#Hermione: *steadying breath* no

[sodamnradd]

Hermione couldn’t do it. She could not enter that ballroom. Every muscle in her body had locked up, refusing to take a step further.

This was why they should just keep things casual.

They were good at casual. Or their version of it. The one where they awoke in each other’s arms and Draco summoned buttery pastries and fresh strawberries to bed as they discussed their latest fascinations until noon. The occasional indulgent trips to France, where he showered her with nonsensical gifts like frilly lingerie from secret boutiques, or flowers so fresh their perfume wafted down the boulevard. Where they clinked frosty glasses of crisp champagne before he slowly undid her dress, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her shoulder. Each a promise of all the wicked things he intended to do to her as the night stretched out. The kind of casual that left a smile on Hermione’s face every morning and a lightness in her step that her friends said made her glow.

But this—

“Granger.” Draco’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his voice like velvet as he greeted her fondly.

She didn’t arch into him like she normally would, or rest her head on his shoulder so he could pepper her neck with little kisses. Her body was a tight spring, coiled with tension.

Lucius Malfoy was in there.

And their Slytherin classmates, and their parents, and their pure-blood friends.

She felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

“Darling.” Draco kissed her temple. His voice blended into the lush symphony pouring out of the Malfoys’ ballroom. Every molecule of his body belonged here. She’d never felt so alone in his company.

Sensing her distress, he guided her to a rose-adorned pillar away from prying eyes. He observed her with a mixture of concern and awe, admiring her in sheer tulle and layered skirts that intensified like dusk. Another gift, delivered with an exorbitant bouquet of her favourite peonies and an invitation to his family’s Spring Ball.

She was no idiot. She knew what it was insinuating. This wasn’t casual anymore, and she had her doubts if it ever had been.

“I-I can’t go in there.” Her voice trembled. She hoped he saw the blind panic in her eyes, pleading with him to set her free. “I’m sorry, Draco.” She hated disappointing him. It summoned strange, throbbing, rather un-casual aches to her chest.

But he only kissed her forehead and enfolded her in his firm embrace. “If you want to leave, we’ll leave,” he said in a low, careful voice. “But I promise I will never let them hurt you again. If you take my hand and come with me, I’ll make sure you feel like the most powerful woman in that room.” He stepped back, lifting her chin so their gazes met. “Because you damn well are, Hermione. You’re the most powerful person in there.”

It was the highest praise from a Slytherin. And she knew he meant it.

He looked unbearably handsome tonight in midnight blue robes that matched the darkest layers of her dress, his hair tousled just how she liked. A dazzling confidence emanated off of him. This was Draco’s world, and he wanted her to be a part of it.

She stared at his hand, palm up, fingers spread, awaiting hers to fill the gaps.

But first she asked, “Who am I to you?”

He looked at her earnestly. “I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, Hermione. If you’ll have me.”

She sighed a slow, steadying breath. Then took his hand, fortified.

He placed a light kiss on her knuckles, mouth curving into a relieved smile, and they entered the ballroom just like that—Draco’s lips pressed to the back of her hand, announcing to everyone exactly who she was to him.

(633 words, prompt: friends with benefits/spring ball/I will never let them hurt you again, cross-posted from twitter -- also, i made the prompt builder so feel free to write your own spring-themed ficlet using it!)

#dramione #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #dhr #hermione x draco #dramione drabble #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 4

Prompt: O65 - you dont think that was just lemonade in your glass do you?

AO3 or read below:

The volume in the great hall had reached a clamorous level; the buzzing din and the blood pounding in Ginny's ears, mingled until she was sure the noise was going to drown her.

She tried to catch her breath; her Quidditch robes were suddenly too tight, making her efforts pointless. The sea of students surrounding her was nothing more than a blurred, faceless mass.

A touch on her hand, so light she shouldn't have been able to feel at all, brought her surroundings sharply into focus.

“You need to eat,” Harry said quietly.

Wordlessly, Ginny nodded. She kept her eyes on her plate in front of her, refusing to let them wander to the Ravenclaw table at the opposite side of Hufflepuff. The toast Harry had placed in front of her was swimming in butter. It felt dry as cardboard as it protested its journey down her throat.

She reached for her glass, swallowing a mouthful of sugary-sweet lemonade that did nothing to ease the dryness.

“There's no need to be nervous,” Harry said, using the same quiet tone that Hermione was directing at Ron across the table. Words that were only meant for one person. “If you lose, everyone will blame me… Everyone should blame me.”

His words sparked a fire within her that had been dangerously close to dwindling out a moment before. Ginny looked up sharply from her crumb-covered plate. “We're not going to lose!”

“Right,” Harry agreed at once, one corner of his mouth twitching, threatening a smile as his eyes met Ginny's. “So there's nothing to worry about, is there?”

She felt one side of her own mouth tick up. “Who said I was worried?”

Harry's smile bloomed fully, and the sight did more to ease her nerves than any encouraging words would ever be able to. His smiles had been frustratingly infrequent since the incident with Malfoy; every one that Ginny had managed to coax out of him felt like a victory all of its own. She suspected this one was for her benefit.

“The only thing you should be worried about is how you’re going to deal with your horde of admirers once you win the cup for Gryffindor.”

Ginny's laughter escaped her without her permission, as did the words she spoke next, “and will you be among them?”

Harry took a bite of his crumpet in a very obvious attempt to delay answering. His eyes flicked across the table to Ron, who was too busy listening to whatever soft words of encouragement Hermione was whispering to him to pay attention to what Ginny and Harry were doing.

He swallowed the crumpet. “I'll be the Head of the Ginny Weasley Fan Club.”

It was probably indecent to smile as widely as she currently was in the face of the biggest match of her life.

“Well,” she said, now breathless for entirely different reasons. “Given that my win is a foregone conclusion, I hope you're ready to take the responsibilities that come with your new position very seriously.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, but his gaze was steady, unwavering where it met Ginny's. “The season will be over; I'll have plenty of spare time to dedicate to it.”

“You don't have to convince me.” She laughed again, despite the way her stomach was twisting itself into knots. “The job is yours, if you want it.”

Their eyes remained fixed on one another. If the students around them had been faceless to her before, it was like there was no one there at all anymore; like they were the only two people left in the world.

“I'm just letting you know,” Harry said quietly, no longer smiling. “In case anyone else was interested in the position.”

Ginny's voice dropped to barely a whisper. “No one else is being considered.”

A beat of silence stretched on for what could have been eternity for all she knew. Harry didn't look away. She wasn't sure she would be capable of doing so even if she'd wanted to. Whatever this thing was that had been building between them was teetering dangerously close to a precipice and she was about to fall–

“Ginny!”

Dean's voice broke the spell that had fallen over them with jarring abruptness. Harry blinked, and then his attention turned to the half-eaten crumpet on his plate.

Resisting the urge to scream in frustration, Ginny turned in the direction her name had been called from.

“Are you ready to go down?” Dean asked.

Ginny didn't need to turn back to Harry to know he'd tensed beside her.

“You go ahead,” Ginny said smoothly. “I’ve still got some toast left.”

“You can eat on the way,” Harry said quickly. “You should probably take the others down before they get too deep in their own heads.”

She hesitated, wanting to protest the suggestion of leaving Harry up here, alone, while the rest of them went down to the pitch, yet knowing his logic was sound. Ginny's eye met Katie's further down the table, a short nod was enough to instruct her to gather the rest of the team and begin ushering them out of the hall.

Hermione's hand wrapped gently around Ron's forearm, guiding him from the table. Harry stood, and Ginny followed him, wishing she could recapture the moment they’d been so forcefully removed from.

“You've successfully boosted my confidence,” she said as they made their way towards the door. “Consider your Captain duties fulfilled.”

“That wasn't me,” Harry said with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You don't think that was just lemonade in your glass, do you?”

“That little trick won't work twice,” Ginny assured him, unable to summon her own smile now their moment of separation was here.

It didn't matter, she promised herself, forcing a grin despite her mouth's reluctance, the match – and Harry's detention – would be over soon, and once she had the cup, everything would fall into place.

#hinny #harry x ginny #ginniversary bingo #guys i wrote this after too much wine #if its bad just lie to me #I'll discover the truth myself in the morning #drabble

[sailtomarina]

Mare of Desire

cw: smut, sex pollen

“Granger, are you sure we should be out here?”

She ignored his question and tugged on Draco’s hand insistently, leading him into the darkness. He nearly stumbled on a tree root in her haste. He didn’t fancy falling flat on his face in front of the girl he’d just convinced to take his bid for friendship seriously.

“Granger, slow down.”

She spun around with a huff and smacked him on his chest.

“Ow!” Draco rubbed at the spot where she’d hit him. Why was she always hitting him?

“Oh, stuff it, Malfoy. I didn’t hit you that hard.” She smirked at the wounded look he gave her and he wondered for the millionth time why he liked this witch. She was violent. She was mouthy. She made him want to tear his hair out.

He also desperately wanted to snog her until she couldn’t breathe, until she slumped in his arms and he swept her up and dragged her straight into his bed.

First thing’s first.

“Where are you taking us?”

“Trust me?” The smirk remained, but her eyes had relaxed as she searched his eyes and waited.

“Against my better judgment, yes.”

The tiny uptick of her lips widened into a grin that on any other face might be labeled evil. Granger made it look inviting. “Then let’s go.”

Her hand tightened on his and she took off again at a more measured pace. They pressed deeper into the Forbidden Forest, and Draco tried to ignore the coldness creeping across his skin, tendrils winding their way beneath the collar of his shirt and curling into his hair. They were legally adults now. The centaurs would be well within their rights to treat them accordingly if they caught them, students or not.

He tried to focus instead of the girl in front of him. Her ponytail bobbed along as she pressed forward, curls bouncing, almost inviting him to touch them. She kept up a steady hike like she’d been wandering forests all her life. Draco considered himself fit enough with Quidditch, despite the past couple of years without, but even he was feeling a tad winded from their nonstop stride. 

Just as he opened his mouth to ask her where she got all her energy from, she slowed down.

“I think it’s just up ahead.”

Draco peered past the surrounding gloom towards the soft glow beyond the small hill in their path.

“What is that?”

He only received a gentle squeeze on his hand in response. Hermione proceeded much more cautiously than she had first the bulk of their journey. Interestingly, the fear that had threatened to wrap him in a chilly embrace had abated. He wouldn’t say that he was warm, exactly, but he did feel strangely drawn to the light ahead of them.

They both gasped the moment they crested the incline. Before them sprawled a small, moonlit glade throughout which a field of dark purple flowers Draco had never before seen grew and cast a lilac glow all around them.

“They’re more beautiful than I expected,” Hermione breathed, voice reverent in her awe. 

“How did you know about this place? What are these?” As stunned as Draco was at the sight, he couldn’t shake the caution that warned him that they did not belong. As a Potions Master, his godfather had instilled in Draco a healthy respect for plant life, most especially unknown flora.

“Luna found it.”

That revelation did little to assuage Draco’s wariness. It did the opposite. He backed up a few steps, and since Granger still held his hand in hers, she looked back startled at his retreat.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t think we should be here.” Was it just him, or did the flower heads seem to all turn their direction as if watching? He shuddered at the horrible notion.

“You said you trust me, right?”

His eyes snapped back towards hers. All teasing was gone. In its place was genuine concern. She bit her lip as she waited for his reply, and he couldn’t stop himself from licking his own.

“Yeah.”

“Then keep on trusting me,” she murmured, brows rising high on her forehead in a plea. 

Without any further protest, he followed her straight into the purple haze. The flowers along the path seemed to part and accept the humans who thought themselves safe. Neither Draco or Hermione brushed the petals that arced away even as wizard and witch continued their climb.

“Here we are.” She came to a stop in front of one of the mysterious plants. Unlike the others, with their vibrant violet petals, this one was so dark and swollen it might have been identified as a poisonous variety. Rather than drop Draco’s hand, Hermione turned to beckon him forward next to her. “I’ll cut it. Try to catch it without moving it too much. Keep it upright.”

He nodded his understanding and raised his free hand to hover in preparation. One severing charm later, and the bud landed softly in the palm of his hand.

“Gently now,” she breathed, watching him as he pulled their spoils closer. “One moment…”

She fumbled at her bag. While she did so, Draco found himself leaning forward. Why had she been so particular about the flower’s handling? His head bent as his wrist tipped, nose brushing against the opening. There was a fleeting fragrance, one he hadn’t noticed before somehow, even surrounded as they were.

Herimone popped back upright, jar in hand. “Here we are—Draco, no!”

He inhaled deeply, heady with a perfume both alien and altogether too familiar. Salty, tangy, sweet, fleeting, all-encompassing—

His nose was almost buried within the opening, pressed up against the stigma and its surrounding stamen. A painful grip on the back of his head yanked him backwards, sending a cloud of yellow pollen into the air around them.

Of course, Hermione breathed in as she opened her mouth to no doubt yell at him for his stupidity. The tight strain on his strands loosened, and she shuddered in place as she, too, inhaled deeply a second time. They stood there, sucking in lungfuls of pollen-filled air like a couple of addicts.

It could have been mere minutes, or hours. They were never sure. When they came to their senses, the moon still hung in the sky, the flowers around them still gave off their light, but the black specimen for which she had searched through the entire field hung limp in Draco’s fist, lacking its original turgidity.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what came over me—” Draco turned to face her in his apology, but froze the instant their eyes connected.

Whatever caused the other flowers to glow seemed to now affect Granger, the same lilac shade radiating off her pale skin.

“Draco…you’re glowing…” she whispered.

He’d look down at himself, but found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. Now that they stood close, noses brushing against one another in their inspection, he could see gold flecks throughout irises he’d once thought only dark brown. Thick lashes blinked, and he mimicked her action.

“I feel…strange.”

“Me too.”

They whispered to one another as if afraid someone would overhear them, but of course they were all alone in their glade.

“What was that flower?” His lips hovered over her own. He wasn’t quite touching.

“A Mare of Delight.” Her tiny puffs of air teased him. “It’s a—”

“Powerful aphrodisiac. It’s a myth,” he finished for her. He’d heard the stories. The boys always liked to toss back and forth what ifs about the legendary plant. WIthout even thinking about it, his hands slid into her hair, tugging her head back so he arched over her like a predator about to devour its prey.

“It’s not a myth.” Fingers grasped his collar and tried to tug him forward.

“It is,” he choked out, straining against her pull but not stepping away, either.

“Then why do you want to fuck me so badly right now?”

Her vulgarity shocked him almost as much as it turned him on.

“I wanted to before we even came down here.”

The moment the words left his lips, her eyes flashed and she wound her arms around his neck to yank him down to the ground with her.  Draco struggled to not crush her with his weight, forearms dropping to cage her in beneath him, knee parting her thighs.

“I also have something to confess,” she drawled in a near perfect imitation of his usual unaffected veneer. She arched her hips up against his leg and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing back into her.

“And what’s that?”

The combination of her body pulling him forward and the pressure of his swollen need within the too-tight confines of his trousers had him mad with need.

“I want the same thing.” Faster than he could react, she dropped a hand between them and squeezed.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her look so pleased as he jerked into her grasp. “Granger…” he groaned, still holding himself back.

She wasn’t having any of that. Both hands now at work, she tugged open his trousers and slipped one in to palm him skin to skin.

“Oh, fuck, I’m going to, shit Granger—” With a shout, he came, the wetness of his cum covering her hand and his own clothing. The relief was immediate, radiating outwards to his limbs and giving him a brief moment of lightheadedness.

She squeezed once more.

Fuck.

He was still hard.

Hermione leaned forward to nibble at his ear, her fingers continuing to stroke through his spend. “My turn.”

She sat up slowly and pushed against his chest with the palm of her hand, encouraging him to fall onto his back with her hovering above him. With a wink, Hermione tucked her fingers, one set clean, the other sticky, under the waistband to tug off his bottoms. A glorious mess covered his crotch. He would’ve been embarrassed if not for the way she bent down and immediately licked up the underside of his shaft.

“You taste delicious.”

He laughed in disbelief as she proceeded to lap up every bit of evidence until he glistened with her spit, the tip of his cock oozing more precum in anticipation of more.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered. He raised a brow at her tone, but did as she asked, undoing the buttons and shrugging off the layers as she stood up to do the same. 

The moon and surrounding flora only added to her light from within, the very tips of her fingers, nipples, and hair brightened by the force propelling them both towards one another. Blame the Mare of Delight. Call it fulfilled fantasies. They now followed a path that would not be deterred by anything less than a cataclysmic disaster.

He held out his hand in invitation. She took it.

Hermione straddled him, one hand positioning him at her entrance. Draco wanted to stop her, to pull her up and have her sink onto his face. She deserved nothing less than to be worshipped. He craved a taste, to drink in her essence and make her scream out his name from his tongue alone.

One warning look from her put such thoughts aside. He would sample another time, if she’d let him. He wouldn’t keep from her what she demanded in this moment; he didn’t have it in him to deny her. The barest brush of his cock against her proved he wasn’t the only one leaking from want. She was drenched in her own juices, and they liberally coated him as she made one pass, then two. She notched him in place before setting both hands atop his knees, then, with a sigh of relief, sank down to take him in fully.

Maddening heat. Pressure from all sides. A sleeve of molten liquid.

She felt like everything he’d dreamed, but nowhere near what he’d imagined. 

She was more.

She was his.

Using his knees as leverage, she pulled up to the tip, then dropped down with force, grinding at the hilt and squeezing her inner muscles. They both moaned at the thrumming pleasure that held them over the edge. Only two strokes, and Draco was ready to explode.

“I’m so close,” she panted. 

He couldn’t even reply, he was so focused on not finishing before her. Instead, he grabbed onto her hips and rocked into her even deeper. She nearly fell onto him in her shock, palms slapping down onto his chest to stay upright. The look she gave him begged permission, and he jerked out a single nod.

Keeping her hands on his pecs, she used him in her pursuit of her own climax. All Draco could do was hold on for dear life. She rode him with abandon, panting loudly, thighs quivering each time she slammed back down onto him.

“Un, un, un!” She’d lost her battle with words. He could feel her walls pulsing in a warning, one he took seriously.

He rotated his thumb to hover around the hood of her clit. She whined at the hint of his touch and he increased pressure to rub circles in time to her own thrusts. Hermione’s grip on his skin tightened, nails digging into the skin. Her mouth dropped open as she flung her head back.

“Ahhhh, ahh!” The moment she convulsed, he firmly grasped her hips and took over for her, lifting and bringing her back down to prolong her ecstasy. He felt his cock swell, then explode deep into her. The thought that he filled her consumed him with a rabid desire to possess.

He gripped the back of her neck to protect her as he flipped them over. She squealed at the change in position, hands flying out to grab onto the stems of the nearby plant life and hanging on as he took control. Even though he’d come twice now, he still felt painfully hard.

Keeping his hand behind her head, fingers sliding up and into her curls, he used his other hand to grasp her thigh and spread her wide. He’d probably leave bruises, but that made him mad with need, too. His cum in her, his marks on her skin. 

His.

With that word echoing in his mind and need vibrating through his core straight into his cock, he drove into her repeatedly with a reckless desire to own her completely. He wanted her to ache with the feeling of him inside of her for weeks. His spend would leak past her knickers and drip down her legs and leave a trail for everyone to know that she was taken.

His heart pounded so loudly he felt deafened by his own race to completion. The closer he got, the more reluctant he felt about letting go. He desperately needed to finish. He never wanted this moment to end.

The twisted emotions must have shown on his face, because one moment he was in agony, and the next he felt fingers winding into his hair, palms cupping his face.

“Draco.”

The soft plea of his name caused him to slow. He looked up from her gorgeous bouncing tits, the nipples flushed pink, and fell into the pools of her eyes. He was drawn forward, his body pressing close, chest to chest.

“Kiss me, Draco,” she whispered.

Had they not…? Oh.

His mouth sought her own, and the moment they touched, he was lost in her, all worries falling away. Her tongue traced the seam of his lips. Upon the parting of them, she delved in and mimicked the rhythm of his hips, circling and sucking and shoving him right up against the precipice of his inevitable destruction.

Her kiss inhaled his moan as his release struck, sure and complete. He bucked with each pulse of spend coating her insides. She continued to hold him close as he groaned and rode out his pleasure until only ripples remained. With a final nip to her bottom lip, he collapsed, finally spent and all energy drained out of him and into her.

They must have fallen asleep like that, Draco’s body weighing her down, Hermione’s holding him close in acceptance, because the next thing he remembered was his eyes opening to the sensation of fingers tracing patterns on his back. They’d somehow rotated onto their sides, their arms and legs still intertwined.

“Fucking Luna,” he murmured. Runes. She was drawing runes on him. Protection. Devotion.

“I hope not,” Hermione teased in reply. 

He huffed, still reluctant to move and dispel this dream they’d fallen into. “I’m yours, now, you minx. Unless that wasn’t already clear.”

Propping her head up on one hand, she looked down at him, a smile threatening to take over her expression. “Yeah?”

He found the energy to dart out a hand and tweaked her nipple.

“Hey!”

“Yours,” he affirmed.

Hermione sobered at his tone, bringing her free hand up to cover his own where it still lay close to her chest. She brought it up to drop a kiss to their knuckles. She met his gaze, eyes softening and a smile filling her features and his heart with warmth.

“And I’m yours.”

WC 2864

10/7 "Sex Pollen" prompt for 2023 @hpkinktober Fest

Cross posted on AO3

This is my first time participating in Kinktober, not surprising really since I only started writing fanfiction last December. I'm still kinda shy about writing straight smut with very little to no story, so…yeah. Here's my attempt! Sex! Plants! What more could I ask for?

#hp kinktober 2023 #dramione #dhr fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger #draco malfoy #sex pollen

[multifandomsimagine]

Imagine Bill and Fleur being worried when you get injured during the Battle of the Seven Potters

Mrs. Weasley is the first person they see when the Thestral nears the Burrow. Its wings forcefully flap, making the grass below them shake as it tries to steady itself to land safely. As soon as its hooves touch the ground, Bill is off its back, sliding off first to help Fleur down, the Polyjuice Potion fading away as her features slowly come back. Looking over the area, they don't spot you anywhere, an action that has a nervous feeling washing over them.

When she reaches them, Mrs. Weasley holds Bill at arm's length, quickly scanning over him for any sign of injury. When she sees nothing, she pulls Bill into a hug, a sigh of relief escaping her. "Bill, thank Merlin you're okay!"

Though he returns the gesture, he's quick to break it as he makes her meet his gaze. "Mum, where's [Name]?

Hearing your name leave his lips, Fleur moves closer to the two, holding the crook of Bill's elbow to get a better look at the matriarch. "Has she made it back yet?" Her blue eyes carefully scan her face for any clues to your whereabouts.

At the questions, Mrs. Weasley's eyes water which makes the two's stomachs drop. They quickly rush inside, Mrs. Weasley right on their heels as she begins explaining the situation. "We have no idea what happened. She arrived by herself via the portkey but we don't know what happened to the protector with her. She was unconscious and she hasn't woken up yet." Before the two can cross the threshold where you are, she grabs their wrist. The two look at her with tears clouding their vision. "I tried healing her up as much as I could and Hermione and Ginny are helping clean her up but it's really bad."

Their eyes widen in horror before running into the room. They see Ginny first, standing beside the couch with a damp towel in her hands as Hermione is wringing out another one, they watch as red falls down into the bucket beside them. Gaze moving down, they gasp when they finally see you.

"Mon amour!" Fleur cries out, rushing to your side as she kneels beside you. The blue sweater you had worn to match the other Harrys had turned red which matched the dried stain on your face. There's a gash on your forehead and your hair's shorter than when you left the Dudley's, the ends of it having been singed off. But it's your shoulder that worries them. The right shoulder of your clothes had been burned off and your arm fared no better. Your skin had begun sloughing off, blisters forming in its place as fluid oozed out of the wound.

"We saw them last with the Carrows chasing after them but we lost sight of them after that," Remus said with Ron nodding beside him.

Bill takes the towel from Ginny as he moves to sit at your side. He begins gently dabbing your forehead with it as he tries to remove the dried blood. He pauses when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he sees his dad staring down at him. "She'll be okay, son. [Name]'s a strong witch."

He nods and takes a deep breath. Turning back to you, he continues cleaning you up as Fleur does the same beside him though not before pressing a kiss to your arm as she murmurs your name in a pained tone.

#bill weasley x reader #bill weasley imagines #bill weasley imagine #fleur delacour x reader #fleur delacour imagine #fleur delacour imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #bill wealsey x reader x fleur delacour #fleur delacour x reader x bill weasley #poly writing #poly x reader #yoshino writes imagines #changed around the canon a bit #wanted it to be more angsty #one day I will stop writing for them but today is not the day #birthday event #birthday event 2023

[simplifiedemotions]

Make Me

“You want to shave my face?” 

Hermione does her best to not look away from Draco’s probing gaze. He knows her so well now, she thinks, as his mirrored frown reveals her expression of guilt.

It’s her fault he’s so heavily wounded, having protected her from a swarm of dark-hooded figures whilst on a reconnaissance mission in Budapest. 

It's her fault they’re stuck in a Muggle hotel and unable to use their wands for fear of being traced.

Draco’s silver eyes gleam as he regards her. “And why offer, Granger?”

Oh, but the bastard is amused at her expense. She’d throttle him if the guilt didn’t eclipse any other feeling. 

Well, almost any other feeling. She meets his penetrating gaze again.

“It took you over an hour just to take a simple shower. You’re clearly not suited to take care of yourself.”

“And?” 

Her ineffable heart quickens when he lazily leans back on the settee that’s set against the wall. In invitation. He lifts his good shoulder in question.

She fiddles with the long sleeves of Draco’s black cloak. He had draped it over her when he saw how badly she was shivering after their attack. 

She still hasn’t taken it off.

“I also thought it would be a good way to pass the time for both of us.”

“And you thought putting a sharp blade to my face was a good way for us to pass time?” 

“You’ve been scratching your jaw like mad! I honestly don’t know why you haven’t shaved it at all since we’ve gone on this mission.” 

“Perhaps I’ve been waiting for you to offer.”

He always reverts to being a suave flirt when he’s angry or worried. She doesn’t know when she’s started to be able to tell how he’s really feeling, but she sees it in the almost imperceptible ways: in the tight line of his jaw as he clenches his teeth, and the bruised knuckles of his tightly clenched fists that he gathers at his sides.

He screws up his eyes as she touches his face. It shouldn’t endear her so much to see that he cares about her well-being, but the private part of her relishes in the idea.

When did that happen? When had he become the person she trusted most to have her back?

With her free hand, she conjures a razor and dips it into the bowl of warm water she had set aside earlier.

“Okay?” she asks in a soft voice, steadying her trembling hands. Her own breath is loud in her ears. 

He opens his eyes, and the heat of his gaze makes her nerve endings shutter.

“Go on.”

She slathers the shaving foam she’d found in one of the drawers into her hands, rubbing the soft soapy substance between her palms before gently touching it to Draco’s face. 

Draco makes a tsking sound at her. “Magic?”

“Wandless magic isn’t as easily traceable,” she explains, knowing she sounds breathless as she explores the planes of Draco’s face. His skin is smooth except for where sparse hair grows on his cheeks and jaw.

“Does that mean my beard will grow back?”

“You’re unbearable, you know that?” she snaps, tipping his chin up and shaving the left side of his jaw. “You know how traced magic works. And let’s not get too ahead of ourselves and call whatever is ominously growing on your upper lip a beard.”

She pretends his smile is ugly. “I’m afraid my injuries have caused a Weasley-shaped atrophy in my brain.” 

She purposely makes a small cut at the highest tip of his left cheekbone, smiling at his dramatic hiss of pain.

“You deserved that one.”

“Hardly.” He looks at her. “You don’t need that much foam,” he says as she swipes more on his face.

“Shh. You wouldn’t want me to slip.”

He gives her an unimpressed raise of his brows, but keeps quiet as she moves forward with the razor and makes a diagonal cut up from his jaw to the bottom of his cheek.

His warm breath against her cheek makes her shiver. Her heart makes funny sounds in her chest.

Hermione clears her throat. It’s so hard “I need to get closer.”

She tries not to think about it too much, as she goes forward and lifts her legs so that she can climb onto Draco’s lap, careful to not jostle the makeshift sling holding his left arm in place.

She glides like water, supported by the weight of his hand on her waist. He draws her closer until they are chest to chest. She’s trembling all over, unable to connect the flurry of her feelings spearing through her with the other, more rational part of her brain.

Draco doesn’t flinch as she slices the hair on his upper lip away. His trust in her is the thing she treasures most.

His fingers court the curves of her body; her hands frame his face like an artist making something beautiful out of clay.

Ignoring her stuttering heart and the warmth pooling beneath her navel, she wipes the razor on a hand towel before starting on the other side of his face.

Their noses touch as she moves back, and Hermione can’t help the motion of moving against him, feeling his skin against her own, as the whiff of minty shaving cream and the body soap Draco used in the shower creates an altogether unbalancing sensation.

“Granger.”

She startles, looking up.

“Are you finished?”

Instantly, Hermione feels embarrassed. Draco likely thinks she’s being an idiot. Here she is, practically purring on his lap, and he’s just trying to get her off him as soon as possible.

“I’m so sorry,” she says as she starts to move back and off his lap. “That was completely inappropriate and I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want—” good god, what is she saying? 

Maybe she can go live out the rest of her days in some homestead on another continent where no one can find her. Better yet, an entire planet. One where she isn’t likely to meet any other handsome blond men who unnerve her the way this one does.

Draco’s arm tightens around her waist as he grunts and brings her even closer than she was before.

He grabs hold of Hermione’s chin between two fingers so that she meets his steady scrutiny.

“I never said I didn’t enjoy you being on my lap, Granger.”

“Oh?” she stutters out. “Then, why—”

He leans back just enough so they’re at eye level.

She is so used to him towering over her that it’s disorientating—heady, to be able to lift her head and look down at him. 

“I just need to make you aware that there is only so long I can stay still when you are squirming in my lap like that. ”  

Hermione flushes. Oh. “I was not—” She goes still. “I am not,” she states firmly.

He slowly starts tracing the sensitive ridges of her spine. Up and down. Up and down. She jerks in his lap.

“I’m sure I could make you move even more,” he murmurs. 

Hermione narrows her eyes in defiance. “And I’m sure I could stay completely still.”

Heated grey eyes scorch her. “Is that a challenge, Granger?”

Here again, at a standstill. The same game they've played before.

It started with a hesitant step forward from both sides, with a tentative touch of two mouths and trembling hands. With Draco pulling her closer and closer, as Hermione’s breath hitched at his shoulder as she wrapped herself around him.  All those months ago, and now again here.

Now, it starts with her initiative, as she leans forwards until her mouth hovers over his. She thrills at the unsteady breath that leaves him, and the way his hand fists her shirt.

As if now that he’s caught her in his grasp, he’s never going to let go.

“Let me be good for you,” he whispers at the shell of her ear.

Make me, she wants to whisper, but satisfies herself by running her soap-scented fingers through Draco’s still wet hair.

He huffs a laugh against her collarbone.

Hermione is shaking as she draws back just enough to look at him. It feels foolishly hard to look away. 

“Is that a challenge?” she asks.

Draco smiles at her. 

“If you want it to be.”

She leans in and places her hand over his heart, triumphant at how it pounds underneath her palm. She is not the only one who is so easily affected.

“Why don’t you show me?”

#dramione #dhr #dhr fanfiction #Hermione Granger #Draco Malfoy #my writing

[pitchblackveins]

easy

(wrote this drabble a month ago for @takearisk-ao3 but forgot about it til right now when i found it in my drafts whoops here you go hannah happy extremely belated birthday!)

read on ao3

some things were still easy, harry mused, running his finger idly up ginny’s calf. they were lying in the field behind the burrow, he and ginny and ron and hermione (he thought it like that in his head, meandginnyandronandhermione, each a singular unit, part of two separate units, one total unit) and he had lain back to look at the stars, ginny’s laughter dancing above him, their voices a murmur, and he was just drunk enough to drift out of the conversation and let it float around him without having to process a word, feeling contemplative but not yet maudlin (at the edge of his thoughts flickered the tint of depression–he purposefully avoided it, knowing that once he slipped in that direction he would keep sliding that way until he couldn’t breathe, and tonight wasn’t the night for that)

he stared up at the stars and thought about things that were still easy. feeling ginny's smooth skin under his fingertips. taking another sip of his drink (another one of ron’s concoctions, cheap firewhiskey mixed with gillywater and a cloying homemade juice luna had brought over last week, ingredients to be kept a secret, which none of them had been drinking, but ron claimed he had perfected a use for it–– the gillywater dilutes it and the firewhiskey cuts the sweetness, i’ve made the perfect drink this time––it was definitively not good, but in the realm of drinkable)

he trailed his fingers further up ginny’s leg, dipping into the hollow under her knee––sex was easy, so easy for them, the way they fit together, the way he could tune into the tiniest hitches in her breath––harry shifted slightly at that thought, and made an effort to refocus on the conversation–– “to be fair,” hermione was saying, through a slight hiccup, “to be fair, it did look like a kneazle! i saw the split tail!”

“no,” ginny was shaking her head, breathless with laughter, “for the tenth time, a fox with a stick stuck in its tail does not look anything like a kneazle! ron, back me up here, you saw the fox––”

ron grinned at hermione from the other side of the blanket, lounging back on his elbows, “i dunno, could’ve been a kneazle from where i stood. i’ve seen crookshanks give me a similar sly glance, and he’s part kneazle, isn’t he––”

“oh, you’re no help––” ginny looked down at harry, who was surprised to realize that it seemed this was a story being retold for his benefit–– “i swear, harry, she was out here this morning trying to catch a normal fox for two hours, ron and i came out and she was telling us off for tripping her sensory spell, and then this fox with a stupid messed-up tail came sprinting through the orchard, and she actually shot an impedimenta at it––”

“it’s late. i’m going to bed” hermione announced imperiously, cutting ginny off. she got up with an impressive steadiness, given she was still hiccuping, and set off towards the house.

ron pushed himself up and stood to his full height, stretching his arms above him and letting out a groan. he looked down at ginny and harry, neither of whom had budged, and shrugged. “where hermione goes, so goes my nation," he said, and strode off, with a "g’night, you two,” tossed over his shoulder, quickly catching up to his girlfriend and grabbing her around the middle, eliciting a squeak.

harry looked away from his two best friends and back to ginny, who was smirking down at him. “i thought they’d never leave” she whispered, and she kissed him, soft and sweet. he lost himself in the kiss, the darkness in the corners of his mind ebbing away, pushed away by a cloud of ginnyginnyginnyginny, and he took firmer hold of her leg where his hand still rested and tugged her down on top of him (and she came easily, the most natural movement in the world, and some things––very few things––some things were easy).

#hp fic #hinny

[lupine-trees]

tidings of comfort & joy

[ the boys spend a cozy christmas morning with the weasleys. something light & homey for the season— wishing you all a merry drarry christmas & happy holidays. ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ]

word count: ~350, rating: g

On Christmas morning, Molly opens the newspaper-wrapped gift last. As the fabric unfolds with a soft swish in her hands, her eyes well. “A tea towel?” George snickers, and Angelina shoves an elbow into his side.

Molly raises it to her cheek, a deep cream against the rosy, freckled flush of her face. “A scarf. It’s a cashmere scarf.”

Then she’s crying in earnest and Bill is resting a steady hand on her shoulder as Percy pulls a handkerchief from the interior of his cigar jacket. Angelina’s giving George an earful, and in spite of the glint in his eye he looks a bit like he wants to sink into the sofa. Fleur’s rocking the baby, who snoozes on unbothered, and Charlie’s laughing, delayed over the patchy Floo connection, and Hermione’s leaning into Ron’s side, trying to stay awake in spite of the circles under her eyes. Harry’s hand settles at the base of Draco’s spine.

Suddenly the room feels so full, full to bursting, and Draco’s not sure he can breathe, feels his face going blotchy, throat tight, that old tickle persistent behind his eyes. He exhales.

“Alright,” Ginny says, “who made Mam cry on Christmas?“ And Molly laughs, but it’s a warbly sound.

She looks up and finds Draco’s eyes, a smile easy on her lips. “Thank you, dear,” she says. “Look at me, blithering like an old biddy. I’ll ruin the thing before I even get to wear it.” She swipes at her eyes, laughing. “Who’s next?!” she demands, suddenly ready to be done with it, the tears and the watching. “It’s Christmas, for Merlin’s sake!”

Harry’s arm wraps around Draco’s side, tugging him closer. “You did good,” Harry murmurs into his neck, and Draco hums, turning to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

As the morning goes on, the family opening gifts and laughing and bantering and filling the room with pure Weasley-ness, Draco’s eyes drift back to Molly’s hands, folded in her lap, stroking the cashmere. The scarf had been his mother’s once. His heart quivers. Maybe, in some way, it is, here, now, too.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry drabble #i hope the end of the year treats you all kindly <3 #& may this humble offering bring some comfort & joy #fic tag #lup writes #mine #draco x harry #drarry fanfic #(i’ve had this one in the notes app for ages) #(it makes me smile— glad to share it <3)

[cardinalone-ao3]

Nov. 15 - Run!

@hinnymicrofic

The Burrow - Summer of 1996

They hid behind the bush next to the large oak tree. It was the perfect hiding spot and vantage point.

All they had to do was wait.

“Are you sure he’s going to go for it?” she asked, not entirely convinced Ron would fall for it. I mean the string was right there. He was an idiot though, especially when good was involved.

Harry just shot her a lopsided smirk that made her stomach swoop. Or maybe it was the earthy scent that she couldn’t shake around him.

“Course, I am. He’s my best mate, but he’s never seen a pudding he didn’t like.”

She nodded - it was a fair assessment.

“Besides, I pulled this loads of times on my cousin and his gang, when they…”, but he stopped mid sentence, a crease forming between his eyes.

“When they what”, she whispered.

He just shook his head. “Nothing, forget about it. It’ll work.”

She furrowed her brow, wondering what he was going to say. But then, he shifted his weight to the other foot and his shoulder bumped up against her accidentally. He reached out a hand to grab her shoulder to steady himself - sending her an apologetic smirk. It made her heart hammer a little faster.

She liked this, being friends. Actually having a summer together. Pulling pranks. She would do anything to get his mind off of…well, Sirius and everything.

Just then the back door sprung open and Ron and Hermione came out - flirting bickering about something or what.

“Shhh,” she whispered loudly to him, smacking his arm repeatedly although neither one of them had said anything. He shot her a look that said he’s got it and her heart started racing again.

It was going to be perfect.

Ron and Hermione made straight for the pond and she couldn’t believe their luck.

Walking up, Ron caught sight of the treacle tart slice lying in wait - clearly missing the light string hooked on the plate.

“Ah, perfect,” Ron said and bent down mid argument to reach for it.

“Honestly, Ron - it could be infested with bugs. You have no idea how long it’s been there,” Hermione said. And that would have been a great idea.

She shot Harry a look and could tell by his eyes lifting that he was thinking the same. What a missed opportunity.

He shot her an appraising look and she nodded for him to go ahead. Just as Ron reached down, Harry pulled the string and the plate moved a few paces toward the pond.

Ron paused mid-grab, appraising it. “What the- did you see that?!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, already back on whatever they were flirting arguing about.

In the split second Ron looked at her, she grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled the string back more. It was closer to the pond now, right near the curve of the bank, but Ron wouldn’t notice. What with Hermione and the prospect of free pudding there for the taking.

He turned around, seemed to appraise it for a minute, before shaking his head like he was seeing things.

She and Harry were both shaking with barely contained laughter at this point.

Just a bit further…

Ron reached for the plate again and just as Ron was taking hold, Harry pulled the string again hard - the resulting surprise causing Ron to curse, lose his footing on the bank, and tumble right into the pond.

Jackpot.

He let out a howl of frustration as Hermione shrieked, finally figuring out what was happening.

Ron stood soaked in water and looked around for the culprit. “WHAT THE- WHO-“

Neither of them could help it. She and Harry were both doubled over, laughing hard.

“That’s for taking the last slice of treacle tart your Mum made me!” Harry bellowed.

Ron whirled around and caught sight of them both. “Are you serious!? You two!?” Even Hermione was laughing at this point.

Breathing heavy between laughs, a stitch starting to form in her side, she couldn’t help but double over again.

That was until she saw Ron racing out of the pond - threatening to pull them both in.

She didn’t have time to react. Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. “Run!”, he bellowed.

As she took off toward the safety of the orchard with him, she thought that If there was such a thing as heaven, it would be something like this.

#hinny #hinny microfic #hbp missing moment #Harry and Ginny shenanigans

[chiwi-la-capybara]

My top 5 Snape fics!

I wanted to share some of my Snape fics in the hopes that you will share yours with me in the comments or in your own posts. These are my personal favorites that I go back to reread the most. I have my own favorite tropes, so these are all somewhat angsty, hurt/comfort, and you might notice Snape gets bathed in several of these lol. Warning, these fics contain sexual content and are NOT appropriate for all ages.

5. Contempt, by Danpuff (2022)

Snarry

I don't normally like Snarry but this blew me away. This is the best enemies to lover fic I've ever read. The line between hate and love is thin my friends.

Excerpt:

The black and the white material hang open around Snape's thin frame. He's not beautiful anywhere, is he? Pasty skin with marks of discoloration. Old, faded scars. Wiry black hair. Concave chest, prominent ribs, soft belly. Harry feasts his eyes on the ghastly sight and trails reverent fingers down. Down over flat brown nipples and a long raised scar. Over a patch of rough, brown skin. Over coarse black curls. His skin is warmer than Harry expected.

4. The Underground, by me, Chiwi_la_Capybara (2023)

HG/SS

This is a shameless plug of my own fic. But it is one of my favorites.

Excerpt:

Snape licked his lips, looked up at her from beneath heavy eyelids. She looked carefully back at him, at the double wrinkle at the corner of each eye, and the purple semicircles that ringed his lower lids. The long thick black eyelashes gave his eyes a melancholy cast.

There was a certain magnetism about him. She lifted up the blanket and drew close to him, laid his head on her shoulder and anchored him to her. The warmth of his body against hers felt as close to sex as anything she had known in the past five years. He blinked at her sleepily, and his black eyes were two moons. Snape slept with his face pressed into the crook of her neck, his warm breath sputtering over her throat. 

3. Traumlieder, by Rexluscus (2011)

Snape/Luna Warning, Luna is underage in this fic and there's dubious consent on both sides. This one's very smutty. Take this warning v seriously.

Snape being bewildered by Luna is such a joy. Rexluscus is an incredibly writer. They have this tone that's kind of sarcastic, kind of loving, and real perverse all at once.

Excerpt:

Snape dreamed of a creature. It had yellow hair and smelled like a cherry orchard, and it spoke with a voice both exotic and deeply, achingly familiar. Its hands were as delicate and fragile as a doll's, but its skin was warm and velvety as it tickled him below his navel. It was petting him, quieting him, and he was drifting into lassitude—all except for the exquisitely urgent want in his groin. The creature seemed aware of that; it was touching him there now, shocking like the touch of a naked flame, and as ecstasy radiated from his middle and flooded out the pain in his limbs he only now recognised by its absence... A warm breeze tickled his bare skin, and the creature laughed. He thought he could see its eyes somewhere far above him, round and lambent, like watery planets setting in a warm twilight.

2. Exaltation, by Eldritcher (2022)

Dudley/Snape.

I know Dudley and Snape sounds ick but trust me, its strange and wonderful. Only Eldritcher could have pulled this one off. Eldritcher once told me their writing has been influenced by the Greek poet Ovid, and you can tell.

Excerpt:

Harry was not taught to swim. Snape betrays the tell-tale signs of a man who has never learned to swim. Like Harry, Snape does not have fat on his bones to lift him up easy. He steps into the water, because Dudley asks him to. Dudley holds him by the waist, steadying him until he finds his level. Snape is pale, paler than the primroses closing and curling up for the night. It is all Dudley can do to refrain from catching the trembling bony shoulders to massage back the blood into circulation.

1. Self-Slain Gods on Strange Altars, Scumblackentropy (2013)\

SS/HG Warnings for an underage/student Hermione.

This is the fic that really got me into this fandom back when I was a teen. The writing is uneven, but Snape feels so real in this story.

Excerpt:

What, what, what?she asks herself as she slowly, slowly, slowly lets her palm flatten against his damp robes and slowly, slowly, slowly stands on tiptoe. His head pulls back as he tries to hold eye contact, but she never tries to look away. She vaguely registers that he has a long throat. Long. Muscled. Pale.

“You’re wrong.”

How?she asks herself as a strangled, indignant aching noise comes out of his mouth and she slowly, slowly, slowly presses herself into him, and his eyes widen in that way that breaks her heart, and she feels his blood-soaked body hard-angled and warm against hers, and she thinks that maybe she can forgive him.

#snape fanfiction #snape fandom #pro snape #pro severus snape #severus snape

[draco-dormiens]

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Seventeen

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

warnings: angst, strong language, a little steamy

wc: 2287

masterlist

pls let me know if you want to be tagged!! if your name is bold, i couldn't tag your blog :( tags at the end ♡

Chapter Seventeen - Hope is a Heartache

"To do what, exactly? Upset her even more?" Hermione snaps, and Draco lets go of her wrist.

"Granger-"

"I should scold you for making my friend suffer," she goes on to say, "do you have any idea how hard tonight is for her? What makes you think I'll allow you to make it worse?"

Draco stands, speechless. Hermione is heaving, her eyes hard and cold. He knows the look all to well. He lets out a deep, defeated sigh.

"Please," he pleads quietly, a tone Hermione has never heard before, "please. Let me go after her."

Hermione steadies her breathing, and straightens her posture.

"What are you planning," she asks cooly.

"I just want to talk to her," Draco says sincerely, "that's all. I don't want to hurt her anymore."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," Hermione mutters, "the damage is very much done, Malfoy."

"She's told you everything then, huh?" he chuckles sadly.

"As if she wouldn't," says Hermione.

It fell quiet for a few seconds. Hermione could see the turmoil in Draco's features. Momentarily she feels for him and the weight he must be carrying. Just then, from the corner of her eye, she spots Edward frantically looking around the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Go," Hermione speaks quickly, ushering Draco to move, "I'll distract Edward."

"Thanks, Granger-"

"Don't thank me," Hermione spits as she hurries towards the bewildered Ravenclaw boy. Draco could hear her telling Edward that Y/N isn't feeling too well, and that she just needs some time to gather her thoughts.

He rushes through the castle, panicking that you've retreated to your dorm and out of his reach. He makes haste towards the tower, thinking it must be where you've ran off to. Draco opens every door he comes across, skidding around each corner. When he passes the girls toilets, he hears a soft sob coming from within. He takes the chance, not caring who might see him running into the girls lavatory. The quiet whimpers echo in the dark space, and Draco comes to a halt. 

"Y/N?" He speaks out, his voice sounding like thunder against the silence. The sobs stop, and a few fleeting seconds pass. One of the toilet doors open, and out steps you.

"Why?" is all you say, beautiful eyes filled with tears. The shadow of the door hides your face, but he can see them glistening in the moonlight. Draco rushes to embrace you, but you step back into the dark. He takes a cautious step backwards.

"What happened back there," he asks gently, but you just shake your head.

"Nothing that concerns you," you mutter quietly. Draco fills with frustration yet again.

"Did he do something?"

"Draco, please," you whimper from the dark, "just go. Astoria will wonder where you've gone."

Silence yet again protrudes the atmosphere. A slight drip from a tap echos in the night as if it were a mighty waterfall. Draco runs his hand through his neat hair.

"Y/N," his voice cuts through the quiet, "can we talk? Please?"

Finally, you emerge from the darkness. Even though your eyes are red and cheeks wet, Draco still thinks you're the most beautiful person he's ever had the pleasure of knowing. His eyes scan your features, the spill of moonlight allowing him to bask in your beauty.

"Talking won't change anything, Draco." You whisper, and he moves to swipe a tear from your cheek. You let him do so.

"You look beautiful tonight," he whispers back, choosing to ignore the truth you spoke, "a true picture."

"Thanks," you swallow hard, moving away from the hand on your cheek. His heart hurts.

"I understand tonight has been difficult-"

You scoff, cutting him off as you aggressively wipe the tears from your eyes.

"Oh, please," you choke, "you know nothing, Draco. If you really must know why I'm sobbing in the loo, Edward tried to kiss me and I ran. I feel like the worst person on earth. None of this is his fault and I left him standing there like an idiot."

A new wave of hot fury enters Dracos veins. It's wrong, he tells himself, to be so wound up, but the sheer thought makes his stomach drop to his feet. He tenses, hands curling into fists, and he wants to go back a lay one right in Chambers face. He has no right to be so mad, and yet, he simply cannot stop himself.

"Are you serious?" He says lowly. You let out an annoyed sigh.

"Yes," you spit, eyes locking with his again, noticing how his have changed completely, "and you have no right to look so infuriated about it. I'm not your girlfriend."

That only pushes him further. His chest begins to heave slightly.

"I'm very aware of that fact," he says, his voice now dangerously low, "and yet, the thought of him anywhere near you makes me feel physically sick."

"This is your choice," you yell at him, voice bouncing off the walls, "we're in this sitatuion because of you, Draco," you take a sharp breath in, throat aching from the sheer volume you just spoke at, and his face is a picture of devastation. He stands, staring back at you as a broken man, his eyes glazed over with a white-hot rage.

"As if I need reminding," his voice does not raise, but stays at that low level, and the sound of it sends a cold shiver down your spine. He steps forwards, coming to hover above you, and you almost cower at his presence, "I haven't done this by choice," he goes on to say, "and yeah, it might be selfish, but I want you. So bad, and if Chambers had-" he stops himself and takes a breath, "I can't help it. You're just... everything."

It stings like salt in a wound. The reality of how far apart you are is incomprehensible. You want to shout and rage about how unfair the world is, but from the look in his eyes, he's already doing that inside his head.

"I'm everything except for the right person," you then say, voice wobbly, "I'm not a pureblood, I'm not one of your mothers favourites, and I'm certainly not good enough to be a Malfoy."

Draco pauses.

"Is that what you really think?" Draco's face is a look of pure shock, "that's fucking stupid."

"Is it?" you then yell again, "because before we started whatever this is," you gesture wildly between the two of you, "you hated people like me. It was bore into you, and deep down that's the reason you chose Astoria over me."

"Again with the fucking choosing," Draco then yells back at you, "no one's choosing anything, you know why this is happening."

"Because you don't have the guts to stand up to your mother, that's why this is happening."

The volume of your voices could rattle the glass in the window frames. Echoing in the dark, melancholy bathroom, the pain you were both battling through was spilling out of your mouths.

"This isn't entirely me," Draco then paces forwards, forcing you to back up, "you gave up before we'd even started. You were the one who said we needed space."

"That's rich, coming from you," you spat venomously, "I only said that because I had to."

He's inches from you now, your faces almost touching, your back against the cold stone wall. The sound of shouting voices was replaced with heavy breathing, and Draco's eyes were onyx, a mixture of frustration and pure want. The tension was building, the air becoming thick, as he inches even closer, brushing his lips over yours. "Please," you mutter, and he wasted no time. Within one swift second, his lips were on yours.

Large hands come to grip your waist, pulling you against him. His lips were soft, smooth, and felt like heaven against yours. You relax into his embrace, kissing him back with fervour. He moans softly into your mouth, sending a wave of electricity throughout your entire body. His hands wander, and you let them, touching, tracing, squeezing gently at your hips, and finally, one moves to cup your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. It's as if he can't get enough of you, the taste of the sparkling drink on your lips, the feeling of your body under his touch. His mind begins to wander to a sultry place, and as if you read his thoughts, your teeth bite down gently on his bottom lip. The sound it rips from him is almost feral. Trapping you between his warm body and the cold stone, his lips move from your mouth to your jaw, to your neck, nipping gently as you breathe his name. His movements falter ever so slightly at the sound, and a tiny, breathless moan resonates against your skin. What felt like forever was in fact only a few fleeting minutes when Draco's grey-blue eyes finally meet yours once more, both of you hazy with lust.

"So beautiful," he whispers, fingers now tracing your jaw, "my girl."

You take in a sharp breath, feeling an ache below your abdomen. Never had you felt this intoxicated with someone before, all this pent up frustration was getting the better of you both, and the nearest cubicle was looking like a grand bedroom to you right now.

Then a voice that could dull even the brightest of rooms penetrated the air like an unwelcome chill.

"This is the ladies room, you know."

Draco breaks from you instantly and spins with red lips and flushed cheeks, to be met with the worst person to break up your intimacy.

"Pansy," he breathes, panic flooding every vessel in his body.

He stumbles, trying and failing to ask what she's doing here, and your throat closes up as soon as you realise who had just seen you both embracing each other.

"I was a little late arriving," she then says airily, strutting forwards as her long fingernails graze the edge of a basin, "my parents don't agree at the best of times, so getting them out of the house together is a real struggle. But, you know all about that, don't you, Dray?"

The nickname tastes like acid in your mouth. She smiles a devilish smile, and you want the ground to swallow you whole. Embarrassment is outweighed by fear, because Pansy Parkinson was a godless woman. Due to her undying love for Draco, her jealous spurts have almost ended the universe several times, and, thanks to you, she had just witnessed her newest vendetta.

"Pansy," Draco says as calmly as possible, "why the hell are you here?"

"Oh, in the ladies bathroom, you mean?" she says, sarcastically, "well, I was only coming here to powder my nose, but it seems I've stumbled across something much more interesting."

Her eyes were gleaming with ill intent. Draco's knuckles were white. You, on the other hand, stood completely still, barely drawing breath.

"Pansy, please turn around and-"

"You're a Ravenclaw, aren't you?" she then says, cutting him off. Her heels click against the tiled floor as she nears you. Draco moves slightly to stop her getting any closer, and her dark eyes slide to meet his, "I remember her. Halfblood, right?"

"Pansy," Draco stresses one last time, his voice shaking with fury, "please, for the love of God, turn around and pretend you saw nothing."

She backs away slowly, stopping to stand and fold her arms, putting her weight onto one hip. She smiles that awful smile once more.

"You're parents don't know, do they?" she then utters slyly. The amusement in her voice is sickening. Then she gasps, dramatically putting her hand to her mouth, "and Astoria?"

"Why the fuck are you even here?" Draco then seethes, louder and more impatient, "McGonagall seriously invited you and your pathetic parents?"

"Now, now," Pansy giggles, "don't get mad with me, Dray. I merely came here for my own personal reasoning. I had no idea you were wooing a halfblood-"

He closes the gap between them, and Pansy lets out a genuine squeak of surprise. You grip your dress in a sorry attempt to ground yourself.

"Listen," Draco's low, dark voice returns, "all I'm asking is that you keep your damn mouth shut."

"Ashamed?" Pansy then whispers, eyebrow quirking. She's braver than she looks.

"Not even close," Draco then mutters back, his fists so tight his nails were digging into skin. Your body feels cold, a sweat trickling down your back. There was no way this could get any worse, but then Draco speaks again, "this woman is everything to me, and if you try and hurt her, I swear to God I will ruin your life, Parkinson. Don't forget, I know you too well."

Pansy swallows thickly, her mouth turning into a sour frown. A few suffocating seconds pass.

"Like I'd gain anything from telling," she then spits, "I'll keep your dirty little secret, Draco. Besides, wouldn't want your mother finding out how you chose to spend your free time."

She gives you a look that most certainly could kill a man, and you feel yourself physically shaking. Pansy locks eyes with Draco one last time, before turning on her heel and storming out of the bathroom like a scolded child. The silence once she disappears is deafening.

"Y/N,"

"It's okay," you manage to croak, "you don't need to say anything."

"She won't. She might be a snake, but for me she'd keep her mouth shut." Draco looks frantic, eyes all over your face. He was panicking, trying to convince himself that Pansy wouldn't betray him.

"This isn't about me," you say, concerned, "this is about you and your parents shunning you for a life time, over me of all people."

"Don't say that," he said, coming to cup your face in his hands, "they can do what they want to me. I just don't want you getting hurt anymore."

Even when his worst nightmare was close to becoming a reality, he was still all about you.

"Draco," you smile faintly, taking his hands from your face, "you're always thinking of others, and never yourself," you hold his hands in yours and press a gentle kiss to his face, "please, for me, think of your own feelings for once."

You make him feel so loved, so wanted, and if he could stay in this toilet forever he would. Your shiny eyes, gentle touches and kind words are all he needs to feel safe in this world. He presses his forehead to yours, and closes his eyes contently.

He wishes he had the courage to stay here.

"It's not fair," he whispers, and silent tears run one after the other down his cheeks.

"Life isn't fair," you then whisper to him, nudging your nose against his, "but I like to think that, maybe, in another lifetime, we're happy somewhere. Together."

There's a comfortable silence between you.

"Do you think Pansy will do anything?" He then mutters to you, clearly still worrying, and you bring him into a hug. He holds you impossibly close.

"I don't think she has the guts," you laugh lightly, but it's still sad, and deep down you're fearing the exact same thing, "Draco, you have more power over this situation than you think, and Pansy has no proof. I doubt your mother would believe her babbling."

He nuzzles into your shoulder. You're not sure if you even believe yourself, but Draco's body is relaxed in your embrace, and even if your words are fragile enough to snap, they did their purpose.

"At least I finally got to kiss you," he mumbles, and you smile through trickling tears.

"We better get cleaned up, Draco. Our dates will be waiting for us and we don't want to cause anymore suspicion," you say softly, breaking from him.

Before he can say anymore, you're stroking his cheek one last time and waltzing out of the bathroom, but not without one more look back at him. Draco remains frozen to the spot, unable to move a muscle. Both his longing desire and worst nightmare had come to fruition within moments of each other. Eventually he wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket and leaves the bathroom, entering the hallway to hear the faint sound of music drifting through the castle. He has no intention of heading back to Astoria, so instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets and heads for the outer grounds of the school.

The night air is cold. The grounds are bathed in a golden light from the castle windows, and he walks the path down to the Quidditch pitch. No one will be there at this hour, surely. He walks into the entrance. The stands are bare, showing the wooden skeleton of the arena. He halts once he reaches the middle of the pitch. It's silent. The distant hoot of an owl sounds as he stares at the stand you were sitting in during his practice. Life isn't fair, you said. Isn't that just the truth, he wonders. He then turns his attention to the sky and the stars that litter the inky blackness, and thinks back to your days stargazing in the tower. An overwhelming sadness protrudes him, as he takes a deep breath and mutters to the heavens;

"Aunt Bella, please pick on someone else for once."

disclaimer: i do not own hp or any of the characters in this story

dividers from: @firefly-graphics & @happy-ash-edits

tags:

@lovesanimals0000 @cappgyuccino @lightning1ce @onlygetaway @honeyyypeach @namelesslosers @ghostyv @mikadorbs @redactedhimbo @morganadpl @scarecrowscaresthomas @camille-1019 @valkyrie418 @animeloverfreak310 @budugu @marplest @torresbarnes @bunny24sstuff @champagneesupernova @serafilms @siriusly-parker-main @lovely-maryj @i-bitch-you-bitch @astablacksword @sun-fiower-seed @tinafuentes @venusjustleft @omgitstatertot t @aangsupremacy @ilovezy @leclerc16s @aslanvez @talesofadragon @hnyusui @3vasaur @the-skys-musical-echo @yeolsbubbles @idk-dolans @xx-kiraa-xx @sunbruized @vinkiesz @snickersmee @fandomrulesall-blog @astheraa @idkatee @marsanhwa @vintageoldfashion @63sucker @j-n-i-c-o-l-e @born2222die @anarchistsons

#draco malfoy #draco x female reader #draco x ravenclaw!reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hpff #hpau

[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

[unwoundcorridors]

prompt #26: bunny

pairing: fleur/hermione word count: 856

❈ written for @sapphicmicrofics ❈

—

“Ginny is so bloody crass,” Hermione muttered under her breath after shutting the front door to Fleur’s cottage. Shrugging off her travelling cloak, she didn’t notice her girlfriend until she'd set the garment on their coat and cloak rack.

Fleur stood leaning against the doorframe that led into the sitting room, and Hermione startled because she swore that she hadn’t been there when she’d opened the door. Yet, it was clear that either Fleur had excellent hearing or had, in fact, been right there when Hermione had entered, when she was asked how exactly Ginny was so bloody crass.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione brushed past Fleur and took a seat near the hearth, fireplace devoid of any natural usage during this time of year. Glancing toward Fleur, who now stood in front of the adjacent sofa, resting her forearms on the back of it and fixing her with a genuinely curious look, Hermione pressed her lips together before saying, “She accused us of fucking like rabbits, considering I skipped my weekly lunch with her once.” She threw her hands up into the air. “Once!”

An amused grin spread slowly across Fleur’s lips, and Hermione had half a mind to pout about how in the world Fleur could find this at all funny, yet she waited to hear what her girlfriend had to say about it.

Shrugging, then raising a hand and turning it palm side up, Fleur was the picture of someone unperturbed. Hermione eyed Fleur’s tongue as it ran along the length of her lower lip, an image of the same tongue swirling around her breast the previous night flashing to the forefront of her mind. She clenched her jaw, shoving the memory aside.

“You are known for your impeccable punctuality, non?”

Hermione frowned. “I am, but…”

“Therefore, is it not… apt, to conclude that you were otherwise occupied?”

Shifting in her seat, Hermione ducked her head for a moment, took a steadying breath, then looked Fleur square in the eye. “Of course, but she didn’t immediately have to conclude that we’re… we’re fucking like rabbits!”

She hated the heat that flooded her face, betraying her emotions even more so, but not as much as she absolutely abhorred how smug Fleur appeared as she came around the side of the sofa and sat down on the armrest of the chair Hermione still sat in.

Fleur’s fingers took light hold of Hermione’s curls, idly playing with them, while her other hand cupped Hermione’s chin and drew her face toward her so their eyes met again. “And yet, she wasn’t wrong, Hermione.” Fleur’s fingertips caressing the underside of her chin was going to undo her remaining self-control. “Ginny is observant, is she not?”

Glancing out of the corner of her eyes and grumbling under her breath, Hermione finally admitted, “She is. But, it’s only, her choice of words—”

“Would you have felt better if she said we were fucking like bunnies?” Fleur offered, as if it fixed everything. It didn’t fix Ginny’s knowing smirk as Hermione didn’t deign to answer her accusation, didn’t fix the heat that had begun to flare in her lower abdomen at the flurry of memories Ginny’s words had brought up and certainly did not fix the burning heat that now licked at her, reducing her to a woman who truly wanted to fuck the other woman beside her as if they were rabbits. Or bunnies.

She knew she was an entire open book at this point, her breathing grown shallow, her legs crossed and thighs squeezing together every few seconds. Yet Fleur, her thrall not even properly reaching out, continued to simply play with her hair and flex her fingertips that still cupped Hermione’s chin. At least until Hermione met her gaze again.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Hermione finally uttered, “You’re teasing me.”

Her girlfriend’s amused grin transformed into a genuine, tender smile. “I tease with a purpose, mon trésor. Ginny has wound you up so tightly, and I would rather enjoy fucking like bunnies so I can relieve you. Unless you would rather unwind in a different fashion, of course…” she trailed off, releasing her fingers from Hermione’s chin and hair.

Jaw gone slack, Hermione stood up from the seat and grabbed hold of one of Fleur’s wrists. “No, I—fuck.” She scuffed the heel of her boots against the floor, torn for only a second before she decided. “Ginny and whatever she thinks, whatever anyone thinks… they can all sod off; we can fuck however much we want to here, whenever we want to.”

“There’s the woman I love,” Fleur said, and Hermione’s heart swelled at the words. “Now, when you say whenever…”

Her eyes blatantly teased Hermione, and she could only roll her eyes good-naturedly before responding, “Yes, that includes now. Especially right now.”

As Fleur led the way, Hermione wondered where she was taking them this time. She doubted she would mind anywhere they’d already pleasured each other in this cottage, or for that matter, anywhere new as well. Though she wondered how many new spots were left now, because… Ginny had had a point.

#fleurmione #fleur delacour #hermione granger #fleur x hermione #sapphicmicrofics

[plscallmeeren]

H A T E S E X

Hermione J. Granger x Male Reader

Request: nope and it worries me

Summary: Hermione kisses Ron (and cheats on you) to make you jealous and she has it coming... this is filthy shit it's kinda a drabble I originally wrote for kinktober on here so that explains it ig

Warnings: swearing; top!reader; bottom!Hermione; fingering (her receiving); degradation; vip; mentions of cheating; unprotected sex; tiny bit of bondage; yelling, fighting

Word Count: 1.2K+

Prompts used: Hate / Angry Sex | Degradation

"It's not my fault you're so fucking proud!"

"What, so you just thought 'hey! Why not kiss another guy right in front of me'? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"No, what's wrong with you! Since I became a hero after the war, everyone is pining over me. Everyone! You hear me?"

"Oh, you're so arrogant," you scoffed, shaking your head.

"Well, maybe I am! But I chose you. You out of everyone else I could've had. So why won't you even have sex with me? It's been over a month!"

"Are you seriously trying to guilt-trip me right now?"

She didn't answer. You stood across from each other, panting slightly, glaring, the door to your shared dorm room locked and sound-proofed so that no one would overhear your heated debate.

"Fine. I'm not good enough for you, obviously. So... I guess you'll have to grace someone else with your presence. Maybe even Ronald Weasley." The oncoming silence was deadly calm, and you heard her every breath, maybe even her heartbeat.

You headed to the door - heavy steps - falling like boulders just to make sure she realised how badly she had fucked up.

And she knew it. You could see it in her every weary glance towards your heading, every nervous twitch, every licking of her moist lips.

Presently, she jumped ahead of you, looking up with defiance in her eyes.

"Get out of my way," you growled, but not making any gesture to use force.

"No."

"Hermione." She shivered at the low rasp of her name - cold and dangerous.

"Make me."

You crashed your lips down to hers at the common phrase, gripping the sides of her face to hold her steady as she was pressed against the door.

You eventually let go of her, saw her yearn for more, realise you had led her away from your exit plan. Just as you were about to open it and quickly escape, she grabbed ahold of your tie, which spun around, tightening around your neck.

"What, you're gonna choke me now? Hide the evidence that someone dumped you?"

"Maybe. If you're not careful."

You slowly turned around, gaze like fire on Hermione's pale skin. She trembled but hardly noticed.

In one swift movement the tie was pulled over your head and you had an iron grip on her wrists, pressing her front into your own as you tied them with said tie. She gazed up at you with a strange sort of admiration.

"I'm leaving. I'm gonna talk to McGonnagle. I won't be coming back."

She cried out a pathetic 'no, please don't', and for some reason that had you dead in your tracks at the open door.

"Why shouldn't I, darling?"

"Because I love you."

"No, you don't."

"I do. Please. Just... one more time to convince you? Maybe you've forgotten how good I am...?"

You turned again, and noticed with a pang of despair that you had turned too often already. Yet it was dull and buried near the back of your mind and you couldn't find it in you to care.

"Yeah? You always wanted me to be rougher, right?" You approached her, looking down at her as you shoved her harshly down onto the bed. Her lips parted and her eyes were dark. You scoffed. "Well, slut... that won't be a problem no more."

She whimpered delightfully and next thing you knew you were on top of her, ravaging her with your lips in a frenzied manner you never had before. Her back arched as she writhed at your open-mouthed antics, panting heavily as you ripped off one article of clothing and another, holding no regard for the clothes you might have damaged.

You spread her legs roughly once you had rid her of tights and skirt and panties, wasting no time on romantics. She squirmed even more when you pushed four fingers into her cunt - no time to retaliate, no time to adjust - more fingers than ever before.

She whined pathetically, moan after moan slurring from her pretty little mouth pornographically at the painful pleasure you were dealing her pussy while you bit and sucked at her tits in a primitive fashion. Your thumb rubbed over her clit in quick circles as your other hand groped her left breast with little regard for the pressure it was practicing.

You came up for air, placing your knees on her thighs so she would stop writhing to a point where it was hard for your digits to pound into her. "Is this what you wanted, bitch? This what your little cunt was so needy for that it went and fucked Weasley? Well, this is what you get for letting another guy fuck you. You'll never get these fingers again, so cherish them."

Hermione was practically screaming, a never-ending wail of ecstasy pooling at her lips while her eyes watered, only interrupted by the occasional 'please, daddy' or 'it's all for you, baby'.

Her hair was tangled, mascara smudged from the odd tear, lips wide open, back arched, legs shaking, inner thighs slick with her own pre-cum.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, sweetheart," you purred, leaning down to her ear, "and I'm not gonna let you get pregnant, because you don't deserve my baby."

She whined loudly, clenching her walks around your fingers. You loved the difference between you and her. Hermione, entirely naked, vulnerable, powerless, while you still stood fully clothed and relatively well-kept apart from the missing tie and dripping fingers currently stretching the inside of a woman's cunt.

With one final guttural moan, she came around you just as you pulled out your dick and replaced your fingers with it, stretching her even wider at her climax. You fulfilled your promise, not leaving her pussy as you both panted heavily.

"Will you please stay? That was amazing," she whispered, almost out of breath.

"You don't deserve it. I'll be here in an hour or two with the potion equivalent of the morning-after pill and maybe, if you're lucky, I'll fuck you again. But that won't mean you deserve a second of it, love."

You finally pulled out of her, sticking your fingers into her mouth for a second to let her lick you clean before pulling up the zip of your pants and walking out the door.

She struggled against the tie still bound around her wrists. You had never left her after sex without looking after her extensively. You certainly would never have left her in this uncomfortable position for an unknown amount of time.

But Hermione found she didn't particularly mind waiting an hour or so here to see if you would return and make her cum again.

No, not at all.

#fanfic #fanfiction #new chapter #romance #harry potter #hermione granger #hermione x reader #male reader #smut #harry potter smut #harry potter fanfiction #degradative #angry smut #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry

[sailtomarina]

I don’t regret it

cw: smut, feels

She watched the sliver of light arcing across the bedspread and his white blond hair. The curtains didn’t completely block out the sunlight. Hermione could reach for her wand to spell them shut if she knew where it was; at some point she’d lost it the previous night amidst the frantic fumbling. It was probably somewhere on the floor along with the rest of their clothing.

Even in sleep, he was breathtaking. His face glowed with a translucence that defied the lines of stress he wore when awake. The lips that scowled more than smiled these days were parted as he breathed deeply, pale pink and inviting. She shivered as she recalled the way they’d felt against her own, how they’d glided down her torso and discovered every sensitive point of her body. Silver grey eyes had glinted upward, frequently checking in on her every reaction as he wrung pleasure out of Hermione.

They hadn’t spoken a word since the kiss that started it all. They hadn’t needed to, their bodies communicating what their tongues could not. Draco, yes, “Draco”, not “Malfoy” anymore, seemed to need her more than life itself that night, and Hermione was compelled to respond in kind. She was a volatile potion of emotions just waiting to explode given the chance, and shatter she did in the arms of a young man she’d fallen deeply, passionately, irrevocably for over the course of the past few months.

Like the barely-there kiss, her feelings started small.

No. That wasn’t correct.

Her feelings for Draco had always been large; volatile, really. She’d hated everything he represented, the way he’d treated and looked at her, the years of animosity that they shared. But, she also pitied him. That pity, as threaded through with distrust as it had been, had transformed into begrudging respect.

He’d apologised to her. It hadn’t been overly passionate nor verbose. He’d found her alone and offered his remorse. He’d even go so far as to clearly state that forgiveness was not expected; he didn’t think he deserved it. Then, he’d gone his way and Hermione was left with an inner turmoil that struggled in search of an outlet.

She’d always known he was clever, and now with nothing but his studies to focus on, Draco finally showed what too much pressure and pride had stifled: a hungry mind that took mistakes in stride and used them as stepping stones to higher knowledge. For once, Hermione had a worthy rival.

And now, she was in his bed.

He sighed, then grumbled as the shaft of light hit his eyes. He turned further towards her, hands reaching out to tug her close. She allowed herself to be tucked against his chest, naked skin to naked skin. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her splayed hand. Circe, she loved breathing him in, a combination of body soap, woodsy cologne, and his own masculine scent. Slightly salty, probably from their exertions as he brought her to orgasm not once, not twice, but three times, once with his hands, then with his mouth, and finally on his cock as he folded her nearly in half to press in almost painfully deep. She’d relished the ache then, just as she delighted in the way her muscles smarted even now. They were reminders of their time together. If this turned out to be a one-time thing, then at least she’d always have that.

She sensed the moment he woke up, his steady inhales stuttering and turning into shorter intervals. Perhaps if she kept silent, she could hold on to this moment just a little bit longer. With their legs tangled together and his arms wrapped around her, Hermione could pretend that she was his and he was hers.

She bid her breathing to remain slow and measured. Kept her body relaxed. When his hand drifted down her back to cup one buttcheek, she fought to stay still. Then he tightened his hold and pressed his hips to hers and she felt him, hot and hard and wanting.

She could keep pretending to be asleep, but she wanted him inside of her more. It was time to open her eyes.

When she did so, tilting her head upward in the process, it was to find Draco already looking down at her. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted and descending. She met him part way. Any sour breath they might have had was overpowered by the sweetness of this kiss. It was soft, lingering, his tongue lightly rubbing against her own as he rotated his length against her in an unspoken question to which she arched in acceptance.

He rolled them so hovered above her, limbs caging her in, his soft hair hanging down into his eyes, which closed as he leaned forward to press his forehead to hers.

“Do you regret it?”

The first words since yesterday, and this was what he asked?

She realised that, like her, Draco was just as uncertain about the future. They’d never clearly stated their feelings about one another; they’d just gone with the flow and she’d assumed his heart was more fortified than her own.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” she replied. She opened her eyes to stare up at him, willing Draco to see the truth for himself. She wanted to be here, wanted him now and for as long as time allowed.

“Good, because I’m yours now.”

Her heart hammered at the declaration. The tightening of his jaw and his intent stare underlined the statement. She felt overwhelmed, tears of relief and desire threatening to spill. She could only nod, afraid she’d burst into ugly sobs and ruin the moment. That seemed to be enough for him.

He captured her lips, fitting the broad head of his cock to her opening at the same time and slowly pressing forward. It was tight, but she was wet with want and had been almost from the moment she’d woken up. She spread her legs to make more room for him, and he took advantage, thrusting to the hilt and groaning into the kiss as he did so. She felt impossibly full, even though she knew she’d taken him even deeper before. Even if she hadn’t, she could no longer deny him anything.

He brought a hand back down to tilt her hips at just the right angle for his pelvis to grind against her clit with every unrelenting drive of his cock. Along with the slide of his swollen shaft within her throbbing walls and the way his other hand plucked at her nipples, Hermione found herself right back at the precipice of her apogee. It was agonisingly close, yet still she withheld herself from the plummet, wanting him right there alongside her.

Draco picked up on her whining pants. She clawed at his muscled back and shoulders, and still he forged onward, pulling back nearly to the tip only to press right back into her depths, his balls slapping against her arse. Hermione might have blushed at the sound if she had the presence of mind to think of anything outside of him inside of her, but that was as likely as her ever letting go of him. She was beyond embarrassment or reproach.

He sounded pained as he moaned, low and deep, and Hermione could feel the way he thickened within her just before he froze, the tendons of his neck taut as he threw his head back. As the first spurts of his spend spilled into her, she finally let go, crying out her own release that seemed to go on and on as her body milked him of every last drop.

He caught himself on his forearms before falling on top of her, but Hermione wasn’t having any of that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and yanked him down. His weight was a comfort she could never find overbearing.

“Stay?” she murmured. She swept her hands up and down the warm planes of his back, then hugged him to her, holding tight to the shoulders that carried so much. Too much.

He chuckled, the puff of air tickling the crook of her neck where he rested.

“Always.”

1367 WC

2.25.24 Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts “I don’t regret it”

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3 (eventually)

I originally meant to write this as straight up unapologetic smut, but then couldn’t resist a bit of backstory. Ahhhhh! Why does the story always have to sneak in there somehow?

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter flashfic #dramione prompt #dhr fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #dramione

[simplifiedemotions]

Don’t Go Yet.

“Don’t go yet.” 

Hermione looks over her shoulder when Draco speaks and immediately regrets it when she sees his expression.

She shakes her head. “I have to go.”

Back to the Order. Back to Harry and Ron. Back to the war. 

No matter how often he’s touched her (the map of her body is his domain), she still shivers when she feels his hand at the thin strap at her shoulder.

“Draco,” she protests, moving away. “I don’t have time.”

“Neither do I.”

“Yes, well, I’m not your whore,” she can’t help but say bitterly.

She doesn’t know why she says it, she doesn’t actually think he views her as such, but the more she starts to feel for him, the more she feels like a frayed, small thing. This thing between them was supposed to take the edge off the war.

Instead, Draco has drilled to the core of her, planting himself in her veins, moving along her sinew until she feels him even when he’s not there. An echo of her voice; of her heart. The thought of losing him leaves her feeling cold and empty.

She isn’t surprised when she ends up underneath him a moment later, his arms bracketing hers and his hands planted on either side of her head. “When have I ever called you a whore?” he demands, expression furious.

She clenches her hands into fists in the sheets beneath them and breathes in and out, knowing her panic won’t help her. “Aren’t I?” she says in as level of a voice as she can muster. 

“Granger—Hermione,” he amends, because he knows her well enough by now to know she’ll soften to this, “you will never be a whore. Least of all to me.” 

She reaches up a hand and palms his jaw, feeling the day-old stubble there and the warmth of his skin that signals him being alive. 

“I know,” she whispers. “I just…”

He regards her steadily, and she wants to yell at him that it’s this, his expression, his reassuring heat, that makes her question all of who she is. She isn’t the woman who has casual sex, or bares her heart—who falls in love, least of all with someone like Draco Malfoy.

Gods, but she does. To the core of who she is, she knows he’s the only one who ever could be. 

“Me too,” he says after several moments of them staring at each other. Hermione’s pulse jumps. 

“I—” She closes her eyes, wondering if she stops looking at him she might be able to parse through the echo of her heart’s feelings. 

A brush of soft fingers at her eyelids. She opens her eyes, sees Draco with his steady gaze and wanting silver eyes. 

“I know, Granger.”

He knows I love him too. 

She lets out a broken laugh. “Am I so obvious?”

“You underestimate how much I watch you." He bends down, kissing her forehead, and she thinks this is when she’ll start crying, but then he grasps her chin and trails his mouth to her cheek, her jaw.

Her vulnerability is lost to her tremulous want, slithering vines that eat her whole. 

And oh, how she wants to be fed upon. 

“On the battlefield, I watch for you,” he says, and there is something distinctly rueful to his voice. “It has cost me an injury or two.”

She would chide him if she didn’t do the same. “I watch you in Order meetings, and when you’re asleep. In fact, I can’t seem to help it.” 

“Why?” she croaks out. His palm brushes the tremble of her heart, and she can’t help but lean into him. It’s yours, she wants to say.

“I think if someone were to open me up, my insides would be a mess made up of you.” Hermione’s heart pounds so painfully she’s sure he can hear it.

Even still, she takes his hand and places it right over her heart, opening herself up to him, showing him the place the echo of him will always remain. 

“Don’t go yet,” he whispers against her lips. 

She wraps her arms around him, and doesn’t let go.

#dramione #dhr #dhr fanfiction #Hermione Granger #Draco Malfoy #my writing

[brightlybound]

For @hinnymicrofic August 9th prompt: blood(shot)

Read below or HERE on AO3.

The Funeral

After the end of it all, after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry does not see Ginny again until Fred is being laid to rest. There is a steady drizzle, the smell of wet earth heavy in his nostrils. A large group of reporters surge forward at the sight of him apparating alongside Ron and Hermione. His fingers clench around his wand, fury he hasn’t felt in days making the muscles in his arms tremble.

But then she’s there, her small hand curling around his elbow.

“Leave it,” Ginny says, voice low and hoarse.

He's sure he's lost all his breath there in that moment with her sudden appearance. He looks down at her, into her bloodshot eyes, and forgets everyone and everything else.

“How are you?” he blurts.

Her bubble of a laugh is thick with tears. She doesn’t answer him directly, but concedes, “I’m trying to keep it together. Mostly for Mum.”

The church doors open as they approach, then shut quickly and loudly behind them. There is a soft hum of chatter that dips at their entrance. Harry wouldn’t have noticed if Ginny hadn’t pulled away.

She tucks a strand of limp hair behind her ear, and tugs at the sleeves of her robes, the deepest shade of blue in a sea of bright colors, as requested for the funeral of the most colorful man Harry had ever met.

“I’ll see you after?” she asks softly.

Harry reaches out, unable to help himself; there is a silent tear trailing down her cheek, and he wipes it away, a gentle brush of his knuckle along the smattering of freckles.

“Yeah, of course.”

Later that evening, when fireworks light up the night sky, Harry watches Ginny slip away and into The Burrow.

She does not return.

#hinny #harry/ginny #fanfiction #microfic #have some angst #hp #my writing #brightlybound