione blinks as she fights off another yawn. In a curt tone, she responds, “I’m getting sleep, yes." 

Hermione omits the max one hour a night part, but still. 

Both of Ron’s index fingers shoot out from the fists propping his chin up. "Your spell must be wearing off. These weren’t there earlier.”

He’s pointing right at her eyes. Oh Merlin.

The implication of Ron’s words rings loud and clear. But Hermione is determined to remain Silencio regarding her sleep cycle. She just needs time to sort out what to do with her dilemma. 

“You’re still coming to our party at Grimmauld Place tonight, right?” Harry asks through a mouthful of pea soup, cutting in like he hasn’t been listening to their conversation, even though it’s obvious that he has. It’s so like him to want to maintain the peace. “Gin will hex you if you don’t.”

It kind of feels like I’ve already been hexed.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to see how the rest of the afternoon goes.”

Ron tuts, clearly not happy with her answer. “What are you on about? You have to come!” 

“I don’t think I have to do anything, Ron.” Her scathing reply comes out much snappier than she intends. She can tell her mood is starting to swing in the wrong direction, and she needs to put a stop to it before her friends pry any further. “Look, I’ll try my best to make it. I’ve got to get back to work.”

As she stands up with her tray, Ron mutters under his breath, “Got to get some sleep is more like it.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right, and that’s what’s so frustrating.  

Hermione ignores his comment and starts on her brisk walk towards the Floo, as fast as her legs can carry her. She’s got a stack of files on her desk at home. Maybe taking a half day and tending to those would be a sufficient amount of work for the day. Kingsley will understand, and she’ll make sure to send him notice as soon as she arrives at her flat. 

Although not certain she’ll have the energy to even make it to the gilded fireplaces, Hermione has to try.  There’s a good chance that she might give in to her fatigue before she is even out of view from her two best friends. And she certainly doesn’t want to be caught drooling all over the papers on her desk in the Law Enforcement department if Ron pops in to check on her. 

A part of her still believes it’s useless to go home right now—with the intention of getting some rest—when there is so much work to be done. She already knows that as soon as she crawls into bed, she’ll be wide awake again. 

–

It’s no surprise that Hermione ends up at Harry and Ginny’s party, after all. 

Even though Ron had sent an Owl to persuade her to attend—five times, to be exact—it’s still a decision that she made on her own. 

After giving it much thought, instead of getting her desperately desired sleep, it occurred to Hermione that exhausting herself at a large gathering might be exactly what she needs to fall into a snooze-filled dream tonight. 

So here she is. Along with every other witch and wizard from her year at Hogwarts, apparently. It didn’t occur to her that this would be a class reunion. Harry really does like to embellish when he insists that “it’ll just be a small gathering with a few friends” but there’s no turning back now. 

Music surges over the boisterous conversation as Hermione steps out of the Floo, and the atmosphere is immediately electric. The party is in full swing as she squeezes her way through the sweaty bodies of many familiar faces who greet her upon arrival. 

Luna is twirling underneath the large overhead chandelier in the center of the entryway. The twins are giving out free demonstrations of their joke products to individuals who are none the wiser. Ginny is already the life of the party, stumbling around and singing off-key to a Celestina Warbeck classic. 

The air is hot and sticky, clearly evidenced by the prickle of sweat developing on Hermione’s forehead. It’s quickly apparent that even with so many partygoers pressing in all around her, she still feels alone, as ridiculous as that sounds. 

At least until Ron appears out of nowhere, as if he’s just apparated straight into the middle of the drawing room. It’s a possibility, but it would be an impressive feat for someone holding two drinks in his hand. He thrusts one cup in Hermione’s direction.

Her nose wrinkles as she catches a strong whiff of cheap whiskey. “What is this?”

“It’s a drink,” he yells over the music, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You look like you need one more than anyone else here.”

She knows exactly what he means without needing to go into more detail. Loosen up, Hermione. You’re too proper. 

A heavy sigh leaves Hermione’s lips, but she takes the drink he offers. “Thanks. Great party.”

Ron cups a hand around his ear, leaning closer. “What did you say?" 

"Nevermind,” she shouts, just as her gaze falls on a man standing across the room, waving both hands in their direction. “I think Dean is looking for you.”

He follows Hermione’s point, snorting when he spots Dean and Seamus gesturing to the pyramid display of flipped over plastic drinkware set for another round of the wildly popular House Cup. Before jetting off, Ron’s fingers close over her arm. “Will you stay?”

The urgency displayed in his eyes warms Hermione’s cheeks. She falters, but agrees. “I’ll stay.”

Making such a promise turns out to be a hard one to keep. Apart from frequent check-ins by Ron, she keeps to herself. While her time at Hogwarts was great—fantastic, really—the best memories she has are with Ron and Harry, navigating their classes and gorging themselves on monthly Hogsmeade trips. 

Many of her classmates once spread rumors that she was in a love triangle with Ron and Harry. It was absolutely absurd! None of them had ever crossed that line. Can’t men and women be just friends without any romance brewing? She was there for Harry as he sorted out his feelings for Ginny and helped him come up with a solid plan to tell Ron, which turned out to be not so solid, but Ron got over it eventually. The boys were also there for her when she got her heart broken by Viktor Krum—well, more so Harry. Although Ron used to worship the Bulgarian Seeker, he is always in a foul mood nowadays whenever the subject of Viktor is broached. That particular period of Hermione’s life is now hidden away in the Forbidden Forest of conversational topics. 

Throw Lavender Brown in that forest too, but no need to go into detail there. 

Regardless of her close friendship with Ron and Harry, she’s now surrounded by many people who have better relationships with the boys than anyone else ever did with her. 

Is that Hermione’s fault? Did she not socialize enough at school? Sure, she took her studies seriously and spent more time in the library than on the Quidditch pitch, but Ron and Harry did their part to remind her to take breaks long enough to have some fun from time to time. 

The thought consumes her, enough to crave more breathing space. Hermione scans the olive green walls that seem to be caving in on her, looking for an escape. She locates the grand staircase at the end of the hall, which spurs a new idea. Of course! Harry recently converted one of the bedrooms upstairs into a library. She’ll take a short perusal through the stacks and then return to the party afterward, refreshed and ready to mingle. 

Once she navigates through her schoolmates and reaches the landing at the top of the stairs, her attention goes over the banister to the people down below. Hermione catches a flash of ginger hair in the entrance hall and meets Ron’s gaze. His brows furrow as she ascends the stairs, as if he has been keeping his eye on her the whole time. 

Oh well. He can follow me if he wants.

Hermione continues on her path until she reaches the library, jiggling the rusty doorknob until it creaks open. The darkly-lit room has a faint, musty scent of wood, and she could sneeze from the amount of dust clouding the air. Harry really needs to tidy up the place. 

Yet she could still spend hours in this dark corner, looking for hidden treasures or important insights. Harry’s bookshelf, she soon discovers, leaves much to be desired. It’s mostly filled with miscellaneous titles, such as Charm Your Own Cheese, and a stack of old periodicals, like the Sunday Prophet and Which Broomstick. The real eyebrow raiser though has to be his copy of 12 Fail Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Was that one a Ginny purchase?

And not a single one of their textbooks from school! 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to hide out here all night.”

Hermione grins despite the disruption, knowing that Ron would follow her. His curiosity always wins in the end. After setting one of the books back onto the shelf, she turns to find him leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Taking a step forward, she goads, “I didn’t realize I needed a security guard to keep a watchful eye over me.”

Ron’s eyes twinkle. “Did you just label me as a security guard? That’s a bit insulting.”

“Says the Auror with a massive ego—which proves my point, honestly.”

It’s amazing how their banter is doing wonders to re-energize her. Getting into a compelling argument is the only strategy that really works to keep her mind off her present situation. And for that, Ron is the best partner.

“And furthermore,” she continues before he has a chance to contend her claim, “it’s clear that you managed to lose your game of House Cup, seeing as how you have nothing better to do than to visit me in a library—of all places to find the likes of Ron Weasley!”

Ron’s eyes narrow as he takes a slow step in her direction. “Why are you picking a fight right now?”

“I’m not.”

I am. 

“You are, and it usually means you are avoiding something.”

All these years of knowing Ron Weasley, and she had somehow forgotten how well Ron Weasley knows her.

“Are you deflecting?” He continues, not loosening up on his interrogation tactics. “Is this still about our conversation from earlier? Please tell me you at least got some rest when you went home.”

“Rest, maybe. Actual sleep, definitely not.”

His lips press into a firm, thin line. She hates when he gets concerned. Ron is so fussy and determined and stubborn. The minute he sniffs out a problem with her, he gets all bent out of shape until he solves it. 

“Have you taken any Dreamless Sleep? I don’t recommend extended use of that stuff, but if you need something to give you a little push—”

Hermione holds back the urge to roll her eyes, not interested in hearing a list of solutions that she’s already worked through herself. “Tried it. Didn’t work.”

“How about seeing a Healer at St. Mungo’s?”

After two days of minimal to no sleep, it was the first place she went. “They say I’m perfectly healthy and there are no physical indicators as to why I’m not sleeping.”

“Well, have you tried counting Hippogriffs?”

Hermione’s forehead crinkles at the absurdity of his suggestion. “What?”

“You know, as the saying goes?” Ron waves a flippant hand. “Don’t Muggles count to one hundred in their head using some sort of quantifier? Like Chocolate Frogs?”

“It’s sheep, actually.” Hermione covers her mouth, stifling a giggle. 

“Even better!” Ron gives an exaggerated head roll when she doesn’t react. "Well, I think it would be fun.”

She really can’t think of something she’d rather do less, honestly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Ron taps his chin, giving this unauthorized role of being her Healer for the day a considerable amount of thought. “Have you tried keeping your room dark and cool?”

“Always.”

“Ear plugs?”

“It’s almost too quiet.”

“White noise charm in your room?”

“Doesn’t work.”

Ron’s shoulders sag as he slumps back against the wall, blowing out a steady stream of air that removes a stray ginger curl out of his eyes. “Of course you’ve bloody tried everything.”

Hermione releases a frustrated groan before sprawling herself out on the black velvet chaise in the corner of the room. Ron follows her, nudging her boots hanging off the edge of the furniture.

“Budge up.” 

“Fine,” Hermione grumbles, lifting her legs up long enough for Ron to slide in. He lowers her legs down over his lap. 

“Well, you just recently transferred from Care of Magical Creatures to the Law Enforcement Department.” He squeezes her ankles in a supportive manner. “Give yourself some time to sort it all out. You’re probably just in your head too much.”

The longer Hermione goes without so much as a power nap, the less convinced she is that Ron’s theory is true. 

She flops a hand over her eyes and allows a small yawn to escape her. Where did that come from? “I’m actually pretty tired right now.”

“Good. Sleep.”

Although she can feel her consciousness ebbing away, the universe must have a twisted sense of humor because all Hermione wants to do is continue talking to Ron. She needs to convince him that she will be just fine, and that she will figure out a solution on her own. 

Still, her eyelids flutter closed as she allows the world to fade to black.

–

A blazing ray of sunlight filters through Hermione’s eyes. The tingling sensation in her hand indicates that it must still be heavy with sleep, and her eyes shift to find the culprit. 

Ron.

The last visual she can recall is him sitting next to her on the chaise. Now he’s sprawled across the length of the seat, squashed in between her and the backrest. It’s also very likely that she’ll fall flat on her face given the precarious position she is now resting in, much in thanks to Ron’s body taking up most of the available space. 

Her legs and feet dangle off the edge of the chaise, and the lack of proper pillow support has her head tilted downward towards the floor. She’s even got sore limbs and a kink in her neck to prove it.

Wait, is it morning?

Hermione gasps, making a quick attempt to sit up, but she can’t move with the weight of Ron’s arm curled tightly around her waist. 

What in the world—

“Ron, wake up,” she hisses, nudging an elbow back to poke him in the ribs.

“Mmm…no.” Ron sniffs the air, shaking his head down into her curls that are splattered across his face. “Not the spiders, Mum.”

Hermione holds back her laughter, giving him a rougher shake. “Wake up, Ron!”

He groans, an action that only pulls her tighter against his chest. The pressure steals a significant amount of air from her lungs. “Ron, oomph, I can’t breathe!”

“What?” He finally croaks, his eyes clouding over in a sleep-filled haze. “Hermione? Wha—oh, fuck, sorry!”

Unfortunately Ron’s sudden realization of their positioning doesn’t fare too well for Hermione, who tumbles to the ground with a squeak as he releases his hold on her. It’s sheer luck that her forearms break her fall, preventing her from actually landing on her head. 

Ouch. That’ll leave a bruise later. 

“Shit!”

Hermione rolls her eyes, huffing stray pieces of hair out of her face. “Language, Ron!”

“Fu—er, I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t know…wait, is it morning?”

She clammers to her feet, rolling out her wrists. Glad you’re catching up, Ron. “We must’ve fallen asleep.”

Ron nods, letting out a yawn and stretching his arms above his head. “That’s good though, right? Looked like you needed the rest.”

A throat clears, alerting Hermione to another occupant in the room. Harry stands in the doorway clad in his pajamas and full of messy bedhead, squinting his eyes through his glasses. 

“Blimey, I thought you two had left. I saw the light on when I was walking to the loo.”

Hermione meets Ron’s gaze, both sets of their eyes widening.  “Uhm, actually we were just chatting. Must have lost track of time,” she manages to get out through shaky breaths. 

Harry’s eyes dart between both of them, appearing unconvinced. “All night?”

“Yeah.” Ron’s gaze remains fixed on Hermione, a slight twinkle in his eye. “All night.”

Hermione’s fists clench into two tiny balls at her sides. If Harry had shown up just mere moments earlier, he would have found them asleep together. What could he have possibly imagined then?

“You do realize it’s morning now?” Harry continues on with his line of questioning. 

Ron tilts his head towards the window in the room. “Worked that out for ourselves, thanks.”

“Got to be honest, Ginny was pretty miffed when she thought you two left without saying goodbye.” Harry crosses his arms, a devilish grin curling onto his face. “Wait until she sees that you’re still here!”

“I’ve got to go actually,” Hermione blurts out. There is no possible universe in which she will stick around long enough for Ginny to take the mickey out of her over this. “Crookshanks needs his breakfast and he’s a right terror whenever it’s late.”

Ron harrumps. “Bloody cat. Want me to see you home, Hermione?”

“I can get myself there, thanks.” With a brief wave at both of the boys, she exits the room in a hurry before either of them can see her flushed cheeks. 

She fell asleep. She fell asleep.

And it was all because of Ron Weasley.

#submission

[romione-trope-fest]

Have An Ice Day

Fic Title: Have An Ice Day

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

Brief Summary: Figure skater Hermione and hockey player Ron “meet-ugly” at the ice rink.

Word Count: 1580

Rating: G

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

Hermione Granger only dates hockey players.

This fact was born out of sheer coincidence and not out of any conscious preference she has—quite the opposite in fact. Most of the hockey players she has to deal with on a daily basis are crass and obnoxious, and the thought of dating any of them brings a grimace to her lips.

She likes to think maybe she just has a knack for finding the good ones in the bunch, but she had no idea that Viktor was a hockey player—rather a talented one, in fact—when she met him during a foreign exchange program at her uni. And Cormac—well, it was hard to say that she’d dated him, if a single disastrous blind date could be counted at all, and he certainly wasn’t one of the good ones. He was the type to argue every call with the referees, and know all of his stats off the top of his head, repeating them incessantly and without provocation. And this was for a recreational team at their local rink; Viktor played on a low-level professional circuit and didn’t have the same obnoxious quirks.

So it’s not like she’s seeking out these hockey players. But still, the fact remains.

“He’s cute.” Lavender sidles up next to Hermione at the glass and slips off her skate guards before reaching up to fix her long blonde braid.

“He’s late,” Hermione gripes back, glaring past the scuffed up plexiglass panels at the current unknown object of her irritation. She definitely doesn’t know all of the hockey players at the Hogwarts Iceplex, but she’s sure she would remember the bright shock of red hair peeking out from beneath his goalie helmet while he takes slapshots from a puck launcher at the blue line. She and Lav are supposed to have the ice to themselves for the next half hour until their lessons arrive. Mostly she only gets out on the ice anymore to coach younger figure skaters, but her best friend still convinces her to skate with her for fun from time to time.

“Oh, will you relax?” Lavender scoffs with a roll of her eyes, tossing her plait back over her shoulder. “I bet we could share the ice.”

“Whether we could or not doesn’t matter,” Hermione retorts. “We booked the ice for 3:00 and it’s now 3:07 and—Lavender!”

Hermione’s indignant shout doesn’t stop Lavender from clanging open the heavy door in the boards and skating out onto the ice toward the unknown goalie. Her dress shimmers even under the dull fluorescents of the Iceplex, and Hermione flings off her skate guards to follow her with a groan.

By the time she catches up to her, Lavender has already finished showing off a basic spin move and is curtseying to the applause of the goalie. Hermione rolls her eyes; unlike herself, Lavender has no qualms about her preference for dating hockey players. “Hermione, this is Ron,” Lavender introduces him as Hermione slows to a stop outside the goalie zone. “He’s new in town.”

“Is that an excuse for not knowing how to tell time?” Hermione snaps back, addressing only her friend. “This is our ice time.”

The goalie—Ron—pushes his mask up onto his head to glare at her. Damn it; he is cute. Even though his bright blue eyes are narrowed at her, Hermione feels like she could drown in them.

“D’you know your clock is wrong?” He gestures up at the digital red numbers on the wall above the penalty box, which may or may not at any given time be accurate. A quick glance at her watch tells Hermione that currently, they are not.

“That’s beside the point,” Hermione snaps back, forcing herself not to get flustered by the handsome stranger.

Lavender grabs at her arm, fingernails digging into her flesh in warning as she giggles at Ron. “You’ll have to excuse her, she gets a bit crabby when she hasn’t eaten.”

“I’m getting a bit hungry myself,” Ron says. Though he’s talking to Lavender, his eyes keep flickering back to Hermione. “How’s the food in the Penalty Box?”

“Awful,” Hermione blurts. She can hardly stand the smell of grease and beer that permeates the Iceplex pub, but she does pop in from time to time to see her friend Hannah, the bartender.

“What Hermione means is, there’s plenty of restaurants nearby, and maybe we can take you to one of those sometime,” Lavender corrects, though that’s not what Hermione meant at all, and she forcibly restrains an eye roll. “Show you around town.”

“Sure. That sounds great.” Ron smiles, and Hermione can’t help but notice how nice it is—not a given with hockey players. Although since goalies have to wear a mask, she supposes it’s less common for them to be missing any of their teeth. Honestly, she’ll never understand why they don’t all wear full cages on their helmets; idiotic machismo, probably. “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

He gathers up his gear from the bench under Hermione’s impatient eye, and when he exits the rink, leaving the girls alone at last, Hermione turns on Lavender with a glare. “Since when do you need a chaperone to take a guy out?” she complains. “I don’t need to watch you slobber all over him over dinner.”

Lavender skates a wide circle around Hermione. “I said we because I knew you wouldn’t ask him out yourself.”

Hermione scoffs. “Me? Why in the world would I ask him out?”

“Because he was so totally into you. God, you can be thick sometimes.”

Hermione raises a skeptical eyebrow at Lavender, who drops easily into a sit spin, her glittery skirt fanning out around her. Lav still dresses in old competition outfits when they go skating, just for the fun of it, and she always turns heads. By contrast, Hermione is wearing her favorite fleece-lined leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her frizzy curls piled into a messy bun atop her head. The glitz and glamour was always her least favorite part of figure skating.

“And what makes you think I was into him?” she retorts, folding her arms across her chest. Cute or not, the last thing she needs in her life is another hockey player.

Lavender affords her an eye roll as she rises out of her spin and slows to a stop. “You mean besides the way you were undressing him with your eyes?”

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Uh huh.” Her best friend grabs her hands and begins gliding backwards, pulling her around the rink. “Honestly, Hermione, he seems nice. You can give him a chance.”

“Oh, yes, and I’m sure he’ll be quick to give me one after that delightful first impression.”

“I doubt you’re the first uptight figure skater he’s ever met.”

“Doubtful you’re the first that’s ever flirted with him in net, either.”

A smirk twitches on Lavender’s glossy lips, and she winks at Hermione. “What can I say? We can’t all be in denial about our romantic preferences.”

Forty-five minutes later, after they’ve concluded their lessons, Lavender loops her arm through Hermione’s and steers their steps toward the pub. “One drink,” she coaxes as they march past the rows of smelly, overstuffed hockey bags that line the hallway between the ice and the locker rooms. A neon sign overhead with two letters burnt out and a gap in the row of bags mark the pub entrance in the middle of the hall. “I promised Seamus. And we’ll see if your new friend is still here.”

“Lav, he’s—” The words catch in her throat as she spots him at the bar, showered and in street clothes now, sipping on a frosty pint and chatting with Harry, one of the few hockey players at the rink who she’s neither attracted to nor repulsed by. If he’s friends with Harry, he can’t be all bad.

Lavender gives her a nudge in his direction and then prances over to the ragged leather couch in the corner where she deposits herself into Seamus’s lap with an exaggerated giggle. Hermione sighs and approaches the bar, shooting a nervous smile at Hannah in greeting. Ron turns and meets her gaze, and one corner of his lips quirks up. “Hi,” she says tentatively, sliding onto a stool next to him.

He pushes the little paper tray in front of him across the bartop towards her. “Mozzarella stick?” he offers, his smirk widening. “Or would you rather stay hungry and keep grousing at me?”

“No, thank you. But I am sorry,” Hermione apologizes. She means it, but she pushes the greasy offering back towards him. “We got off on the wrong foot. I don’t have much patience for the chaos of the rink.”

“You don’t say.” Ron smiles to lessen the impact of his quip, and Hannah leans against the bar to interject as she sets a glass of water in front of Hermione.

“To be fair, Hermione here does the rink’s bookkeeping, so she gets stuck with more of the chaos than anyone,” she explains to Ron, who looks at her appraisingly.

“You work here, too?” Hermione nods. “Come on, you must like hockey, then. To spend all this time at the rink.”

Harry snorts from Ron’s other side, and Hermione leans around Ron to glare at him. As she does, she catches a whiff of something spicy like cinnamon, and her heart gives a little thud of appreciation. “Not really,” she admits. “But I think it’s growing on me.”

#submission

[romione-trope-fest]

Title: The Storm before the Calm

Author: my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief summary: As Ron navigates the storm of pre-wedding jitters and the playful banter of Harry and his brothers, his quest for a private moment with Hermione intensifies with each passing minute. In the end a clandestine private first look is the ultimate antidote to his jangled nerves.

Rating: G

Word count: 8,320 words

Trigger warnings: -

Ron took a deep breath as he stood in front of the mirror in his old attic bedroom. His mother had insisted he spend the night in the old creaking wooden bed. Upon arriving yesterday, the first thing he had done was ask his dad to remove two huge spiders from the ancient roofbeams.

The room felt strange, somewhat unfamiliar. The vibrant orange walls pressed in, almost suffocating him. Had they always been so vividly orange? It was a mystery how he had endured this color all these years. Ron was still a strong supporter of the Cannons, but aside from shirts to support his beloved club and his distinctive ginger hair, the color orange no longer played a significant role in his life.

He ran his fingers through his hair, as a wave of memories flooded his mind. It seemed like just yesterday that they had been planning their mission in this very room until very late in the night. The war had ended more than three years ago and today, he was about to marry the brilliant bushy-haired witch who had been his constant through it all.

As he adjusted his tie, Ron’s mind replayed their journey – all the ups and downs of the past. His love for her was a steady flame that had grown from the embers of friendship and could weather even the strongest storms of life. A tender smile played on his lips and a profound warmth spread through his chest as he imagined Hermione in a beautiful white gown.

He wanted her to be his wife more than anything, to officially start this new chapter of their lives but the nerves tugged at him and he felt his hands get sweatier and his knees grow weaker by the minute. The impending chaos of the day, the countless guests, and the grandeur of the wedding ceremony somehow felt overwhelmingly daunting. He didn’t need all this fuss, all these elaborate decorations, all these people. All he craved was her.

The more Ron stared at himself, the more the mirror seemed to reflect not only his appearance but also his internal struggle. As he stood there, looking at himself, a gentle knock on the old door disrupted his thoughts. It creaked open to reveal Harry, his jet black hair disheveled as usual, clad in a white dress shirt, black dress robes, and curiously, a pair of grey sweatpants.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Nice outfit choice, mate.”

Harry grinned, seemingly unfazed. “Well, your mother insisted my trousers weren’t well-pressed enough,” he explained, glancing down at the sweatpants. “She practically forced me to take them off so she could iron them again.”

“She’s mental,” Ron answered and managed a weak smile, but Harry’s keen eyes swiftly caught the pallor on Ron’s face.

“Are you alright? You look a bit peaky.”

“Yeah.” Ron took a deep breath, attempting to shake off the nerves. “It’s just...you know, a bit overwhelming.”

His gaze involuntarily drifted to the window, revealing all the extravagant decorations outside, their opulence feeling suffocating rather than celebratory.

Harry’s eyes softened, and he pulled out a chair, sitting down backwards, facing his best friend.

“Do you want to, you know, talk about it or do I get you a glass of Ogden’s to calm your nerves?” Harry offered.

“No alcohol until after the ceremony. I promised Hermione that,” Ron chuckled nervously, absentmindedly fidgeting with the edges of his robes. “I just... I can’t believe it’s happening, you know?”

“But it’s good, right?” Harry asked cautiously. “I mean, you’re not getting cold - ?”

“Of course not!” Ron interrupted. “It’s just…dunno…so many people.” A wave of nausea surged through him, signaling his intensifying nerves.”I’m feeling sick.”

He let out a deep breath, as he imagined himself in the spotlight of the impending ceremony. “I never thought I’d have to deal with so many people watching me get married. It feels like I’ll be under a microscope, and every move will be dissected.”

“Welcome to my life,” Harry chuckled, and with a casual flick of his wand, a glass on the nightstand soared into his hand. Water poured gracefully from his wand into the glass, which zipped into Ron’s hand moments later.

“Have some water. You’ll be fine.”

Ron, feeling the need to move, shifted uncomfortably and began pacing the room. The old floorboards creaked under his socked feet, as he shook his head, trying to dispel the overwhelming thoughts.

“I feel like I might just pass out or something.”

Harry leaned back on the chair with an amused grin playing on his lips, his gaze following Ron’s anxious pacing.

“Have some water and try to calm down.”

With a shaky breath Ron raised his sweaty hand to his mouth and took a sip from the glass but the water only intensified the uneasy feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t that he had cold feet, quite the opposite. He couldn’t wait to call her his wife. It was more about the wedding itself. He was so worried about the ceremony, about all the prying eyes watching them, that he just wanted to get it over with.

A few years ago, he would have eagerly embraced the spotlight, having felt overshadowed by both Harry and his siblings practically all the time. However, since the war had ended, turning them into overnight celebrities, Ron wanted nothing more than to disappear whenever reporters were around. Adjusting to being featured on tabloids and magazines, especially with his relationship with Hermione handed to the public on a silver platter, had taken him a considerable amount of time.

“Bloody hell, will you stop pacing! You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Harry warned, attempting to be the voice of reason. “You’re making me dizzy and I haven’t even had a drink yet!”

“I can’t help it. I’m so nervous,” Ron muttered, placing the water glass he still clutched onto the nightstand.

“Why? She’d marry you in a bloody potato bag in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.”

Ron rotated his aching shoulders in a circle, attempting to alleviate the tension that clung to them. Nervously, he tugged at the cuff of his dress robes, the fabric now seeming uncomfortably tight, as if it had shrunk two sizes in the span of a moment.

“I need to see her. I can’t wait any longer. I really need to see her before. I need her or else I’ll probably faint right then and there in front of everyone and it’ll be all over the press.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Bullshit, you won’t faint. I have never heard of anyone fainting at their wedding.”

Ron shot him a look. “This is different, okay? I just...Fuck, I just need to see her. I need to make sure she’s really doing this.”

His pacing halted briefly as he stopped to rub his hands over his face.

“What if she changes her mind? I don’t know, it’s probably barmy but it’s so hard to believe that someone would willingly choose me. I just need to see her.”

Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow, his expression contorting into a weird grimace.

“Are you mental? Did you find a spare locket somewhere, and decided to wear it around your neck or something? Can you hear yourself talking?”

“I just need to know that she really wants to do this.”

“Come off it! Why the fuck wouldn’t she? You aren’t really afraid she’s getting cold feet? That’s bloody ridiculous!”

“No, yes, I…I don’t know…fuck…I don’t think so. I just…fuck…I just really want to see her.”

“If you keep pacing like this, you might just break through the bloody floor and land right in Gin’s room, where Hermione is getting ready. Maybe that’s your plan all along.”

“Does anyone feel like this right before?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “How the fuck should I know? Your stubborn sister keeps telling me she doesn’t want to marry.”

“She’ll get there.”

“Seriously, Ron. Sit down. You’ll see her soon enough, and trust me, she’s going to take your breath away. I’ve seen the dress.”

It seemed as if the whole bloody family had already seen the dress, and Ron was the only one still left in the dark. The mystery gnawed at him, intensifying his need to see her and unravel the enigma of the cryptic wedding gown that had apparently already captivated everyone’s attention. In his mind, Ron had pictured the dress a hundred times already. He was sure Hermione wouldn’t opt for a pompous ball gown. She was more likely to choose something elegant and understated, probably with a bit of lace, but devoid of unnecessary extravagance.

“Sit down, Ron,” Harry repeated, ripping him from his thoughts.

Ron hesitated but finally lowered himself onto the bed with a shaky breath, his jittery fingers still fidgeting with the collar of his dress robes.

“Why are you so nervous?” Harry asked with an amused grin, playfully rocking his chair backward. Before Ron could answer, Harry’s smirk vanished only a second later when he nearly tipped over with his chair.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Bill, clad in dark blue dress robes, his ginger hair in a neat ponytail, entered the room.

“Merlin’s beard, you won’t believe what Mum just did,” the eldest Weasley brother exclaimed, rubbing his ear. “She practically tried to rip my earring out, claiming it’s inappropriate for a wedding.”

Harry laughed out loud, “I feel you. She made me take off my trousers to iron them. At breakfast she took a swipe at my hair, and wanted to give me a tidy trim. Good thing Arthur rescued me.”

“She’s ten times worse than Fleur, and Fleur’s pregnant!”

“We should’ve just eloped,” Ron mumbled.

Bill noticed his brother’s grim expression, “Something bothering you?”

“He has the jitters,” Harry interjected, shooting Ron a knowing look.

A momentary sympathy crossed Bill’s gaze. “Oh, I know that feeling. But don’t worry, once you see her walking down that aisle, everything else will fade away. Don’t forget to pack the tissues, because it might bring a tear to your eye.”

Ron’s eyes widened, a sudden surge of panic taking hold as Bill’s words sank in. The realization hit him like a bludger straight to the gut, and he felt the knot in his stomach tighten even more. All those people - family, friends, superiors, coworkers, politicians and the bloody reporters - all those eyes would witness him turn into a blubbering mess before Hermione even reached the altar.

The mere thought of it made his palms grow sweaty and beads of nervous sweat form on his forehead. His throat suddenly felt very dry, constricted by the heightening anxiety building up inside him. In a desperate move, Ron snatched the forgotten water glass from his nightstand and chugged its entire contents, the cool liquid unfortunately doing little to quell his discomfort.

“Bloody hell, I’m feeling even worse now. All these people are going to see me cry like a baby.”

Bill chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. ”Would that be so bad? That’s what people do at weddings, right? That’s the magic of it. Embrace the emotions.”

As his brother spoke, more beads of sweat formed on Ron’s forehead. The room abruptly felt uncomfortably stifling, and his fingers instinctively moved to the upper buttons of his dress shirt, desperately seeking relief. Hastily, he undid the upper two buttons, as a burning wave of heat started creeping up his back.

It wasn’t that he was afraid to show emotions, it was the fear of becoming the center of attention, of exposing his vulnerability to the world. Hermione deserved better than a blubbering mess of a groom, Ron pondered, as he wrestled with his own twisted expectations of masculinity and the desire to make this day perfect for the woman he loved beyond words.

“I’m so hot,” he mumbled. “Who decided you can’t get married in jeans and a t-shirt?”

“You can get married in jeans and a t-shirt. If your mother isn’t Molly Weasley,” Bill stated dryly. “Calm down, mate. You look like you want to back out.”

“No, of course not!” Ron turned around, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s just...all these people!” He gestured towards the window, while proceeding to fidget with his tie. The heat wrapped around him like a second skin, intensifying the tension as he grappled with the suffocating atmosphere in the room.

Noticing Ron’s discomfort, Bill turned to Harry, who skillfully twirled his wand between his fingers. “Open the window and let in some fresh air. Seems like our groom here is on the verge of melting.”

Harry pointed his wand at the window, which creaked open a second later, allowing a gentle breeze to sweep into the room. The fresh air brushed against Ron’s sweaty skin like a soothing balm, momentarily alleviating the stifling heat and providing him with a bit of relief.

“Better?”

“Loads,” Ron murmured, inhaling deeply. “But it doesn’t change that I really want to see her now.”

“Mum’s going to kill you,” Bill remarked, a grin playing on his lips.

Why was it that couples were supposed to stay apart the night before the wedding and avoid seeing each other before the ceremony? Was it an old superstition passed down through generations, or perhaps only his mother’s ancient convention? Ron didn’t believe in bad luck. The idea of adhering to these traditions felt antiquated, breaking these customs most definitely wouldn’t have any effect on the success of the marriage. Walking down the aisle together, hand in hand, seemed like a more genuine way to approach this significant moment, rather than conforming to the conventional norm of the best man escorting the groom and the father of the bride accompanying the bride. The more he considered it, the more he questioned the necessity of these age-old customs. In hindsight, he should have been more vocal about it during the wedding planning. However, at the time, thoughts about how to approach the altar hadn’t really crossed his mind. The meticulous planning of other details had consumed so much time that he hadn’t spared a thought on this aspect. Tradition seemed like the default approach, but realizing his feelings now, Ron wished he had spoken up. If he had known back then how he felt in this moment, he would have been more assertive about challenging those ancient customs.

“Seriously, Hermione’s going to be a widow before she even gets the chance to say I do.”

“Maybe I’ll just do that and let Mum hurt me so we can get married privately in a hospital room.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, the eldest Weasley brother walked into the room, his laughter echoing from the orange walls. With a loud sigh, Bill flopped down next to Ron on the bed dramatically, the old mattress creaking in protest.

“I do understand you. There are quite a few people watching you, but you’ll get through it. It’ll be great once the official part is over. And just remember, Hermione’s probably as nervous as you are.”

“Bill’s right.” Harry nodded and searched Bill’s gaze while Ron fell back on his back, drawing in a shuddering breath.

Somehow, what his brother had just expressed made him ponder the possibility of Hermione being just as jittery as he was. The thought of it felt remarkably comforting. Ron briefly pictured her, dressed in a beautiful white gown, how she tried to navigate her own fluttering emotions while standing in front of a mirror in Ginny’s room. With this mental image, he attempted to steady his own anxious thoughts. They were in this together. And to be honest, Hermione, as the bride, would definitely bear even more of the spotlight, because wedding talk invariably revolved around the dress, the hairstyle, the presence or absence of a veil, and any other intricate detail. And yet, deep down, Ron’s biggest fear lingered - it was the mere thought of shedding tears in front of everyone that made another wave of nausea wash over him.

A resounding groan filled the air, and it took a fleeting moment for Ron to grasp that the sound had involuntarily slipped from him.

“Why are you so nervous?” Harry asked. “Everything is prepared. I did not forget the rings at home, you’re dressed up, and your bride is more than ready for you. Is it really just because there’s a bunch of reporters around and you’re terrified you’ll cry when you see her?”

“Seriously, what’s wrong with some happy tears?” Bill asked.

“It’ll be all over the bloody tabloids!” Ron whined, rubbing his hands over his face once more, before sitting up again.

Bill grinned, ruffling Ron’s hair. “So? What’s wrong with that? I did shed a tear or two when Fleur walked down the aisle. It’s allowed, you know.”

Ron glanced between Harry and Bill, “I just need a moment with her before the ceremony to make sure she really wants to do this in front of all these people, that’s all.”

“Screw all the people Mum insisted you invite. Just ignore them. It’s your moment. Don’t let a bunch of Ministry people take that away from you.”

As Ron took in another steadying breath, the door swung open, and George sauntered in, a bottle of firewhisky in hand and a sly grin on his face that got wiped away the moment he set eyes on his little brother.

“Bloody hell, what’s this gloomy gathering? Aren’t we about to celebrate the wedding of the millenium? I expected love, peace and harmony. I brought a bottle of Ogden’s and wanted to have a toast to our groom. You aren’t getting cold feet, Ronnie, are you?”

“Why is everyone asking me this?” Ron sighed, looking up at George. “Can’t a guy be nervous about the biggest day of his life?”

George chuckled, taking a dramatic step forward. “Finally realizing you’re stuck with her brilliant brain forever and that you’re about to commit to never getting a word in edgewise ever again.”

“He’s probably the only person on this planet that does get a word in edgewise when it comes to Hermione,” Harry answered, rolling his eyes.

Bill shot George a warning look. “Leave him alone, George. He’s just a bit jittery.”

“Alright, alright, folks, no need to get all serious,” George said, raising his arms in mock surrender. After a brief pause, he cracked open the firewhisky with a resounding pop and took a sip from the amber liquid right from the bottle.

When he spoke again, his teasing tone had changed completely. “What do you want me to say instead? That I’m proud and happy for you? You know, I am. I’ve said it before. Fred is too, wherever he is.”

Ron looked up, taken aback by the unexpected sincerity in George’s voice.

“What’s the problem, Ronnie?” George probed. “Afraid to fuck up the vows just like Lee did last month?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…” Ron answered, his gaze drifting to the floor. Only then did he grasp the significance of George’s words. Shit. Why hadn’t he considered this before? He should have committed every nuance of the vows to memory, and practiced them in front of the mirror (Hermione definitely had done that!) to ensure that they flowed flawlessly from his lips.

“Fuck! The vows!”

Another cascade of panic washed over him like a bucket of ice water as he pondered the next potential pitfall. The dread of stumbling over his words or, worse, forgetting the carefully crafted promises all together, and hence making a complete mess of the sacred moment, strangled him like a full-grown devil’s snare. As the vivid imagination of failure played out in his mind, more nausea churned in his stomach.

“What about the vows?”

“I’m going to fuck them up!”

“If you can’t remember them, just be honest - tell her what you feel. Shouldn’t be too hard. You pulled off the proposal just fine.”

“But there weren’t a million people staring at me back then!”

George responded with a hearty laugh, casually plopping down on the bed next to Ron.

“I’m going to cry and mess up the vows and make a complete fool of myself.”

“Of course, you’re going to cry. It wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t after chasing her for so many years and finally getting to marry her. This is a big moment. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You get to marry the woman you’ve been head over heels with for a bloody decade. It’s a good thing, really. I’m jealous.”

As George spoke, Harry and Bill exchanged surprised glances with raised eyebrows, as if George had grown a second head. They seemed genuinely surprised by his very untypical sentimental advice.

“Look, even if you start bawling like a baby or stumble over your words during the vows, nobody’s going to say anything about it. Even Fred up there somewhere will be cheering you on.”

Ron took a deep shuddering breath. “I wish he could be here.”

A heavy silence settled over the room, the absence of Fred casting a profound shadow on the joyous occasion. The pain of Fred’s passing felt particularly acute during celebrations, a lingering void that refused to be ignored. Over time, the raw edges of grief had softened, and living without Fred had become more bearable, at least for Ron. However, on this particular day, the absence of his older brother loomed larger than ever.

George silently offered him the bottle of Ogden’s but Ron declined with a firm shake of his head. Despite the temptation to ease his nerves with a sip of liquid courage, Ron remained steadfast in keeping his promise to Hermione. Besides, indulging in alcohol would only heighten the risk of messing up the vows.

“Right, guys! Enough of the sentimental stuff now.” George broke the poignant moment with a decisive clap of his hands. “Let’s get you down that aisle, Ronnie, before you decide to run off with your bride and Mum will have a heart attack.”

“Sometimes it seems as if it’s her own wedding,” Bill complained, snatching the bottle with the amber liquid from George’s hand and taking a sip from it as well. “It’s even worse than when I married Fleur.”

“She’s going completely barmy down there. Dad had to force her to sit down and have a cuppa. Bet he smuggled a few drops of calming draught into it,” George laughed, reaching out for the firewhisky again. Bill took another sip from the bottle, before passing it to George who indulged in another swig.

Just then, a loud sound check from the garden echoed, catching Ron’s attention. He rose from his bed and approached the window, gazing into the meticulously decorated garden. Every detail, from the huge flower arrangements to the white covers over chairs and tables, was meticulously planned. He sighed loudly. He really didn't need all this fuss. He just wanted Hermione; he didn't need extravagant flower arrangements or white covers over the chairs and tables, and he certainly didn't need the a million guests from every bloody corner of the earth, most of whom he didn’t even know, but whose invitation his mother (well, and on some unfortunately also Hermione) had insisted upon.

As Ron pondered the overwhelming spectacle below, a few raindrops began to tap against the window. Downstairs his mother was likely in a state of utter panic as light rain started to fall. White hussen over chairs, carefully arranged flower bouquets, and the meticulous outdoor setting even though protected by various pavillions – all threatened by a sudden downpour.

Upstairs he was indifferent to the weather brewing outside. The decorations didn’t really mean anything to him. In fact, he found himself yearning for a torrential downpour to sweep away all the extravagant arrangements, carrying off half the wizarding world along with it.

The thought felt good and brought a hint of a smirk on his lips. He would be able to marry her alone in the rain, the world around them fading away, leaving only them immersed in the quiet beauty of their love. The idea brought a rebellious thrill, fueling the desire to just whisk her away to a private haven, where only the rain would be their witness.

The mere thought of her made his eyes well up, the intensity of his love for her and the profound need he felt for her embrace overwhelming him again. He needed to see her now, he craved a private moment so much. A moment where he could lose himself in the depth of her fawn brown eyes if only for a minute. A moment where he could tell her how much he loved her, not as a grand spectacle for the world, but for her alone.

“I need to see her now.”

Before anyone could respond, Charlie walked in, his eyebrows furrowed in mock offense. “Are you arseholes seriously drinking without me?”

“Where’s Perce? Is he the poor sod getting an earful down there?” George asked, as the loud furious voice of Molly Weasley echoed through the house again.

“No, I don’t think so,” Charlie answered. “He was smart enough to keep a low profile. I happened to spot him sneaking off to the shed with Audrey. Seemed like they were escaping Mum’s temper and aiming for some fun instead.”

Charlie swiftly claimed the bottle from George’s hands, leaning casually against the doorframe as he took deliberate sips from the bottle. Harry extended his hand toward Charlie, signaling his desire to have a share of the amber liquid as well.

Watching the silent exchange of the bottle, caused Ron to briefly contemplate the idea of joining in to calm his jangled nerves. The idea of the warming embrace of the amber liquid seemed momentarily tempting.

After reluctantly surrendering the bottle to Harry, Charlie cleared his throat, issuing a warning with a smirk. “Mum’s on the warpath. She just caught sight of me in the hallway and was about to hex me into next week. She’ll throttle you if you come anywhere near Hermione right now.”

“I don’t bloody care about Mum. I have to see Hermione.”

Charlie nonchalantly crossed his arms, wearing a smirk on his lips. His dress shirt hung untucked, his tie was loosely draped around his neck and he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Getting cold feet?” Charlie asked, the teasing tone laced with amusement.

“I swear to Merlin, if someone bugs me with that again today, I’ll end up behind bloody bars for murder on my wedding day,” Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I happened to catch a glimpse of your bride through the door. If you decide to back out at the last minute, I’m going to take over because let me tell you, she looks absolutely stunning.”

A collective chuckle rippled through the room, but Ron found Charlie’s joke far from funny and he shot his brother a pointed glare. “Seriously? Screw you.”

“Really, Charlie? You’re not helping,” Bill reprimanded his younger brother, giving him a disapproving look, before extending his hand toward Harry. A silent acknowledgment passed between them, and the bottle smoothly made its way into Bill’s possession.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Now, off you go, mate. Mum’s really not in the mood for surprises, and believe me, I don’t fancy being the target of her wrath. She sent me up to fetch you.”

There was a shuffle on the stairs and a second later a disheveled grim-faced Percy entered the room with his tie missing and his dress shirt only buttoned-up halfway. Without a word, he briskly snatched the bottle from Bill, took three substantial gulps, and let out a heavy sigh.

“If I’m ever getting married, it will be far away from Mum,” he declared, shaking his head in disapproval.

Another large sip followed, leaving his brothers highly amused by his unexpected appearance. Although the humor of the moment was not lost on Ron, he found it quite difficult to join in the laughter. His lips twitched, hinting at a suppressed smile, but the nerves and anticipation surrounding his imminent wedding prevented him from wholeheartedly embracing the jovial atmosphere that momentarily filled the room.

The bottle of Ogden’s seamlessly migrated from Percy to Bill and then back to George, who accepted it with a grin, before a second later the youngest Weasley burst into the room. Her fiery hair was neatly tucked into a bun, and she wore a floor length azure dress with a glittery bodice that sparkled in the subdued light.

“Really? What’s with this booze party here? You can get wasted later! Mum’s about to hex anyone who’s not downstairs five minutes ago!” Her tone softened as she noticed Ron’s anxious expression. “What is wrong with you? You look like you’re going to a funeral, not getting married.”

Ron sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

“Just nervous. Really nervous,” he admitted, attempting to calm his racing heart with what felt like the millionth deep breath today. His eyes darted to the mirror, and with a determined exhale, Ron stood up. Crossing the room, he walked over to it, checking his appearance once more as if seeking reassurance from his own reflection.

He just needed a moment alone with her. Just a brief moment because he was sure seeing Hermione before the ceremony would ease the tight knots in his stomach. The thought of her, with that reassuring smile and the comforting gaze of her brown eyes, promised a grounding force that he believed would make the nervous flutter in his chest finally dissipate. A quiet minute with her seemed like the only antidote to the pre-wedding jitters that threatened to overshadow the joyous occasion.

But now, with Ginny present, it was definitively too late for a private first meeting, and Ron had to admit defeat, whether he liked it or not. He knew his sister well; he didn’t even have to ask her because she would undoubtedly thwart any attempt to sneak down the stairs and get some reassuring minutes alone with Hermione.

“She is just as nervous, trust me. I have just talked to her. And I can tell you, she looks absolutely breathtaking,” Ginny told him very calmly, which made Ron look up in surprise because the tone of her voice sounded significantly different from the authoritative military-style tone she usually displayed. ”You better get ready for tears.”

“You’re not helping, Gin.” Harry warned.

Harry was right. It didn’t help much that everyone kept emphasizing how beautiful Hermione looked. The compliments, while well-intentioned, only fueled Ron’s nervousness.

“I am helping! In fact, I’m the only one in this room full of useless idiots doing anything helpful! Off you go, Ron, shed those tears in private!”

“What do you mean?”

“Go steal a private first look, you have ten minutes. I’ll cover for you with Mum.”

Ginny’s unexpected offer caught Ron off guard, and for a brief moment his jaw hung open as he tried to process her words. It took a beat to fully comprehend them but when he did, a broad grin spread across his face. It was like she threw him a lifeline while he was drowning in a sea of nerves. She seemed to be the only one of his siblings who understood the storm of emotions swirling within him and he was so grateful that he briefly flung his arms around her neck.

“Thanks, Gin. You’re the best.”

“Go, before Mum sees you!” Ginny ordered and ushered him out of the room, leaving Harry, Bill, George, and Charlie amused and slightly shocked.

As Ron walked down the old staircase, he could hear his sister’s angry voice resonating from his old bedroom. “Seriously! You’re a bunch of insensitive morons! Every single one of you!”

A second later Charlie remarked, “You didn’t just let him sneak off to see his bride, did you? That’s suicide!”

“You lot are just fantastic!” Ginny shouted. “You could have done this ten minutes ago! He clearly needs this moment with her to calm down. He looked like he was about to freak out. Why the hell didn’t you let him see her sooner? Just because you’re scared shitless of Mum?”

“She’s going to rip you a new one if she finds out.”

“I can handle Mum. Ron’s more likely to faint from nerves than make it down the aisle if he doesn’t get a bit of strength from seeing her. I did what I had to do. Come on, you wimps, let’s go before Mum turns us all into garden gnomes.”

*******************

Hermione stood in front of the mirror in Ginny’s old bedroom, the soft glow of the dressing table lights casting a warm ambiance. The fabric of her wedding gown hung gracefully, the soft tulle cascading around her in elegant folds.

It was a dress she had discovered in a quaint Muggle boutique, accompanied by her mother, Ginny, Molly, and Fleur. The moment she had slipped into it, there had been a shared, unspoken realization that this was the one. Ginny’s eyes had sparkled with approval, her mother and Mrs. Weasley had teared up, and even Fleur, with her impeccable taste, had nodded in agreement.

The dress had a quiet confidence about it, a reflection of Hermione’s own understated beauty. It was a masterpiece of elegance and simplicity, a far cry from the traditional A line or modern princess ball gown. The sleek silhouette gracefully accentuated her figure, and the delicate lace created a beautiful pattern all over the skirt. The slightly daring cut-out back and the hint of cleavage were a departure from the conventional wedding dresses, and Hermione was certain it would elicit a delightful mix of surprise and admiration from the crowd and especially from Ron.

She was positive that he’d love it (but he would probably love anything she wore). The thought of his blue sapphire blue eyes lighting up brought a smile to her face as she envisioned the moment he would see her in this gown - the awe in his gaze, the proud lopsided smile that he definitely wouldn’t be able to contain, and the warmth in his voice as he would undoubtedly tell her just how breathtaking she looked.

The room was quiet, and she took a moment to collect herself, the excitement and nervous anticipation making her heart flutter. The morning had been a whirlwind of emotions. She was so jittery that she hadn’t been able to eat anything for breakfast and the feeling of needing to use the toilet seemed to be a constant companion since she had woken up from a restless sleep. Every passing moment intensified the anticipation, and Hermione couldn’t help but check her appearance in the mirror repeatedly.

She had to admit she looked absolutely beautiful, her chestnut curls were tamed and she had chosen to wear them down, just the way Ron liked it. With trembling hands, she adjusted her veil. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned herself wearing a veil on her wedding day. As she had stepped into the bridal boutique, her conviction against a veil had been steadfast. However, Fleur, Molly and her mother had insisted she at least give one a try. To her surprise, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror with it, she couldn’t deny that it added an exquisite final flourish to her entire look. It just seamlessly complemented the dress.

As she looked at herself, another overwhelming surge of nerves washed over her. It wasn’t due to any doubts about committing to Ron or questioning his role as the love of her life. Instead, it was due to realizing that she was about to step into the spotlight as the center of attention. The meticulous planning invested in this day had left little room for contemplating how it might actually feel to be a bride.

With a shuddering breath, she tried to calm her raging nerves. She tried to remind herself that she probably wasn’t the only one grappling with pre-wedding jitters. Ron, ever since the war concluded, vehemently disliked being thrust into the spotlight, so the ceremony undeniably posed its unique set of challenges for him.

Her mind traveled back to the days at Hogwarts, to navigating perilous adventures, to surviving a war, to grieving a brother, to trying to adjust to a new life without a constant threat looming over them. Their bond had grown stronger with each passing obstacle. Ron wasn’t just her best friend; he was her anchor, her sanctuary, the best partner in crime, the best lover she could ever imagine. The tenderness in his touch, the way he looked at her, the way he challenged her, the way he grounded her, the way he could make her laugh even in the darkest times – her love for him surpassed anything she had ever dreamed of. It wasn’t a love born from grand exuberant gestures; it was the quiet, steady kind of love that was always there in every moment of their life.

The significance of this day almost overwhelmed her. She wanted Ron to be her husband, she wanted nothing more than to officially start this new chapter with him, but the nerves fluttered within every cell of her body. Despite her status as a war heroine and being featured in magazines and newspapers practically all the time, it felt daunting to be the focal point in front of a crowd, especially on such a personal occasion. Vulnerability crept in, and as she envisioned all the people watching her, her knees weakened, and a wave of nausea washed over her.

For a very brief moment, she regretted not having entertained Ron’s half-serious, half-joking suggestion to elope. However, she tried to remind herself that even though today was primarily about her and Ron, their families and close friends, the people who were part of their lives and supported them through everything, the people who loved them dearly, deserved to be part of this special day too.

Unlike other women, Hermione hadn’t spent her childhood dreaming of the perfect wedding. There hadn’t been a box under her bed filled with pictures and ideas of how her special day should unfold. However, when Ron had proposed to her in the most romantic way nine months ago on New Year’s Eve, certain visions, like her wedding dress and beautiful flower arrangements, naturally found their places in her thoughts. Simply getting married without a celebration wouldn’t have been right.

Suddenly, a soft creak of the door caught her attention. Hermione turned, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Ron, sneaking into the room with a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

“Ron, what on earth are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here!” she chided.

Undeterred, Ron closed the door behind him, locking it with his wand. His eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight of Hermione in her wedding gown, the soft light streaming through the curtains adding a radiant glow to her.

Ignoring her scolding, he just closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands. The world seemed to fade away as he kissed her deeply without a word, and Hermione felt a familiar surge of warmth and love in his touch.

“I don’t bloody care about tradition, love,” he whispered against her lips, his voice cracking. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Hermione’s eyes softened at his words, realizing the depth of his feelings. Before she could protest further, Ron pressed his lips against hers again in a deep, passionate kiss to which she responded immediately.

Ron’s presence enveloped her, and she couldn’t deny that his proximity made the flutter in her belly ease instantly. His touch, the way he cradled her face, and the intensity of love in his kisses dissolved most of the worry, making room for the deep joy of finally getting to marry him.

However, as their stolen moment persisted, a subtle undercurrent of concern crept in when Hermione’s acute hearing picked up the distant voice of Molly Weasley downstairs. The tone sounded stern, and it seemed like someone was on the receiving end of another bollocking. The realization that they might get caught and face Molly’s stress-induced temper made Hermione break away from the kiss.

“Your mum is going to kill us,” Hermione mumbled against his mouth.

“I don’t bloody care,” he whispered again before stealing another kiss. “Couldn’t resist a private first look with my soon-to-be wife.”

Hermione blushed, the warmth spreading across her cheeks. “Really, Ron, we’re not supposed to see each other until the ceremony.”

To be honest, Hermione had never believed in superstitions, especially not when it came to weddings. The idea that a marriage could falter simply because the couple saw each other before meeting at the altar seemed utterly absurd. It wasn’t about some cosmic consequence but rather about appeasing Molly, who firmly believed that adhering to these age-old traditions would set the best foundation for marriage. Ron’s mum wanted nothing but the best for them, which was why Molly was so steadfast in sticking to the ancient customs and keeping things as they had been for centuries.

“Yeah, I know. Bad luck and stuff like that. But like I said, I don’t bloody care,” he repeated, “I couldn’t wait. I was about to fall over. I needed to make sure you were really ready to do this in front of all these people. My mind was playing tricks on me.”

As he spoke, Ron slowly broke away from their embrace and took her hands in his, holding her at arm’s length as he absorbed every detail of her appearance.

For a moment, Hermione let herself revel in the way his dress robes perfectly complemented his tall frame, the subtle sheen of the fabric adding a touch of elegance. The way his ginger hair fell in a charming disarray, his intoxicating scent, the timbre of his voice and the warmth in his tender gaze - each detail possessed the power of slowly but gradually melting away her lingering nervousness.

“You’re so handsome,” she told him and smiled. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Ron’s sapphire blue eyes began to shimmer at her words, and he shook his head in disbelief, struggling to articulate his thoughts. A soft, involuntary mix of a laugh and a choke escaped him as he tried to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions that swept over him in that pivotal moment.

Words seemed to fail him, and as a reaction he just pressed his lips against Hermione’s, kissing her deeply once more. After a few tender kisses, Ron pulled back, tears glistening in his eyes. Holding her at arm’s length once more, he savored the sight of her, gathering his emotions before finally managing to say, “Merlin, Hermione, you’re just...wow.”

As Ron scanned her body with the deepest look of love, Hermione herself felt an overwhelming surge of love that threatened to spill over, her heart swelling with an intensity she had never experienced before. Tears streamed down her own cheeks as he silently drank her in, savoring her like a thirst-quenching oasis in the middle of a desert.

“I’m the luckiest bloke alive,” he choked with a loud sniffle. “There are no words, Hermione. No words to describe what I feel right now. No words to describe how much I love you. What did I do to deserve you?”

The last words made his voice crack with the weight of his emotions, and he had to take a deep shuddering breath, as the tears now flowed freely down his cheeks.

“You’re my everything.”

In that moment, Hermione felt as if she were the centerpiece of a captivating fairytale, as if a script had been written just for the two of them. The breath she didn’t realize she had been holding escaped in a soft sigh, her shaky fingers finding strength in the warmth of his sweaty hands.

“You’re hopeless, Ron.”

“Hopelessly in love with you,“ he replied, leaning in for another kiss. “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Hermione’s heart swelled with affection as he spoke, the sincerity in his words touching her deeply. His open vulnerability only strengthened the bond between them, and she realized just how fortunate she was to have him by her side. Each word, each tear, each touch not only amplified the bubble around them but also skillfully dispelled the remaining jitters that had threatened to overwhelm her earlier.

However, as soft voices suddenly echoed from the staircase, reality nudged its way back in, popping the bubble around them, causing her to ask, “What are you doing here?”

“I was freaking out a bit. I just needed to see you before, to hold you and tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Deeply moved by his words, Hermione gently reached up, wiping away a tear from Ron’s cheek, whispering, “You big sap. I love you too.”

Another kiss sealed the moment, and Ron held her close, reluctant to let her go.

“I’m so nervous,” he mumbled into her curls.

“I was too. My knees felt like jelly,” Hermione chuckled, running her fingers through Ron’s hair. “But now that you’re here, I’m feeling so much better.”

“I’m seriously worried I might fall over.”

His vulnerability and self-doubt tugged at the strings of her heart. She knew how he tended to overthink things, constantly preoccupying himself with what others thought of him or how he was perceived. In certain pivotal moments, it felt as if he still carried the deceitful locket around his neck, allowing invisible voices to whisper nonsensical thoughts into his mind.

“What if I trip over my own feet or faint and make a complete fool of myself in front of everyone?”

While he continued to worry about potential mishaps, Hermione briefly marveled again how his mere presence, the caress of his hands, and the warmth of his kisses had worked like a calming potion, and had swiftly dispelled her own fears and anxieties. It dawned on her that she held the same power – the ability to unravel his nervous energy and to dissipate the whimsical worries that still lingered in his mind.

“Look at me,” she said softly, turning his warm face toward her so she could look into his eyes. “You won’t.”

“I apologize in advance if I mess anything up.”

“Nonsense, Ron, you couldn’t. There isn’t anything to mess up.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. I might forget my vows or stumble over my own words.”

“That’s not going to happen, Ron,” she reassured him, caressing his flushed cheeks. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Try me,” he whispered against her lips before stealing another kiss. “We should have eloped, you know. Skived off the whole big wedding thing. Just you, me, maybe Harry and Gin, and a quiet ceremony without any fuss.”

His words painted a vivid picture of a flushed Molly Weasley, standing in her kitchen with her hands on her hips, in Hermione’s mind. She shuddered at the thought of how Ron’s mother would react if they married without the family present. “Your mum would never forgive us.”

Ron sighed dramatically. “Yeah, the wedding of the millennium, with half the wizarding world watching us. Blah blah blah. I know, I know. But I don’t give a flying fart about the wizarding world; I just want you.”

As their eyes locked in understanding, Ron drew her closer for another kiss. Hermione instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against hers. What began as a sweet exchange of affection soon transformed into a more fervent, passionate snog.

Between kisses, Ron managed to mumble, “Let’s just skive off to Gretna Green or pop over to Las Vegas.”

Hermione chuckled into his mouth before breaking away. “Are you suggesting we ditch our own wedding?”

“Yeah? Why not? As long as I get to marry you, I couldn’t care less about the big show.”

“It’s too late.”

“I’m only kidding,” he said with that lopsided grin Hermione loved so much, his hands tracing gentle patterns on the skin of her back exposed by the beautiful wedding dress. “But, seriously, all this pomp and circumstance, it’s not about us. It’s about everyone else.”

Ron did have a point in a way, but he wasn’t entirely right. Their special day had to meet the norms of tradition and societal expectations, as Molly described it. But despite encountering certain predetermined notions about their wedding, Hermione acknowledged that they had earnestly incorporated many of their own desires and expectations into the mix to make it their day.

Hermione smiled, reaching up again to cup his flushed face between her hands. “This is about us, love. It’s about celebrating our love with the people we care about.”

“How do you manage to always make everything better? I’m not so nervous anymore now. It’s like you cast a calming spell on me. I feel like you lifted a weight from my chest,” Ron confessed, cradling her face between his hands to look lovingly into her eyes. “I love you so bloody much.”

A knock on the door interrupted their intimate exchange, causing them to jump apart. Ginny’s dominant voice filtered through, “Oi, lovebirds, Mum’s about to turn into a dragon. Move your arses downstairs. Separately! Do you want me to spell it? S. E. P. A. R. A.T. E. L. Y. Unless you want your maid of honor to meet a gruesome end at the hands of her own mother! Hurry the fuck up!”

Ron rolled his eyes, pulling Hermione closer for another quick kiss. “Ready for the grand spectacle?”

“More than ready,” she chuckled, dropping another kiss on his lips. “See you at the altar.”

#submission #weasley weddings #romionetropefest #romione

[romione-trope-fest]

Never been privy to

Fic Title: Never been privy to

Author Name: reallybeth

Selected Trope: cockblocker Harry

Brief Summary: She’d been with Ron when it was just the two of them, of course, and she’d been around both Harry and Ron loads of times, but this would be different. Hermione was going to be able to see for herself how Ron was whenever it was just he and Harry, something she’d never been privy to before now.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: None

Thanks to JonRiptide for the beta!

oOo

Hermione ran her hand through her— or more accurately— Harry’s hair for the umpteenth time, eyes briefly lifting from the book in her lap to scan the common room. Letting out a small sigh, she tried to appear nonchalant while internally cursing Harry for talking her into this foolish idea in the first place. His suspicion of Draco Malfoy and his going ons that year had been more than a little concerning. Her friend was adamant that Malfoy was hiding something, and something very important at that. Harry was in too deep, too invested in the idea that the blonde was a death eater to see sense. Even so, Hermione hadn’t expected him to take it this far, and furthermore, she never thought she’d willingly be a part of one of his wild schemes.

“All you have to do is sit in the common room,” Harry said, his eyes pleading with her. “Talk a little if anyone approaches you, but otherwise just stick to reading or something.”

“Polyjuice potion, Harry? I still don’t understand why you need me to do this,” Hermione argued, frowning at him, “I don’t see the point.” 

Harry sighed. “Malfoy disappears every night after dinner. I need to follow him to find out where he’s going. Later, if he suspects I was trailing him, I’ll have witnesses that can affirm I was hanging out in the common room. I’ll use the cloak, everything will be fine.” He shrugged as if this was all the explanation she needed.

“What about Ro-” Hermione stopped and swallowed before continuing. “What about Ron?” she asked, her voice low. “Why don’t you ask him to help you with this little plan of yours? I’m sure he’d be willing.”

“I would, but he’s always with Lavender,” Harry said. “Besides, he’s not the best at pretending….”

“That’s true,” she conceded, knowing full well Ron tended to express his emotions openly on his face and wouldn’t play the part of Harry very well. “Say I agreed to this?” she asked. “You know Ron and I aren’t currently on speaking terms. If he were to talk to me thinking I was you, he’d probably realize I wasn’t in a matter of seconds.” 

Harry shook his head in the negative. “He has big plans with Lavender tonight, apparently. Ron, uh….” Harry had the decency to look sympathetic towards her as he continued. “He told me not to wait up.”

Hermione exhaled as she forced herself to ignore the insinuation of Ron and Lavender having ‘big plans’. “Well, that just makes it easier, then,” she said in a tight voice, trying to sound unconcerned and as if Ron’s absence would be all fine and dandy with her. “I’ll do it, but you owe me big time, Harry.”

A crashing sound pulled Hermione from her thoughts. Her head snapped up to see Neville Longbottom on his hands and knees in the middle of the common room floor, panic and embarrassment clear on his face as he scrambled to pick up about ten small ceramic pots he’d just dropped. Without thinking, she stood and walked over to him, stooping down to help gather the fallen items. Several had shattered in the tumble, and Hermione cast a quick reparo over those before grabbing them.

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville said in a grateful voice, his words reminding Hermione that she was currently in Harry’s body and needed to act as he would.

“No problem,” she replied. “Where were you taking these?”

“Just up to the room,” Neville said with a relieved sounding sigh. “Do you mind helping me?”

“Of course.” Despite assuring Harry she’d remain in the same spot until he got back, Hermione knew it would be terribly rude, and not to mention out of character, to deny Neville help. “Let’s go, then,” she said before standing up, arms full of little pots. A quick glance at the wall clock alerted Hermione that her polyjuice potion would be wearing off in less than half an hour. Nevertheless, she was certain she’d have plenty of time to assist Neville before having to return to her own dormitory to change.

“Oi, Nev! Potter! Want to join us for a game of exploding snap?” Seamus Finnegan called from the other side of the room. The table of Gryffindor boys watched them expectantly as they awaited an answer.

“Sure,” Neville replied, “Just have to take these up first.”

“Harry?” Dean, who was sitting across from Neville, questioned as he stared at Hermione.

“No thank you,” she replied, only realizing afterward that Harry’s answer would likely have been more casual or even playful somehow. 

“Your loss, then,” Seamus shot back, already shuffling the deck of cards in his hands.

As she and Neville ascended to the boys’ dormitory and made it to their destination, Hermione was unexpectedly greeted by a familiar scent she hadn’t come across in what felt like months: the smell of Ron’s shampoo. Without a doubt, it was the same scent she had detected in the Amortentia potion on the first day of Potions class. Without thinking, she snuck a glance at the empty bed on the far end of the room she knew to be Ron’s. It was unmade; the covers pulled back, just beckoning her to climb inside the fabric to smell more of him. 

“Where do you want me to put these?” she asked. Hermione was now very eager to set down her armload and get back downstairs and away from anything that reminded her of Ron. 

Gesturing to the large open window, Neville led her, the cool night air rustling the gold and red Gryffindor curtains as the two started lining the pots up on the windowsill.

“Great,” she said once they were finished. “Do you need any-”

A previously closed door on her left swung open, and to Hermione’s horror, Ron strolled into the room wearing nothing but a faded brown towel around his hips, the rest of his freckled skin on full display. His hair was wet, and the intensity of the shampoo smell made it obvious he’d just stepped out of the shower. Hermione felt the blood rushing to her- to Harry’s cheeks and immediately set to arranging the already straight pots. 

How was he here? She hadn’t seen him come in through the common room, and there was no way she would have missed him.

“Hey,” Ron said casually to the pair of them. The tone of his voice suggested that walking around half naked was a common theme in the boys’ dorm and not at all a big deal.

“I thought-” Harry’s voice came out squeaky and unfamiliar. Still not looking at Ron, Hermione coughed before continuing. “I thought you’d be with Lavender tonight?” 

“Change of plans.” There was the sound of rustling clothes, and when Hermione dared peek at him again out of the corner of her eye, Ron was wearing a pair of red shorts. Instead of putting on a shirt and covering his freckled chest, however, he simply fell back on his bed, his hands folded under his head, blue eyes staring up at the canopy. “I made up an excuse to get away from her,” he admitted. “Went and got my broom from the quidditch changing rooms and flew through the window.”

“Thanks for helping me with the pots, Harry,” Neville said, already heading towards the door. “I’m going down to join that game.”

Hermione knew she ought to go with Neville. Right now, it was imperative she stay as far as possible from Ron. Yet, it felt as if her feet were weighted with lead, and she couldn’t follow even if she wanted to. After all, this was an opportunity she’d likely never have again. She’d been with Ron when it was just the two of them, of course, and she’d been around both Harry and Ron loads of times, but this would be different. Hermione was going to be able to see for herself how Ron was whenever it was just he and Harry, something she’d never been privy to before now.

“Why did you want to escape Lavender?” Hermione asked after the door closed behind Neville. 

Ron’s gaze remained upward, his face in deep concentration as if he hadn’t even registered the words. “Listen,” he said after several long seconds of silence. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Uh…yeah, sure.” Hermione said, trying not to sound too eager. So far it seemed as if Ron didn’t suspect a thing. She was clearly doing a passable job pretending to be Harry, and she was determined to keep it that way. 

“Lavender wants…” Ron trailed off before taking a deep breath and continuing, “She wants to have sex.”

The words took Hermione by surprise and she grabbed onto one of Ron’s bedposts to keep herself upright. “What?” she gasped.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Ron said, looking at her with a tinge of hurt mixed with embarrassment. “Unbeknownst to me,” he went on, “tonight was supposed to be the night. Lavender had everything planned out, and I didn’t realize how serious she was until-” He paused. “I mean…a part of me wanted to, ya know, but…well… I just couldn’t.” He shook his head. “Not with her, anyway.”

Not with her. Nails dug into palms as Hermione tried to hold back the barrage of questions she wanted to ask him. “What do you mean not with her?” she settled on, her heart hammering. “She’s your girlfriend.”

Ron gave her a quick side eye but looked up again as he continued. “This is going to sound barmy, but while we were snogging, I kept hearing my dad’s voice in my head, telling me it was a bad idea.” He grimaced. “I mean, it’s been ingrained in me since I was a preteen that I shouldn’t have ‘sexual relations’” he said with a roll of his eyes, “with anybody unless I am fully committed to being with them forever.”

“Forever? Why?” Hermione asked, openmouthed. She knew witches and wizards tended to skirt more on the old-fashioned side, but she was almost certain that pre-marital sex didn’t automatically mean marriage.

Ron shrugged. “I’m a Weasley. Contraceptive charms and potions may help lower the chances of getting someone pregnant, but they aren’t foolproof. Dad says he and mum got pregnant with three of us when they weren’t supposed to be able to.” He chuckled. “He refused to tell me which three though. Said mum would murder him if he told.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her mind continuously looping over the part where Ron had implied he didn’t want to be with Lavender forever. “That makes sense.”

“Anyway, the thought of having a kid right now is…” Ron grimaced. “And having a kid with Lav?” He scoffed. “I mean, could you imagine? If I got her pregnant, I’d have to bloody marry her!” He shuddered as if the idea was a horrid one. “I definitely don’t want that. Then there’s also the fact that I would be a total asshole if I did shag her,” he added. “It would be wrong of me to use her like that, you know? I may be an insensitive git sometimes, but….”

There was a warmness in Hermione’s chest as a weight lifted. For the last several months, she’d been imagining a world where Ron stayed with Lavender indefinitely. In her heartbreak, she had envisioned a scenario where the two remained together for the rest of their time at Hogwarts, eventually marrying and living happily ever after, growing a family and growing old together while Hermione became a distant memory in Ron’s mind—someone he would barely remember from his school days.

“I mean,” Ron droned on, “It’s not like I even properly asked her to be my girlfriend. She just snogged me in the common room and I snogged her back. After that, she was calling me her boyfriend, and I didn’t know how to say that’s not what I wanted without offending her or something. This whole thing is bloody exhausting.”

Hermione’s mind was still reeling, and she merely hummed in acknowledgement. It had taken this conversation to find that her perception of the situation had been wholly wrong and now she wasn’t even sure what she was feeling. The two were silent for several long seconds and Hermione was about to take her leave when Ron spoke again.

“I still can’t believe Hermione really went to Slughorn’s Christmas party with McLaggen,” he said in a bitter voice. “How can she not see what a total dick that bloke is?”

“I think… I think she knows that now,” Hermione replied in a slow voice, noticing the twitch of Ron’s lips as she did so.

He sighed. “Okay, be honest. Do you think we’ll ever be friends again? Me and Hermione?”

Taken aback, Hermione blurted the first words that came to mind. “Maybe if she didn’t have to watch you snog her roommate all over the castle, then yeah.” 

Ron laughed as if the words were ridiculous. “What, you think she’s jealous or something?” Hermione said nothing and the smile slid from Ron’s face as he sat up. “Wait, really?”

Knowing it was probably glaringly obvious to anyone with eyes that she was jealous of Ron’s relationship, Hermione resisted the urge to huff in frustration. She wondered what it would take to get it through that thick skull of his. “She invited you to Slughorn’s party first, didn’t she?”

“She didn’t invite me as her date, though,” Ron said as if he were perfectly sure of this. “She asked me because she felt sorry for me.” His face moved into a scowl. “It’s not like she’d planned on getting all dressed up and dancing with me like she did with Vicky. Or hell, even McLaggen for that matter.”

“Well maybe she did,” Hermione retorted, patience thinning. 

Ron’s jaw clenched as he stared hard at his hands in his lap. “She didn’t mean it to be a proper date,” he repeated, though this time with less certainty. “She doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“What would you do if she did? Would you even do anything about it?” 

Ron gave her an incredulous look before snorting. “She doesn’t.”

“But what if she did?”

He sighed. “Merlin,” he muttered. “If she did, which again, she doesn’t, then…I dunno? Maybe it would give me the courage to finally break up with Lav and-” he sighed again, “we could…talk about it.”

“Talk?” Hermione repeated. “What would you say?”

Ron shrugged. “I’d tell her the truth.”

“Which is?” Hermione pressed, desperate to get the answer.

He glared at her. “Merlin, mate, why are you so nosy today? You always stay out of things between me and Hermione. It’s like your number one self-care rule.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but froze as she felt a prickling sensation all over. Her expression must have revealed something was wrong because Ron looked at her, concerned.

“Harry? Mate, are you okay?”

A whimpering sound was all Hermione managed before the feeling got stronger. She could feel her body shrinking, could feel Harry’s clothes getting looser as it did so. Her hair grew longer, the texture going from black and messy to brown and fluffy, her curls in disarray as they settled around her shoulders.

Ron’s face drained of color, his eyes wide in mortification as he watched the shift. “What the- what the hell is going on?” he bellowed. 

Hermione bit her bottom lip, tears unwittingly springing to her eyes. “I was doing Harry a favor,” she explained. “You were supposed to be with Lavender and we didn’t think-”

“But you just pretended to be Harry without fucking telling me it was really-” he sighed, closed his eyes and groaned. 

“It was an opportunity to talk to you,” she admitted in a quiet voice, “I’ve really missed you, Ron.”

Ron opened his eyes and scanned her face in a way he hadn’t done so in what felt like a lifetime. His expression softened as he took a single step towards her, but his eyes widened when he glanced down at his bare chest, his face flushing red. “Let me just—uh—” he stammered, swiftly grabbing a shirt from a chest of drawers and pulling it over his head, much to her disappointment.

“So when you asked me to Slugho-”

“It was supposed to be a date, yeah,” she cut him off. “I…I like you, Ron.”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed several times, seemingly unsure how to respond. “Dammit,” he finally muttered, “I fucked everything up.”

“Now that both of us know how the other feels,” Hermione said hesitantly, “maybe it will be easier to go forward with,” she gestured between them, “whatever this is.” 

There was so much regret in Ron’s gaze that it made her heart ache. “I’m breaking up with Lavender,” he said in a determined voice. “Tonight.”

Unable to help herself, Hermione leapt forward into his arms. The embrace was everything she’d been hoping for, Ron clinging to her just as tightly as she clung to him. When she lifted her head, he was staring down at her, his longing for her evident.

“Hermione?” he asked, his hand moving up to cup her cheek. “Can I-”

There was the sound of a door being slammed open, causing Hermione to jump away from Ron. She spun around to see Harry scurrying into the room, his cheeks pink and his hair windswept. “Hermione! Hell, I’m sorry I took so long! I-” he halted when he spotted Ron, his mouth dropping open in surprise. “Sorry, did I just-”

Hermione shook her head. “That’s alright, Harry.” She couldn’t even bring herself to look at Ron as she started making her way from the room. “Breakfast tomorrow?” she asked just before she reached the door, turning to face the boys.

“Just the three of us?” Harry looked bewildered, and Ron appeared as if he’d just been hit over the head, but the two were quick to nod in affirmative.

“Great.” Smiling, Hermione walked out, closing the door behind her.

#submission #romione #cockblocker harry

[romione-trope-fest]

Do You Like Chocolate?

Fic Title: Do You Like Chocolate?

Author Name: Mertronus

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

Brief Summary: Ron’s senior year begins with an unexpected surprise

Word Count: 2,040 (Chapter 1 only)

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: None

—

Chapter 1

Ron walked through the doors of Central High and took a deep breath. Senior year. This was it…his final year of high school. There was so much to be excited about this year. He was at the top of the totem pole, so to speak. An upperclassman. All of the other classes would look up to him—and not only because he was one of the tallest in the school.

He was also one of the starting wide receivers for the Central High School Chiefs football team—for the third year.

He had homecoming and prom to look forward to, as well as the senior trip.

But there was also so much he was dreading. Ron tried not to dwell on those things as he located his new locker near his homeroom. He sighed and swiveled the dial to enter his code—then tried again when his locker refused to open. On the fourth try, it finally unlocked. Typical.

Central High wasn’t rundown or anything…but it definitely wasn’t new. Everyone knew that the lockers rarely opened on the first try.

“Weasley,” came a voice from beside him.

“Potter.” Ron leaned against his now-closed locker and watched his best friend fiddle with his own, just three lockers away. “So, you can drive to my house, eat my mom’s breakfast, pick up my baby sister, and just ignore the fact that your best friend was sleeping right upstairs?”

Harry laughed as he shoved his gym bag into the locker. It had only taken Harry two attempts to open it, Ron noticed with annoyance.

“Your baby sister is a junior now and would put you in your place if she heard you call her that.”

“She could try,” Ron chuckled. “Now back to why you didn’t wake me up.”

“Well, when your mom told me that you were still asleep, I didn’t see the point in trying to wake you.” He closed his locker and faced Ron. “We all know you wouldn’t wake up until you were ready. I’m honestly surprised you made it on time.”

“I’ve perfected my morning routine and got it down to three minutes flat. And I ate breakfast on my way.”

“You did not eat oatmeal while you drove!” Harry stared at him wide-eyed.

“The trick is,” Ron threw his arm around Harry as they headed to their homeroom, “you put a bit more milk in it, throw it into a mason jar, and then you can drink it like a shake. No spoon needed.” Ron grinned at Harry, clearly proud of himself.

Harry sighed and shook his head. “I can’t figure out if you’re ingenious or ridiculous.”

“Bit of both I would say,” came a sharp voice from behind them. Ms. McGonagall had just entered the room behind them. “More ridiculous, but most of the smartest people are.” She smiled at Ron and Harry. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. Enjoyed your summers?”

“Morning Ms. McGonagall,” they both said as they sat near the front.

“We did, thanks,” Ron continued. “Did you?”

“Well,” McGonagall placed her bag on her desk as more students filed into the room, “summer school was quite boring without you two. But I was glad for your absences nonetheless.”

Dean Thomas, who’d just taken the seat on the other side of Harry, snorted. Ron side-eyed him briefly, then grinned at McGonagall. “We missed you, Ms. M. But not summer school.”

Ron and Harry had spent the previous two summers in summer school with McGonagall catching up. But, with some extra help the previous year as well as many threats of being benched in their senior year by Coach Moody, they had both been able to finish their junior years strong. Neither one of them had any plans to be benched senior year. For one, outside of seeing Harry every day, football was the only daily thing Ron looked forward to in school. During the winter and spring they trained and ran track to keep active, but football was always their main event.

On top of that, scouts for the colleges they’d both applied to would be watching, and full scholarships were on the line. Ron was a fantastic wide receiver, and Harry was one of the fastest running backs in the state. They knew that several schools had their eyes on them, including Western University, where they both hoped to go.

The bell rang and McGonagall started to close the door just as Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini slipped through. Both sat and smiled at McGonagall innocently.

“Don’t be cute,” McGonagall scowled. Then she turned to begin attendance as the morning announcements started over the intercom.

The bell rang again ten minutes later and Harry ran off to his first class. Ron stayed in his seat since he had English with McGonagall first period. A few others stayed put too—both of the Patil twins, Blaise, Dean, and Lisa Turpin.

A flash of blonde hair entered the room and Ron cringed. Damnit. Of course.

Lavender Brown smiled coyly at Ron and took the seat in front of him, next to Padma Patil. “Morning Ron,” she cooed.

“Hey,” Ron said simply, praying that she would turn towards the twins for gossip or some kind of cheerleaders mini convention rather than try and hold a conversation with him. They’d dated sophomore year for a couple of months, and ever since then she’d continued to try and get him back. Apparently, the fact that Ron hadn’t dated anyone since her, though there was no shortage of options at Central, told her that Ron was still interested.

Ron was not interested.

The truth was, none of the girls at Central had ever caught Ron’s eye. They all seemed to be the same. And any who showed interest in Ron, likely only did so because of his football fame. None ever seemed to want to get to know him. Even Lavender only wanted Ron in order to portray the perfect All-American high school power couple—cheerleading captain and football champ. They’d be shoe-ins for homecoming king and queen. Maybe even prom king and queen. Ron knew this was the case even though they were no longer together, which put a damper on two events he was otherwise looking forward to. He knew Lavender would be expecting a Homecoming ‘proposal’ or some such nonsense.

It would never come.

Ron sighed in relief when Lavender turned to her two best friends.

“The new girl was in my homeroom,” Lavender whispered. Ron’s ears perked up.

Damn, starting at a new school senior year must suck, he thought.

“Oohh, I heard something about a new girl…what’s she like?”

Lavender shrugged. “Super quiet. And spacey. She didn’t even answer Flitwick when he called her name! He had to tap on her shoulder. I seriously can’t tell if she’s a nerd or a ditz. And her hair! She really could do with a straightener.”

Ron rolled his eyes. Lavender, Padma, and Parvarti were all cut from the same cloth. They believed that hair should be pin straight and makeup should be flawless at all times. And they weren’t the only ones. Ron felt as if there were very few real girls at their school. They were mostly stuck on status and beauty. Superficial things.

Ron wanted real.

His sister Ginny was one of the realest girls in their school. He loved that she never fell into those obsessions like hair and makeup and such. Ron figured that was partly due to being a female athlete. Her best friend Luna, however, wasn’t an athlete and yet was just as real—though a bit odd. Ron thought she was good value though. She was always fun to have around.

As McGonagall welcomed everyone to Senior English, Ron pulled out his notebook and pushed himself to focus. At least he knew Harry would be in his next couple of classes.

“Hey, Ron!”

“Sup Weasley!”

“Hey! Weasley!”

“Ron! What’s up!”

Ron smiled and waved to anyone who greeted him as he made his way down the hall after lunch. Being a starter for three years running gave him a level of popularity he never expected. He was invited to all of the parties, sat at the big table at lunch, and was widely known throughout the school.

And yet he’d never felt so lonely.

Aside from Harry, he hung out with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and Neville Longbottom, all members of the team, but not to the same extent as with his best friend. And now that Harry was splitting his time with Ginny…

Ron got it, even if it did take him a bit to warm up to the idea. If he had a girl, he’d want to spend time with her too. But Harry had always been Ron’s person. Not that Ron felt he needed a new person…but it would be nice to have someone like Harry had Ginny.

But there was no one at Central who—

A small body bumped into him as it sprinted passed and Ron just caught a whiff of vanilla and berries. It was soft and inviting, so unlike the overwhelming perfumes so many of the other girls wore.

Ron looked up and watched as long brown curls floated down the hallway. She was looking at the door numbers as she passed them and seemed lost.

As she ran, a small book fell out of her half-closed bag. Ron ran forward to grab it.

“Hey!” He called as she continued on. “Hey, wait! You dropped your book!”

She finally stopped in front of Snape’s science classroom, which happened to be where Ron was headed himself. She stood in front of a woman Ron had never seen before—a substitute? he thought hopefully—and held up one hand while she seemed to catch her breath. The woman simply smiled.

“Hey,” Ron said catching up to them. “You dropped this.” He held out the book to the girl’s heaving back but she didn’t turn. “Excuse me?”

Ron caught the woman’s eyes curiously and she tapped on the girl’s shoulder and pointed over it. She finally turned around and Ron’s breath caught.

She was beautiful, in a very normal way. She wore no makeup but didn’t need it. Her eyes were the perfect shade of brown, like melted chocolate. There was the perfect amount of freckles splattered across her slightly upturned little nose, so unlike the freckles that covered just about every inch of Ron’s body. Her hair was long and curly, with some frizz around the edges. Ron could imagine pulling on the tendrils and watching them spring back into place.

She looked up at him expectantly, and he remembered his mission.

“You dropped your book,” he said lamely.

Her eyes watched his lips as he spoke and he felt a shiver run through him. He’d noticed her lips too. Was she thinking the same as he was? Was she wondering how her lips would feel against his or…?

Her eyes dropped to the book and widened. She took it from him and gave him a brilliant smile and a nod before ducking into the classroom.

“Thanks for that,” the woman said with a smile, before following the girl into the classroom.

Ron made his way into the room a bit confused. Even more so when he noticed that his greasy-haired science teacher was, in fact, present. So who was that woman? She was young, but definitely not young enough to be a student. And she was dressed professionally, like a teacher or a staff member or…something.

As he took a seat closer to the back, and further away from Snape, his eyes darted to the girl. She sat near the front but off to the side. The woman sat on a low stool in front of her.

And as Snape began to talk, the woman’s hands began to move in rapid sign language.

Deaf…the new girl was Deaf.

**Look out for more chapters on AO3!**

#submission

[romione-trope-fest]

Let's Go

Fic Title: Let’s Go

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: Muggle AU, Soulmates

Brief Summary: Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley meet one magical night at a pub during their final year of uni.  

Word Count: 1864

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

******

Even from across the bar, she could see how blue his eyes were. 

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure why she couldn’t stop staring. Sure, his eyes were captivating but she typically didn’t find freckled redheads attractive. Nor burly men looking as though raised on a farm. She preferred a slight and slender male physique, likely because she felt more in control that way. 

The stranger’s eyes flashed in her direction again, and she immediately jerked her head down. Then, almost by its own accord, Hermione’s gaze lifted again. They caught eyes once before the stranger turned to continue his conversation with his raven-haired, bespectacled friend and his friend’s girlfriend. A hint of a smirk emerged on the stranger’s face. Judging by their identically-hued hair and a shared quality in their easygoing demeanour, perhaps found in the ways they leaned against the bar or shook their shoulders as they laughed, Hermione wondered if the girl was the stranger’s sister. 

The stranger’s bespectacled friend said something to him, eliciting a mirthful punch to the shoulder. That hint of a smirk never really went away, even as the stranger kept his eyes trained on his two acquaintances.

Suddenly, the friend and the probable sister stood up and bid their farewells. As the couple moved towards her direction to reach the exit, the female redhead regarded Hermione with what appeared to be unabashed, gleeful curiosity. Her boyfriend behaved in the opposite, determinedly avoiding eye contact. He put two flat palms on his girlfriend’s cheeks and positioned her head away from Hermione. 

“What?” Hermione heard the girl say liltingly to her beau as they passed her. 

“Right, that’s my cue to leave, too, then,” said a voice from somewhere around Hermione’s right ear.  

Oh, crap. She had almost forgotten that she was with Parvati. Hermione swivelled in her friend’s direction. “What do you mean?”

Parvati raised an impish eyebrow. “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed you eye-bonking that ginger tree of a man for the past five minutes.” She jerked her head in the stranger’s direction. “Here’s your chance now that his mates are gone. Good luck, love you!”

Hermione grasped Parvati’s arm. “No, Parvati, don’t leave me—”

“He’s coming over, let go of me!”

Hermione swivelled again. Sure enough, the blue-eyed, red-haired stranger had left his seat and was rounding the corner of the bar, his gaze on Hermione now steady and uninterrupted.

Hermione swivelled back towards Parvati in a panic, but Parvati was already at arm’s length from the exit. Hermione took a deep breath. She reminded herself that this was exactly why she agreed to let Parvati drag her out that night. Hermione had been needing a viable distraction for quite some time. Finally, it seemed that she had found a solid candidate for the task.

Hermione slowly turned. Solid in more ways than one, she noted, craning her neck to fully take in his towering profile. Proximity revealed (to her relief) that he was better described as broad rather than burly, with a body that seemed more suited for competitive swimming or basketball than powerlifting. Freckles dotted almost every corner of his face and neck, disappearing into the collar of his maroon knit jumper. His eyes were nothing short of arresting up close. They shone with amusement from the interaction he had witnessed between her and Parvati. 

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hi.” Hermione cursed herself for sounding so breathless. 

He pointed to her empty glass. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“Okay,” she said after a beat, smiling shyly.

He ordered Hermione another gin and tonic and another lager for himself before claiming Parvati’s vacated seat. 

The bartender was quick to fetch the beer. 

“Ah, cheers, mate,” the stranger said after settling on the stool and noticing the bottle held in his direction. He grabbed it and inclined it toward the bartender, who nodded graciously. 

The stranger set the bottle on the sticky counter and looked back at Hermione. 

“I’m Ron.” He extended a hand, and she took it, firm and calloused against her soft skin. She wondered if he was actually raised on a farm. 

“Hermione.”

“Her- Hermione? Hermione. Hermione.” It was as if he were moulding her name to fit exactly right in his mouth. He grinned at her. Two of his front teeth were crooked, angled symmetrically. They gave his smile an intriguing aspect of permanent mischief. “That’s an interesting name, Hermione.”

She grinned back, cheeks warm. She liked the ease with which his tongue was now able to wrap around the four syllables. 

“My mum’s an interesting person,” she shrugged. Worried that her meaning wasn’t clear, she added, “She’s the one who named me.”

Ron’s grin widened. “Yeah, somehow I got that.”

Hermione gave him a look that was both appraising and coy. The bartender placed her drink in front of her, and she thanked him before taking a sip. 

“Are you a student at Trogshaw?” she asked Ron.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. I’m in my final year, studying law.”

“I’m in my final year, too. Business.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Ron blinked, causing his gossamer eyelashes to flutter. His mouth twitched. “Explains what?”

“Lots of things,” said Hermione loftily. “But mainly why we’ve never met before.”

His mouth continued to turn upwards. “Are you sure about that? Seems like you’ve managed to figure out quite a lot about me in the, er, minute or so we’ve been talking.”

Hermione leaned slightly back with confidence. “I just know your type. Blokey, follows rugby like it’s a religion, makes a habit of chatting up girls at bars and carelessly discarding them when you’re done.”

“Wow. Impressive.”

Hermione smiled indulgently. 

“For your information,” countered Ron with a competitive glint in his eyes, “my religion is not rugby, it’s football. This is actually my first time chatting up a girl at a bar. I suppose blokey is debatable, depends on your definition.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What are your thoughts about feminism?”

Without missing a beat, Ron stood up, turned his back to Hermione, and began marching toward the exit. Hermione’s mouth dropped open, but before she could fully react, he swung right back and sat down. He looked incredibly pleased with himself for the little act.

Hermione closed her mouth and mock-glared at him. “Now I really want to know what your thoughts are about feminism.”

Ron shrugged and took a swig of his drink. “I sympathise with feminist aims, I suppose. I just think sometimes the tactics go overboard.”

“Just sometimes?”

He smirked but his cheeks turned slightly pink. “A lot of times.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and quipped smugly, “Can we agree on blokey then?" 

Still smirking, Ron took another swig of his drink. "You’re a hardcore feminist, I reckon.”

“Militant,” she said with relish. Then she shrugged. “But I have my critiques of the movement as well."  

Ron tilted his bottle towards Hermione. "A toast, then, to critiquing feminism.”

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh. “I am not toasting to that with a blokey white man." 

Hermione immediately worried if she went too far in referring to Ron’s race, but he seemed completely unfazed. His expression was instead contemplative. He attempted another toast. "Down with capitalism?”

She smiled. “Isn’t that a bit against your career path?" 

"Yeah, but we’re all hypocrites, innit?”

Her smile converted to laughter as she lifted her drink. “Cheers to the abject shittiness of human nature, then.”

Ron eyed Hermione’s periwinkle headband and matching cardigan. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to swear.”

“Well, we’re both just breaking stereotypes tonight, aren’t we?”

Grinning, they clinked glasses and drank. Hermione set her glass on the counter and contemplated Ron with a bit of disbelief. It defied logic how effortless it was to be with him. Never before had she been able to drop pretences so quickly with someone. It gave her a hint of vertigo. She could barely drop pretences with people she’s known her entire life. 

Ron must have felt similarly. After a moment of matching Hermione’s gaze, he said, “I’m sorry. I swear this isn’t some chat or anything. But I really do feel like we’ve met before.”

Hermione arranged her features to look pointedly unimpressed. 

“Oh, come on,” said Ron, laughing. “When we first made eye contact…you…you didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what?” asked Hermione, her expression softening. 

Ron hesitated. “This, I dunno, recognition or something. Familiarity.”

Hermione simply stared at him. Ron looked down, a flush spreading across his cheeks like wildfire. “Sorry, just being a weirdo…”

“I felt it.”

Ron looked up, eyes as hopeful as they were intense. It was Hermione’s turn to flush. 

“But I’m sure we’ve never met before,” she asserted. There was no way she could ever forget those eyes.

Ron regarded her for a bit longer before saying, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He drained his bottle. “After you finish that, wanna get out of here?”

“And go where?”

Ron smirked at Hermione’s furrowed eyebrows. 

“My dungeon,” he said in a creepy voice, twiddling his long fingers together. He dropped his hands and his voice returned to normal. “No, my mate—" 

He stopped as soon as he registered the highly disconcerted look on Hermione’s face.

"Please,” he said in a constrained plea, “forget I made that stupid fucking comment. I’m sorry…I just…” He pulled at his hair and looked pained. “I have this, like, tendency to take things a bit too far and…we just met and even though I feel like I’ve known you, we don’t actually know each other at all, so there’s no way for you to know…my intentions. Blimey, what a nightmare, fucking cocked this up, haven’t I…?”

He leapt as if burned by his seat, drew out his wallet, and threw a twenty-pound note on the table. “Bye, Hermione,” he said without meeting her eyes. “It was honestly really nice meeting you. Hope you have a nice life…”

As he turned to leave, Hermione grabbed his arm. “You were going to say something about your mate?”

Ron beheld her hand for a moment, as if it were something fantastical, before looking up. “Dean, yeah. It’s his first art opening. He’s really good, actually, sort of a prodigy. That’s where my lot and I were headed and then I, er, saw you…”

Hermione lifted her drink to her lips, tipped her head back, and downed it. “Let’s go,” she said, hopping off her stool.

Ron’s eyes, already bulging from how quickly she finished her drink, widened further at her comment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She shot him a wicked smile. “Somehow I feel like this night will be worth it even if you do leave me dying in a ditch somewhere.”

With that, Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Hermione sauntered towards the exit, sensing him scrambling to keep pace. As the cold night air hit her face, Hermione felt a thrill she associated with the first time she set foot on The University of Trogshaw’s campus. Or being on a roller coaster teetering just over the brink before hurtling into the exhilarating unknown. She felt as though she stood at the precipice of an entirely new world, ready to immerse herself in an entirely new way of being.

#submission #romione #muggle AU #soulmates

[romione-trope-fest]

When You Wish Upon a Star

Title: When You Wish Upon A Star

Author: adenei

Trope: Soulmates

Summary: 

Three years after graduating, Hermione finds herself at the annual Hogwarts Alumni Quidditch Tournament, still single, living alone with Crookshanks, and no closer to finding love than when she was a student here. But sitting there on the sidelines, she can’t help wishing for something more, and finds herself weighing her options as the party rages on, mourning the lost chances of ever being anything more than Ron’s best friend.

She doesn’t have to wallow for very long though, because as fate would have it, her prospects for love suddenly take a turn…but is it for the better?

WC: 2360 (Multichap) 

Rating: M

TW: none

**********

Music blares at an overwhelming decibel level, but the crowd of people somehow manage to shout and cheer above it. There’s a strong smell of Firewhiskey in the air, and if the colors red and gold could throw up everywhere, it’d still be tamer than the sight in front of her. This isn’t Hermione’s scene at all, yet here she stands in the stuffy common room, packed to the brim with more people than it should probably be allowed to hold. 

It’s crazier than any victory party Hermione’s ever attended, and for once she’s more than happy to not have any Prefect or Head Girl duties falling on her shoulders. If things get out of hand, that’s on Minerva. She’s the one who let them all in for the celebration, knowing full well what would probably happen. 

After all, how else would you expect a large group of former students to act whilst reliving their glory days? It doesn’t even matter that the Annual Hogwarts Alumni Quidditch Tournament was specifically designed to be an inter-house event, or that participants were required to write their names down to be magically sorted into teams. Gryffindor is always over-represented, which meant there’d be major celebrations regardless of which team won.

Still, Hermione appreciates the camaraderie it builds. There have been many efforts to rebuild the magical world following Voldemort’s defeat, and the recently instituted alumni event is one of those things that people have looked forward to over the last few summers.

This year, though, proves to be a little more chaotic. Not that Hermione would actually know. It’s her first time attending one of these things—if only as a spectator. But based on the stories she’s heard about the past couple years, she has a hard time believing it’s ever gotten this out of hand.

But maybe that’s because of the way the teams shook out—notably with Harry and Ron being chosen for the same team. They’d also somehow managed to get Ginny, George, and Demelza. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh when she’d found out. Regardless of her limited Quidditch knowledge, even she knew they were an unstoppable group, and there was no hope for her to skip sitting in the stands this year. Especially not when Ron had flooed straight to Hermione’s flat when lists were delivered, begging her to come and watch. Of course she’d said yes. 

She’s glad she came though. It’s been nice to see everyone, and things were made a little sweeter when Ron and Harry won the Alumni Cup. After all, there’d been moments—both during the feast and the current after-party—where Hermione almost felt as though she were a student again. Almost. 

But she’s not. Three years have passed since she graduated, and while nothing about Hogwarts has changed since the last time she roamed its ancient halls, everything about her has. Or maybe it hasn’t, depending on the way she looks at it. 

Is she currently pursuing her dream of working up the ranks at the Ministry within the Magical Law Department? Yes. She’s the lead junior lawyer within the division of Being Rights. 

Has she also enrolled at King’s College to study Muggle Law in an attempt to equate Being Rights to the Human Rights movement? Also true. 

And to top it all off, she’s a fully-fledged adult, living her life with all the accompanying responsibilities it brings with it, which may just be her greatest accomplishment of all. 

But then again, she’s still single, living alone with Crookshanks, and no closer to finding love than when she was a student here. So perhaps that’s the reason she’s found every excuse to not come back. Because it’s all a woeful reminder of how stagnant her life is. Not to mention how unpromising her love life is and probably always will be.

And this party is doing nothing to make her feel better about any of that either. If anything, she’s filled with resentment as she watches Ron being hoisted in the air like some kind of hero, amplified only by the way a bottle of Firewhiskey is shoved in his hand. He takes it as if he hasn’t got a care in the world, and another pang of loneliness reverberates from her chest. 

How is it that she’s still watching from the sidelines? Why must her heart tug mournfully in her chest when she should be celebrating and reuniting with her former classmates?

Oh, that’s right. Because this is all a sad reminder of how she never stood a chance to be anything more than Ron’s best friend.

Hermione half-expects someone to jump his bones—much in the same way Lavender did during their sixth year—whisking him into a relationship that pushes him further away from her. Further away from the friendship she cherishes more than anything in the world. Because it’s the most she’ll ever have with him. 

You think you’d be okay with it after nearly eight years of harboring feelings for him.

Yeah, well, she’s not. Not even close. Maybe she should have taken the job offer to work in France when she had the chance. The one her mother still finds every excuse to mention because she couldn’t believe Hermione had passed it up. 

Hermione had used her uni classes as the primary excuse for staying in London, but that was because she didn’t want to admit the truth. That when she’d told Ron over dinner one evening, he’d looked at her with that infuriatingly disapproving gaze—the same one he’d given her when she went with Viktor to the Yule Ball. And when he thought she was taking too many classes or stayed up too late to revise. She could go on and on, but the point was clear. He didn’t want her to take it. 

The look wasn’t what made her stay, though. She would have overlooked that because she’d seen it so many times before. But then he’d gone so far as to say ‘don’t go.’

She thought—just for a moment—that maybe his request would be followed by her deepest desire. That maybe he’d kiss her and profess he’s been in love with her all this time and that’s the real reason he wanted her to stay.

But no, he’d made some quip about portkeys being expensive, and what would he do without their weekly dinners or his lunch partner when there were no cases and he was stuck at his desk? All her hopes had been squashed. Her dreams were crushed. Yet she still turned down the position—because she could never quite say no to him. 

Maybe it’d be easier if some other guy seemed remotely interested in her. Sure, she’d been on her fair share of dates. She really has tried to move on. It’s not her fault it’s all to no avail. Eventually, they all do something that makes her compare them to Ron, and once that happens, all hope is lost. They never stack up. 

If she was smart, she’d play the field right now, see what options are available and just go for it. With nothing better to do, she figures why not? There’s nothing wrong with women playing the field, is there? Maybe taking control of her love life is exactly what she needs to turn her luck around. And what better place to do so than right here, in a room full of people she already knows?

Um, you’re hearing your thought process, right?

She shakes her inner consciousness away and attempts to see if there’s anyone here she never considered simply because she was blinded by the best friend who never wanted anything more. It doesn’t take long for her eyes to spot Neville halfway across the room. He’s single, right? Ugh, she should really know this, considering how he’s always had a soft spot for her. Is she that shitty of a friend to anyone other than Ron or Harry?

No, stop thinking about Ron. This is the whole reason you're scouting dating opportunities, isn’t it?

Right, yes, keep looking. Oh, there’s Seamus—not that she imagines him being anything more than a fling. Three years later and he still isn’t the serious type. Would she really want to go there? Especially considering she’s the one who ruined his conquest to sleep with every Gryffindor in their year—granted, she never should have overheard that conversation to begin with, but it wasn’t her fault she’d gone up to the boys dormitory looking for Ron.

That didn’t take long.

Ignoring the voice in her head, Hermione shudders and tries not to think about that grotesque fact. At the time, she never thought she’d be the sole reason for the holdout. Because Lavender was into him and Parvati would never compete with her best friend for a man…or pursue him after. But apparently Lav and Parvati got drunk enough to opt for a threesome at some point during seventh year…Hermione never asked for any more details when she found out after the war, but good for them, she supposes?

Maybe we’ll save Seamus for an absolute last choice—’desperate times, desperate measures’ thing.

Hermione continues scanning the room and notices Colin Creevey standing on a table. There’s an old tie wrapped around his head and he’s moving wildly to whatever song is playing. Briefly, she remembers how narrowly he escaped death—the killing curse missing him by mere centimeters during the final battle. It’s nice to see him living life to the fullest. 

He’d always been so nice in school, if a little too eager to please people sometimes. Of course, it isn’t necessarily a bad quality. Maybe he could be a viable option, and she wonders briefly what he’s doing with his life now—when he’s not drunkenly dancing on tables, that is. 

And then, of course, Hermione sees the obvious—and probably best—option: Viktor Krum. Viktor, who hadn’t even gone to Hogwarts, but stepped in this weekend after finding out the teams were short a seeker. How convenient that he’d been in town the week before playing the Harpies. Apparently, Ginny had casually mentioned the tournament to him, so he’d written to Minerva and offered to fill the spot for the lacking team. 

She’d learned all this at dinner earlier when they sat together and caught up. She wouldn’t say he seemed interested, but he was definitely excited to see her, leaving her wondering if perhaps she’d shut him down too soon back in fourth year. All in the hopes that her best friend might one day notice her.

Ha, that joke’s on you. And you’re thinking about Ron again.

She averts her gaze from the Bulgarian Seeker, inwardly chastising herself as she searches for Ron amongst the sea of people. If she’s going to keep thinking about him, she might as well use the opportunity to sneak a few glances in. It’s all a good plan until she finds the red-headed apple of her eye chatting up some girl she doesn’t even recognize. 

Her meal from the Hogwarts feast churns in her stomach and now she’s sure she’s scowling. She hates how the jealousy still consumes her, but doesn’t know how to keep it at bay. 

“Begs me to come then chats up other girls all night,” she mumbles to herself, so quiet that no one could possibly overhear amongst the cacophony.

Why wouldn’t he, though?

Her inner thoughts torment her with a valid counter-argument, and she hates every second of it. He’s perfectly capable of talking to whoever he wants—male or female, it doesn’t matter. She has no claim on him. He’s not hers. He can talk to whoever he bloody well wants to. 

And you can leave. 

Yes! That’s right. She can. And that’s exactly what she’ll do. She doesn’t owe it to anyone to stay. Least of all him.

Impulsively, she grabs a half empty bottle of Firewhiskey on a nearby table, takes a swig, then heads for the portrait hole. While she intends to put the bottle back, the compulsion to nick it wins, and Hermione finds herself wandering the corridors with it after she slips out of the common room unnoticed. 

But where exactly is she headed? Truthfully, she hasn’t thought far enough ahead to consider that. The only Floo that’s open is in the opposite direction and to double back would mean she’d have to pass by the entrance to Gryffindor Tower again—something she doesn’t want to do. She supposes she could Apparate. But…wait. It’s ironic that her resentment towards her best friend makes her forget the one rule she’s chided on forever. 

You can’t Apparate in or out of Hogwarts. 

So much for thinking a quick, quiet escape was achievable. She stops walking and leans against one of the bare stone walls, welcoming the cool, rough texture against her back as she takes another swig from the bottle. If she wasn’t so mentally fried and overstimulated from the rager, she’d probably be more concerned about who else put their mouth on it. But that’s a problem for Future Hermione. Right now, Present Hermione just wants to wallow in self pity and heartache.

Too bad fate has other plans for her.

“Hermione!” an all-too-familiar voice calls. 

Well, that was short-lived.

She doesn’t respond but also doesn’t make an effort to move either. “Fuck, where’d she go?” she hears Ron say to himself. “Couldn’t have gone far, ri—there you are!”

Lolling her head to one side, she rolls her eyes. In the driest tone she can muster, she mutters, “You caught me.”

“Why’d you leave?”

Because I didn’t want to watch you take another girl upstairs to fuck.

“Too loud.”

He frowns. “Are you going home then?”

Hermione eyes him again. Why does he seem so upset about it? It’s not like he was even giving her any attention back there.

“Haven’t decided. Just needed some air.”

“Oh.” 

He watches her for a moment, then his face splits into a smile, like he’s got an idea. He reaches forward, stripping the bottle of Firewhiskey from her hand and replaces it with his own. A warm sensation shoots up her arm at the contact and she hates how much she loves it.

“What are you—” she asks when he pulls her along the corridor.

“You said you needed air, right?”

“Um, yes.” 

But it was an excuse. I wasn’t actually serious.

“Great, then come with me.”

Every fiber of her being screams that this is probably going to be a bad idea, but the fact that he’s here with her and offering more one-on-one time is hardly something she’s going to pass up. So, she lets him whisk her away, silently choosing to reap the consequences in the morning.

#submission #romione trope fest #soulmates #romione

[romione-trope-fest]

Whiskey on Rounds

Fic Title: Whiskey on Rounds

Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange

Selected Trope: OOTP Missing Moment

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione skive off prefect rounds.

Word Count: 1661

Rating: General

—

The sound of Hermione’s footsteps stumbling down the stairs functioned as an alarm for Ron, who was deep into his astronomy textbook. It was a relatively uneventful Wednesday night for the fifth years. Hermione had, of course, finished her schoolwork early, while Harry sat brooding on one of the armchairs pretending to study. As usual, Ron was on his own again, and burying himself into his homework was better than getting his head bitten off by their easily-angered best friend. 

Without a second thought, Ron slammed his textbook closed when Hermione appeared at his table. 

“Ready for rounds?”

“Yes,” he said, then added under his breath, “Thank Merlin.”

“I heard that,” grumbled Harry from his chair. 

“Sorry mate,” said Ron apologetically. “I’ll see you later.”

As predicted, Harry didn’t answer. The pair had just gotten into an argument about nothing in particular, which was extra frustrating because it couldn’t be fixed. Ron was either not angry enough about something, or too optimistic about something else. Honestly, he didn’t actually know. He just needed a break. Ron turned toward Hermione who shrugged, and the pair turned and left through the portrait hole. 

“He’s being such an arse right now,” said Ron, as soon as the portrait door closed behind them. 

“Ron. Don’t swear.”

“You know I’m not wrong, though.”

Hermione didn’t protest, as Ron had expected. The pair had talked about this before. Ever since Voldemort had returned at the end of their fourth year, and Harry had that dreadful experience in the graveyard, things had just been off with him. They complained about it in private, but Ron knew they were both just worried for him. Honestly, this year it felt like they were his parents, constantly fretting about keeping him safe, happy, and out of trouble. Not that any of their efforts mattered. 

The pair trotted through the corridors toward the east wing, where they usually began rounds, but before they reached their destination, Hermione darted down an unfamiliar corridor. 

“Hermione, where are you going?”

“Follow me,” she said, reaching for his arm and tugging him alongside her. 

“We usually start rounds in the—”

“Shhh.”

Hermione tugged a confused Ron down a winding corridor, past their classrooms and up a few staircases until they came into a more familiar hallway on the seventh floor, one that they had spent a significant amount of time in with Harry and company, but never alone.

“What are we doing with the Room of Requirement?” “Just wait,” said Hermione, her voice jittery with excitement. 

She paced the blank wall across from the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry three times. “We need a place to skive off rounds.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. Skive off rounds? Hermione would never. “Hermione, are you serious?”

She didn’t answer his question, and instead, stared intently at the wall until the door to the Room of Requirement appeared. “Let’s go!”

Ron shook his head as if to wake himself up from a dream. When nothing changed, he grinned and followed after her through another corridor, this one just recently built by the Room of Requirement itself. After a short walk through the dark, candle lit hallway, the pair emerged into what looked like a miniature, dimly lit cocktail lounge. There was a fully stocked bar in the corner, a couple of chaise lounges, and what appeared to be a muggle jukebox, which Ron only knew because it was one of his dad’s favorite artifacts. 

“This is not what I was expecting, but I’ll take it!” said Hermione. 

Ron stared at the bar. Normally, they’d have to head into Hogsmeade to get a drink, and even then they were only allowed butterbeer at their age. Even if Hermione wasn’t expecting it, Ron knew the Room of Requirement always conjured up not what the seeker expected, but what they truly needed. Maybe what Ron and Hermione needed was a drink. “Are we really doing this?”

As if to answer his question indirectly, Hermione trotted over to the bar and began perusing the selection of drinks before reaching for a bottle of firewhiskey. 

Firewhiskey, of all things. 

“Want some?” she asked. 

Ron stared at her, his mouth agape. “Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?”

Hermione whisked around to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Obviously it’s a yes.”

  x

Ron watched as Hermione fiddled with the muggle jukebox with one hand, the other clutching a glass of firewhiskey and tonic water. “I don’t really know any of these songs, but that’s okay.”

Ron wouldn���t have been much help. He also didn’t know of any muggle songs, and the jukebox in his dad’s shed had been broken for as long as Ron could remember. He sat on one of the chaise lounges and sipped away at his own drink, some strange concoction thought up by Hermione. It was tasty, sure, and Ron could tell there was a fair bit of alcohol content. He could already feel his guard coming down with each sip. Some unfamiliar music filled the room as Hermione turned and approached him before plopping down onto the other lounge. At that moment, Ron found himself wishing the Room of Requirement provided what the seekers wanted, not needed, because then there’d be a single sofa instead of two separate chairs. Then Hermione would have to sit next to him. Maybe that was the room’s way of telling him something. 

“If we get in trouble for this, I’ll take the blame, okay?” said Hermione. 

Funnily enough, the thought of getting in trouble had hardly crossed Ron’s mind. Maybe he should have been more concerned about that. Would a professor even believe this was Hermione’s idea? Probably not, but it wasn’t worth arguing about.

“So really, what brought this on?”

Hermione shrugged. “Aren’t you stressed out?”

She didn’t have to clarify why. Ron knew she wasn’t referring to homework, classes, or prefect duties, but to their mutual best friend. 

“Is this how you manage stress now?” asked Ron. “Because I could get used to this.”

Hermione laughed. “No, but I just wanted to have a good time with a friend.” 

What a welcome distraction. “Been a bit hard lately.” 

“Yeah,” said Hermione before taking another sip of her drink. 

Ron swirled his drink around in his glass. “You don’t think McGonagall will notice?”

“Us missing one day of rounds? No.”

Ron raised an eyebrow at her. “You seem so sure. Since when are you a rule-breaker?”

“I’m not a rule-breaker, Ron. That’s how I get away with breaking the rules.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does. Think about it. If a tree falls in the Forbidden Forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

Ron couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous analogy. Was that another one of those dumb muggle sayings? “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

“It’s not that I don’t break rules. It’s that I don’t get caught.”

He stared back at her, his eyes wide. Everything he thought he knew about Hermione swirled in his head like a cloud of contradictions. Hermione, the girl who thought the worst thing one could be was expelled, not killed. The one who would pull all-nighters to finish an assignment, would always be back in the common room before curfew, and would deduct house points from Gryffindor for her very own uniform violations. That was the same girl skipping rounds and drinking firewhiskey in the Room of Requirement? 

And yet, she was also the girl who illicitly brewed polyjuice potion in second year. She set Snape’s robes on fire, talked back to teachers, snuck into the forbidden forest, and blackmailed Rita Skeeter. Maybe he gave her too much credit. Or maybe not enough. 

“Have you ever had firewhiskey before?” asked Ron. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it with his own eyes. 

“Once.”

“And where did you get it?”

Hermione blushed. “I confiscated it from your brothers.”

“Fred and George?”

“Last month,” said Hermione with a nod and a giggle.

Ron burst out laughing. “Do they know you drank it?”

“No and don’t you dare tell them!”

Hermione’s bounding laugh was a welcome and contagious sound, and Ron couldn’t help but follow suit. It had been a while since they’d laughed like this without worrying about being too loud and disturbing their best friend from his homework. Or his recent brooding. In fact, Ron couldn’t remember the last time he and Hermione were alone together guilt-free. Besides prefect rounds, maybe it was this past summer? 

There was a marked difference between the two ever since the Yule Ball incident, when Ron’s feelings about their friendship became all too clear. It wasn’t that he liked Hermione like that, but that it wasn’t off the table. And her going to the ball with Krum made it seem like certain things weren’t possible anymore. But, now Krum was no longer in the picture, and Ron was sitting in the Room of Requirement with Hermione, drinking firewhiskey instead of doing rounds. Maybe things weren’t quite as off the table as he thought. 

“I like this side of you,” said Ron. A lot, he wanted to add, but he stopped himself before he could come on too strong. 

“Well don’t get used to it,” said Hermione. “This is a one time thing.”

“Sure it is,” said Ron. “Wait until Harry hears about this.”

Hermione stifled a giggle with another sip of her firewhiskey. “He wouldn’t believe you, you know.”

Deep down, Ron knew that was true. No one would believe Hermione skived off rounds and whisked him into the Room of Requirement to drink instead. It was completely absurd. Little miss rule follower, or at least that’s what everyone else thought. 

“That’s fine, I’ll keep this Hermione to myself.”

Maybe he really was the only one who got to see this side of her. Honestly, that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

#submission #ootp missing moments #romione

[romione-trope-fest]

The Talk

Fic Title: The Talk

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes

Selected Trope: Cockblocker Harry

Brief Summary: Maybe there’s a reason why Harry is always interrupting: no one ever gave him “the talk”.

Word Count: 1302

Rating: M

Any Trigger Warnings: mild spicy content and typical Weasley swearing

***

“Fuck, I missed you today.” Ron murmurs the words against her neck, and Hermione groans her approval as she claws at his t-shirt, seeking bare skin.

“I missed you too,” she purrs, letting her hands run up his chest. It doesn’t matter that they were together all day; they were at the Burrow, and they couldn’t do this. After holding out for so long, their kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts had burst a dam wide open, and any moment engaged in activities other than the current one feels like a waste. Especially with Hermione going back to school and Ron off to Auror training in a few weeks.

Ron backs Hermione toward the bed as his lips meet hers in a searing kiss. She abandons her efforts on Ron’s shirt to focus on the button of his jeans, which can be removed without his mouth leaving hers. He kicks his trousers off and they land on the floor with a dull thud before they fall on the duvet in a tangle of limbs.

The force of the landing breaks the kiss momentarily, and Hermione takes the opportunity to rid Ron of his shirt, leaving him in only his tented boxers. “You’re falling behind, love,” he teases as he reaches for the hem of her cotton sundress, letting his fingers skim her thighs as he pushes the fabric up.

Hermione sits up and obligingly holds her arms over her head. “Help me catch up, then,” she quips back, her lips twisting into a saucy smirk. Ron wastes no time adding her dress to the growing pile of clothes on the floor before diving back in for another kiss. She lies back on the bed, pulling Ron with her so that she’s surrounded by his warm, comforting weight.

As soon as Ron’s hands slip beneath her back to free her bra clasp, the sudden sound of the front door slamming from two floors below makes him pause. “I thought Harry was going out with Ginny tonight?” Ron questions.

“I thought so, too. You locked the door, though, right?”

Hermione’s eyes dart in that direction, and Ron nods in answer. He kisses her again, both of them trying to ignore the creaking sound of Harry coming up the stairs, calling for them. “Ron, Hermione! You guys home? I got pizza!”

“This is what we get for living in his house, I suppose,” Hermione grumbles as Ron pulls away from her just enough to call back to Harry.

“We’ll be down in a bit!” Ron shouts.

Despite the response, their best friend is not deterred. The doorknob rattles, and Hermione shoots an incredulous look at the bedroom door.

“Seriously?!” she hisses to Ron, who groans in annoyance.

“The pizza is going to get cold,” Harry’s voice comes through the thick wood. “You guys alright?”

“Yeah, Harry, we’re fine!” Ron looks back at Hermione, but an understanding passes between them: Harry’s appearance has thrown ice water on the mood. “We’ll be right down.”

Hermione leans up for one more lingering kiss before she slides off the bed to grab her dress. “Later,” she promises, as much to him as to herself. She hates the idea of wasting an opportunity.

Harry’s footsteps retreat as they reluctantly get dressed, both still breathing heavily. “Fuck,” Ron gripes, “it’s like he doesn’t even know what he’s interrupting.”

“Hang on.” Hermione freezes, horror-struck. “Do you think he doesn’t?”

Ron rolls his eyes. “He’s an eighteen year old bloke. He knows.”

“Really?” Hermione pops her hands on her hips and tilts her head in question. “And who do you suppose gave him the talk? The Dursleys? Dumbledore?” Hermione cringes at the possibilities, and Ron shudders along with her.

“Look,” he says hesitantly, “there was—chatter, let’s say—in the boys’ dorm. He’s at least got the basics. I promise.”

“And yet, he seems completely oblivious when we’re trying to have some alone time. We haven’t exactly made it a secret we’re together.”

Ron heaves a heavy sigh. “I know we joke about being Harry’s surrogate parents sometimes, but you’re not seriously suggesting we give our best mate the sex talk are you?”

“Well, if he’ll leave us alone so we can finish this—” Hermione waves a hand erratically between the two of them and the bed “—then I think it’s worth the momentary discomfort of making sure he’s got adequate knowledge of the subject.”

“Considering he’s going to use whatever knowledge we impart to him on my sister, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Ron!”

“Okay, okay.” Ron opens the bedroom door and gestures for Hermione to exit. ���I’ll back you up, but you’re taking the lead on this.”

“Fine.” They walk in a single file down to the kitchen, where they find Harry already eating straight from a large pizza box with a dribble of marinara on his chin.

“Hope this is okay,” Harry says in greeting as he reaches for a napkin. “That Thai place down the street had a kitchen fire or something.”

“Harry,” Hermione begins, adopting a serious tone as she and Ron sit across the table from him. “We need to talk.”

“I know, I know, we all need to learn to cook so we’re not eating takeout every night. That’s a problem for tomorrow. Have some pizza.”

He pushes a second cardboard box across the table, and Ron reaches for it, fending off Hermione’s glare with a wave of his hand. “If I can’t have what I actually want right now, I’m going to have some fucking pizza.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise in alarm, and his green eyes flit between the two of them. “Is everything alright?”

Hermione takes a deep breath. She wants to broach the topic delicately, but she’s worried there’s no way to broach it at all without embarrassing all three of them. “Well, we—that is, Ron and I—we’re worried that without having had any proper adult figures in your life, that you might have—missed part of your education.”

“Wait, are—” Harry looks to Ron to demand, “Are you going back for seventh year now?”

“What? No, Hermione thinks you need the sex talk,” Ron replies, opting for a more blunt approach as he tosses a chunk of crust back into the box.

“You what?” Harry croaks, turning back to Hermione.

“Well, it just seems like—like maybe you didn’t have anyone to tell you about these things, because when Ron and I are trying to—”

Harry cuts her off with a series of nondescript shouts and his fingers in his ears. Hermione sighs but doesn’t continue. “Look, I love you both,” Harry says once he seems satisfied to have silenced Hermione for the moment, “and I’m really happy that you’re happy, but for Merlin’s sake, I don’t need to hear about it.”

“But if you and Ginny are going to get back together and—” Hermione groans as Ron suddenly gives her the same treatment of shouting and covering his ears.

“Fucking hell, woman,” he complains. “Harry’s right, I don’t need to hear that.”

“And anyway, I got the talk, okay?” Harry adds. “Sirius sat me down before fifth year and taught me all the spells and everything.”

“Oh.” Hermione feels her cheeks flush as she realizes that Ron was right, and this conversation was actually not needed at all. Embarrassment is quickly replaced by indignation, though, as she thinks about what she should be doing with Ron right about now. “Then why are you always interrupting us?”

Harry grins at her unabashedly. “You guys are just way too easy to mess with.”

“Ugh!” Hermione pushes her chair back roughly and grabs Ron’s hand. “We’re going back upstairs now. To have sex.”

Harry makes a gagging sound, but then Hermione hears him laugh to himself as she and Ron leave the kitchen. “Yeah, I deserved that one.”

#submission #romione #cockblocker harry

[romione-trope-fest]

Ocean Eyes

Fic Title: Ocean Eyes

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: OOTP Missing Moment, Cockblocker Harry

Brief Summary: Hermione demands that Ron explain the meaning behind his Christmas gift. 

Word Count: 976

Rating: T for mild language and subtle UST

Any Trigger Warnings: None

Note: Excerpts from OOTP are bolded. 

***

"I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes"

- Ocean Eyes, Billie Eilish

Happy Christmas. You stink. Ron.

As Hermione sat at the edge of her borrowed bed at Grimmauld Place, she stared many stares at Ron's untidy scrawl. Principally confused stares. But also annoyed stares and hopeful stares and stares that were accompanied by a curious fluttering in her chest.

She switched her stare to the small perfume bottle in her other hand. After several beats, she finally opened the bottle and tentatively lifted it to her nose. Goodness, it smelled heavenly. Like chocolate and butterbeer. Like Ron.

She grew hot. Surely Ron understood the message that he was sending Hermione: I want you to smell like things that I like. Surely Ron knew what such a message meant. Surely he was not that obtuse. 

Hermione sighed. Of course, he was that obtuse. Ever since Hermione suspected Ron's feelings for her, she had given him every sign under the sun to get him to act. But each attempt was more futile than the last. Her last breadcrumb was the kiss on the cheek before his first Quidditch match. When that yielded nothing, Hermione gave up. It seemed improbable that after nearly two months of inertia, Ron would suddenly express his feelings in such a cryptically infuriating manner. 

Hermione paused. What was she thinking? It was, in fact, very much like Ron to express his feelings in such a cryptically infuriating manner. After all, Hermione had long been his favourite target for taking the mickey. Making her think he was giving her a joke gift in an attempt to throw her off his scent (no pun intended) seemed exactly like the type of rubbish Ron would put her through. 

Hermione released a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl. She tossed the note and bottle aside and fell backwards onto her bed. She lay there for a while and continued to go through all possible interpretations of the gift, including one where she convinced herself that Ron didn't fancy her and was just having a cruel laugh at her expense. Eventually, she decided to end her torture and muster the courage to confront Ron about it. 

"That perfume is really unusual, Ron,” she told him moments later as she crossed him and Harry on the stairs. 

"No problem," he responded without expression. Then he nodded towards the present under her arm and asked, “Who’s that for anyway?”

Hermione plastered a bright smile on her face and told him that it was for Kreacher. If Ron was going to pretend like gifting perfume to a female friend was something normal, then so was she. 

That resolution barely lasted until lunch. 

"What?" Ron asked when he noticed Hermione's glare. They were in the dining room, setting the table, while Molly finished up the last of her cooking in the basement.   

"What did you mean by giving me perfume for Christmas?" The words tumbled out of Hermione's mouth with the force of a landslide. 

Ron paused for a moment before setting down the items in his hand. Hermione swore that the corner of his lip twitched. "Oh, Hermione," Ron said sympathetically, his eyebrows knitting together in a show of concern. "Was the note not clear enough?" 

He grimaced and looked apologetic as he made a small wave in front of his nose. 

Hermione crossed her arms. "I'm being serious, Ron."

"I'm being serious, too, Hermione," he replied, shrugging "sheepishly," his "apologetic grimace" deepening. 

Hermione threw her cutlery on the table and turned to leave, furious with herself for playing into his hands. Then her heart caught in her throat when Ron grabbed her wrist. They remained frozen in that position for a few seconds before Hermione turned back to him slowly. 

Ron broke contact when she was facing him, leaving a ring of cold air on her skin. His face, aimed at the floor, was a beacon of red. "I gave you the perfume because…"

Ron suddenly looked up, and all signs of mischief had disappeared. His face was more serious than the snake attack that nearly killed his father. "Because," he said, rolling his shoulders back decisively, defiantly, and standing straighter, "I wanted you to know that I have an emotional range that's more than a teaspoon." 

There was no mistaking the twitch in the corner of his mouth then. "A tablespoon perhaps," he added before the mischief went away just as quickly as it had returned. 

Hermione drowned in Ron's eyes as she absorbed his words. He gave her exactly what she wanted: indisputable evidence that the perfume was given in earnest. And while his words weren't exactly an indisputable confession of love, they sounded pretty damn close to one. And yet, she was at a loss for how to proceed. Ron's eyes continued to bore into hers, anxious and expectant, making her feel as though she was hurtling down a deep, blue abyss…

"Oi, Ron," said a voice from the entryway of the dining room, making the pair—but Hermione especially—jump. It was Harry, clearly unaware of having interrupted anything out of the ordinary. "Your mum's looking for you, mate."

Ron glanced at Hermione once more before following Harry down to the kitchen. 

"You feeling okay?" Hermione heard Harry ask Ron. "You look flushed."

"Oh, yeah," Ron replied, his voice trailing away as they descended the basement stairs. "I'm just boiling in this jumper…"

Hermione let out a shuddering breath and started fixing her last place setting, desperate for something to do with her hands. She felt discombobulated and out of control as if she were still falling into Ron's ocean eyes. The only thing she was certain of was that Ron's emotional range was far greater than a tablespoon, beyond what she could have ever imagined or prepared for. Perhaps, she thought wildly, his inaction up until that point had been the right move all along…

#submission #romione #romionetropefest #ootp missing moments #cockblocker harry