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expectopatronum81 · 2 months

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Unpopular opinion

Ron and/or Hermione should have died in the deathly hallows. And I say this as someone who loves these characters (probably Hermione more than Ron), but here me out

Now let's be fucking real, I really like ron, but he really wasn't skilled or prepared enough to fight in a war against voldemort, be it magically or mentally. And that's ok! He's still 17, he's not meant to be fighting a war. And to some degree he probably knew that the chances of him actually making it were pretty slim too. But he still stuck with Harry anyways coz there's no way he was going to let his best friend go through with this alone. Because that's who ron is, he'd rather die fighting beside his best friend, for his family, his muggleborn gf and for the cause than play it safe and hide.

Now coming to Hermione, things get a tad trickier here. Yes, she is very skilled and powerful and quick on her feet. But is she powerful enough to take on an army of adult DEs who've trained for years and have experience from the first wizarding war? To win against the darkest wizard who ever lived, who's said to be worse than Grindelwald, who's the most powerful wizard in the whole world after Dumbledore? No, I'd say she isn't. Because she's also fucking 17, she's not even done with school yet. But I think she'd live longer than Ron, or that there's a better chance of her making it out alive. But if she did die it would be extra heartbreaking coz a) Harry (and the readers) just lost 2 of the people who had been there from the very beginning, b) Hermione's parents would live on in Australia, not remembering that they had a daughter, not knowing that their daughter gave her life in hopes of saving her friend and creating a better world.

I majorly have 2 specific reasons for being this sadistic. The first one is the fact that the plot dumbs down it's main villain and his followers just to make the kids win. Voldemort (during Harry's time) is probably the dumbest villain ever written, he doesn't live up to his hype. People have already discussed how stupid his gof plan was. In ootp, during the DoM fight Lucius says that voldemort can't come get the prophecy himself coz the ministry is filled with ppl and he would risk revealing himself. But it's possible for 6 mostly dumb teenagers and an army of DEs, (who hv just escaped azkaban and are sought after by the ministry) to enter in undetected? Doesn't 👏 make 👏 any 👏 sense. The supposedly feared DEs who were trained by voldemort himself can't win against a group of teenagers. It's surprising how long it takes them to take the kids down in the DoM battle. The thing is though, this is out of character for ALL of them. It seems like they were dumbed down just so the MCs could make it out alive. Voldemort during the first WW started out as absolutely no one to having the highest class of the wizarding society obeying his every command. The whole wizarding world was so afraid of him that they wouldn't even say his name. The DEs picked out member after member of the original ootp, mostly coz they were outnumbered but also coz they're fucking death eaters. And ur telling me these guys can't fight kids? Pathetic. Also it doesn't make sense that most of the adults from the first war are dead but all the kids live. Like did the war become safer or sm shit? Instead i would have loved it if the trio got away with things in the first few books, but then realised what a war against voldemort actually means later on. But they won't back down, and they'll still stick with their friend and fight for each other and the cause anyways, and that vil have real, legitimate consequences

Now, the second reason is that it would have been an amazing but heartbreaking callback to book 1. Ron sacrifices himself in a game of chess and Hermione says that there are more important things than books and cleverness, like friendship and bravery. Ron's line of "It's you who has to go on Harry, I know it! Not me, not Hermione, you!" would have also come full circle. Back then they were still 11, so they could still get their happy ending. Now they're in a real war and the stakes are higher, but they'll stick to what they started anyways. Ron sacrifices himself so the other 2 can move forwards, Hermione's intelligence gets her further but she still needs to part with Harry. Harry needs to leave them behind and face voldemort alone because that's how it was always meant to be

And finally, it would have given us a more bittersweet ending to the series instead of that vanilla 'all is well' epilogue. Harry has lost almost every one he loved. But there's still life, there's still hope, and he lives by cherishing their memories and making their sacrifice have meaning. Kinda like the ending of the hunger games. Ik this is a kids book, but Harry Potter as a series is incredibly deep and deals with a lot of fucked up shit, so I think it could handle it if it was written well.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

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katenoteight · 1 month

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Last snippet before Saturday update of "Magic Matches" bc I am just having too much fun with it 😆😆😆

“Excuse me, are you mocking my charm tactics?” Ron clutched his chest, eyes wide with amusement.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Hermione replied simply, downing her gin and tonic.

“Oi, mate!” Ron waved at the barkeep, “Can I get a piece of paper and two pens?”

“What are you up to?” Hermione chuckled, leaning over the bar, watching the barkeep bring what he asked for.

“Ta, mate,” Ron nodded at the man, then turned to Hermione, tearing the paper in half, “You and I are going to have ourselves a little bet.”

#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #muggle au #chapter two #Magic Matches

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wizarding-social-media · 2 months

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Happy (Belated) Birthday Ron Weasley!

(Pretend I’m not a whole day late 🥲)

#ron weasley #harry potter social media #harry potter #social media au #hermione granger #ginny weasley #luna lovegood #neville longbottom #romione #seamus finnigan #dean thomas

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be11atrixthestrange · 2 months

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The Loft 8

After a bad break-up, Hermione Granger moves into a messy and dysfunctional loft with four single men. What starts as a temporary home until she gets back on her feet becomes so much more, as she learns there's a lot of life - and love - that happens at rock-bottom.

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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In a crazy turn of events, I updated The Loft after 2 years... :)

Chapter 8

A watched egg never cooks. Is that the saying? Ron doesn’t know — he’s terrible at idioms and shit. If it’s not a saying, it’s definitely accurate.

He stands in front of the stove, waiting for his egg to fry. It’s taking forever, and he’s tempted to just leave it there, but maybe then he’d burn the whole loft down. That, or Vicky would eat it.

Vicky’s here this morning, just like he was here yesterday morning. And the morning before that. It almost feels like they have another roommate, one that doesn’t pay rent and that Ron didn’t choose. Well, he didn’t choose Hermione either, but that worked out. Sort of.

Ever since Hermione and Victor became ‘official’, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together. Ron comes home after work, Krum is here. He wakes up in the morning, Krum is still here. The only time Krum seems to spend outside of the apartment is between the hours of 9-5, and one hour at night, 8-9 pm, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Whenever Ron has asked where he goes, he gets all weird and quiet. Whenever he asks Hermione, she doesn’t seem to know or care.

“Honestly, Ron, it’s important for couples to spend time apart.”

“But Hermione, do you know where he goes?”

“No, because I respect his privacy.”

Why is Vicky the only one in this loft entitled to privacy? He often wonders when someone empties the laundry machine and leaves a trail of socks and underwear across the living room floor, or late at night when he can hear his roommates’ beds creaking, knowing they brought home a companion, a poor soul who has no idea how thin the walls are.

It begs the question, what kind of dark shit is Krum getting up to between the hours of 8 and 9pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays if he can’t even tell his girlfriend about it?

Maybe he has an embarrassing hobby. Or a gambling addiction. Or a second girlfriend.

Ron tries to ignore his heart’s fluttering in response to the last thought. What sort of friend would hope for that kind of thing?

“You might want to turn the stove on,” comes a gruff voice, interrupting Ron’s thoughts. “Or your egg will never cook.”

With a groan, Ron flicks on the burner.

“Are you okay?” asks Krum as he takes a seat at the kitchen counter. “You seem distracted.”

Ron glances back at his unwelcome roommate. His thick robe hangs loosely around his waist, forming a deep v neck that exposes Krum’s chiseled pecs and chest hair. Why can’t the dude just cover himself up a bit?

“M’fine.”

“Okay then. Look, I’m going to be out of town for the weekend—”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” interrupts Ron.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t even live here, so you don’t have to tell us when you’ll be out.”

Ron keeps his back to Krum as he lets the awkward pause wash over. Sure, maybe he should be nicer to the guy, but someone should gently tell him he’s overstaying his welcome. Hermione won’t.

“I was just going to ask if I could keep my car out front. Sometimes I get towed if I leave it out at my apartment—”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Great,” says Krum as he rises to his feet and turns back toward Hermione’s room. “Thanks.”

“Where are you going this weekend?”

“Nowhere.” The sound of Hermione’s door closing punctuates Krum’s response.

Hmm. Very odd.

Moments later, Harry appears from his bedroom door, still disheveled in his pajamas. “What’s got you down?”

“Vicky.”

“What about Viktor?”

“I’m telling you, he’s giving me the creeps.”

Harry chuckles. “Since when?”

“The cabin trip we all went on.”

Harry lets a full laugh escape, as he responds. “You’re ridiculous. He never bothered you before.”

“I think he’s cheating on Hermione.”

Harry’s eyes narrow and glances toward Hermione’s bedroom. “She doesn’t deserve that, but how do you know?”

“Gut feeling.”

“Ron—”

“I think if I went to his place, I’d find proof.” Ron raises an eyebrow at his friend, who violently shakes his head.

“No.”

“Please come with me? I’ll give you free beer.”

“No. Plus you always give me free beer.”

Ron shrugs. “I’m going alone then. He’ll be out of town this weekend, and it’s the perfect opportunity to just check in.”

Harry groans. “You’re going to force my hand aren’t you?”

“Just come with me and make sure I don’t do anything unreasonable?”

“Going in the first place is unreasonable.”

“Still gonna do it.”

Ron knows that Harry can’t resist a little bit of mischief, so all he has to do is wait him out. Ninety percent of the unreasonable things Ron has done in his life have involved his best friend.

Like clockwork, Harry raises an eyebrow. “Okay. When are you going?”

“Tomorrow morning, after Krum leaves town.”

Harry groans. “You know this is a terrible idea?”

“Yes. But I don’t care.”

“We’re not going to do anything illegal, right?”

Ron imagines what exactly they’ll do tomorrow — show up at Krum’s apartment and just open the door? If Vicky’s dumb enough to leave his door unlocked while he’s out of town, then sure. But he’s definitely not dumb. If he was, Hermione would be staying far far away from him, and yet, here they are. It won’t be the first time Ron has snuck into a window. He was a horny teenager with a girlfriend and strict parents before, and crowbars are quite effective.

“No, of course we won’t do anything illegal.”

Harry nods. “Then fine,” he says, the reluctance in his voice rather light.

“Knew I could count on you.”

It doesn’t take long for Ron and Harry to locate Viktor’s address — the internet is a wonderful invention. They pull up to his street and emerge from the car. On Ron’s back is a bag equipped with a crowbar, a rope, and a clipboard. Ron’s found that holding a clipboard is the best way to look like you’re supposed to be there.

“None of this makes sense, mate.”

“Sure it does.”

As Ron shuffles along the pavement of an unfamiliar neighborhood, Harry trots behind him in an effort to keep up.

“You have no evidence that he’s cheating.”

“That’s why we’re doing this. To find some.”

“Ugh.”

Harry and Ron eventually stumble to the front porch of Viktor Krum’s duplex. It is larger than expected, but slightly run-down. The grass in the front lawn needs to be mowed, and on the front porch sit two pots that once housed plants, maybe. By the looks of it, no one has watered them in years. The paint is peeling off of the siding, and one of the stairs on the front stoop has rotted through. Even though their loft is still rather dumpy, Viktor’s makes it look like a castle.

“No wonder he’s always staying at our apartment.”

Ron peers around to the side of the house. A cracked window reveals an unmade bed inside. From his research, Ron knows that Krum lives in the first apartment on the left.

“We’re going in through the window.”

“Breaking and entering, cool,” grumbles Harry.

“Just entering. No need to break.”

Harry and Ron tiptoe across the overgrown grass and when they reach the window, it takes both of them to wedge it up high enough for them to fit through. Harry props Ron up and he slithers head-first into Viktor Krum’s bedroom. Harry follows, and both boys land in a thud on the carpet of the darkened room.

“You’d think he’d be able to afford a nicer place,” says Ron.

“Maybe he’s saving for an engagement ring or something,” sniggers Harry.

“Fuck mate, why would you say that?”

“To watch you squirm.”

Harry and Ron get to searching Krum’s apartment, flipping over couch cushions and rummaging through bookshelves looking for something — anything — that might belong to a girl who isn’t Hermione. Jewelry, clothing, makeup, perfume. One sniff and Ron would surely be able to tell if the perfume is hers.

“What’s this?” Harry’s voice travels from a smaller room attached to the living area. Ron peers inside to find a cluttered desk next to a bookshelf. Lining the shelf is a collection of Agatha Christie and Stephen King novels, and writing utensils galore. Harry is standing at the desk with a thick binder in his hands. “I think it’s a story.”

“Let me read it.” Ron yanks the binder from Harry’s hands and turns to a random page.

“She was dead. So very dead. The way her bushy brown hair splayed across the ground and nearly blended in with the fallen leaves made her look so natural in that state, like she was finally at peace. But her eyes were open, revealing the look of shock in her face. But there was something else there. Recognition. Betrayal.

Her hand still clutched the stab wound in her stomach, and Special Agent Reid knew that her stomach lining wasn’t the only thing that had recently been broken. So had her heart.

Clearly, she knew her killer. And most likely, if statistics proved to be true — and Spencer Reid always trusted statistics — it was her lover.”

“What the fuck is this?” splutters Ron.

Harry laughs. “I don’t know, but I’d be embarrassed if someone found that at my desk. I think he’s just writing. Special Agent Reid is a character on Criminal Minds.”

“Yeah, and the dead girl with bushy brown hair is clearly Hermione.”

“It appears to be fanfiction.”

Who the fuck writes fanfiction? “Oddly specific fanfiction.”

“I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about,” shrugs Harry. “It’s probably just a creative outlet.”

“She was killed by her lover, Harry.”

“We should probably go,” says Harry. “I’m nervous someone saw us sneaking in here, and we can’t find what we’re looking for.”

Can’t find what we’re looking for? What the fuck is he talking about? “Harry, we’ve found something much worse than what we’re looking for.”

“Fanfiction?”

“No, evidence that he thinks about killing Hermione.”

“He doesn’t think about that, Ron. He’s just writing.”

“Why aren’t you more concerned about this?”

“Honestly?” Harry shrugs. “Because he’s not a bad guy. He treats Hermione well. He’s kind. And we just discovered an embarrassing secret of his and should probably keep it to ourselves.”

“Don’t you think we should tell her and let her decide if it’s concerning?”

“Hermione’s a grown woman who can take care of herself.”

Ron sighs. He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of the open page of Krum’s story. “Well I’m going to tell her.”

“How are you going to explain why we were in his apartment?”

“Dunno.”

“Want my opinion, Ron?”

No. Not really. Ron decides not to answer, but Harry continues anyway.

“Leave her alone. It really feels like you want him to be cheating on her. Or to, I dunno, be plotting to murder her.” He gestures to the binder when he emphasizes the word. “See how ridiculous it sounds when I say it?”

Ron has to admit that Harry has a point.

“I know you care about her, so stop sabotaging your friendship by meddling in her relationship.”

Ron grunts. “When did you become so good at relationships?”

Harry gets a strange look in his eye. “Well, if you must know—”

“No, I don’t need to know,” grumbles Ron, as the memory of Harry and Ginny holding hands flashes across his mind.

“Fair enough,” says Harry with a smile. “Let’s get out of here before we get caught?”

“Yeah,” agrees Ron . Probably a good idea.

Hours later, Ron is cleaning glasses at the Burrow while Harry sits across from him at the bar, picking at a pile of french fries in front of him. “I still can’t believe we snuck into his house.”

“I can,” says Ron with a shrug. Honestly, it felt a lot like storming Cormac for Hermione’s belongings when she first moved in. Some people make Ron want to throw logic out the window.

“You’re an awful influence, Ron.”

No, Hermione’s the awful influence. Ron turns to stack newly washed glasses on the shelf at the back of the bar. He is definitely being unreasonable. Hermione, in no way shape or form, caused him to break into Krum’s apartment. It was his concern for her that did. Because he cares. Plus, even if Harry doesn’t agree, if you ask Ron, they found what they were looking for.

“Hello, roommates.” Hermione’s voice echoes from the front door. It’s only three o’clock, and the bar doesn’t pick up until later, and the lack of people in the room makes Hermione’s presence seem all that much stronger.

“Oh, hi Hermione,” says Ron.

��Hey, Hermione. Good to see ya,” says Harry. “Also, I’m going to be late to meet Gin, so see you back at the loft later—”

“I didn’t know you were hanging out with Ginny today.”

Harry pushes his half-eaten french fries out of the way and rises to his feet. “Bye!”

Hermione takes his empty chair, and both of them watch Harry scuffle out the front door with an extra pep in his step.

“That was weird,” says Hermione with a shrug.

“Yeah.”

She pulls Harry’s plate of french fries closer to her, and plucks at one. “So what did you two do today?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Really? I just didn’t see either of you at the loft.”

Ron avoids her eye contact and shrugs. “Guy stuff.”

“Right,” she says, while she cocks her head to the side, studying him. “So are you working till close?”

“Yep.” Ron feels a pang of guilt at how terse his answers are. Ever since the cabin, he’s been quite short with her. He tells himself he’s just giving her space, but deep down, he knows it goes beyond that.

Hermione persists. “Mind if I hang out here for a while? Obviously Ginny’s busy with Harry and Viktor’s gone for the weekend.”

“Sure,” he says. Then, willing himself to keep the conversation flowing, he adds “You still don’t know where Viktor is this weekend?”

Hermione hesitates before answering. “Just on a trip.”

So she does know where he is? Or maybe she doesn’t and it worries her.

Overwhelmed with a desire to come clean, Ron turns back to her. “Can I tell you something, and you promise you won’t get mad at me?”

Hermione seems to brighten at the fact that his answer is longer than one word. “No, I can’t promise that, Ron. But please tell me.”

Ron groans. He shouldn’t say anything. But he does. “He gives me a weird vibe. Something’s off.”

“Of course he does,” says Hermione, rolling her eyes.

“What does that mean?” asks Ron, his defenses rising.

“Seriously, Ron?” she asks, her voice incredulous. “Tell me, Ron, see that guy in the booth?”

Ron follows her gesture to one of the only other patrons currently in the bar — a middle aged man reading a book and sipping an IPA. “Yes.” “Does he give you a weird vibe?”

“No, not really.”

“If I were to walk over to him and snog him, would he then give you a weird vibe?”

What kind of question is that? “Yes, but because he’s willing to snog a stranger in a bar—”

“You’re not willing to snog strangers at bars?” Ron’s mind darts back to Lavender. Sure, he was willing to snog strangers at bars, but they all know how that turned out.

“Okay, what are you saying?”

“I know we’re dancing around it Ron. It’s the elephant in the room.”

The hair on Ron’s arm tingles as it stands on edge. The last thing he expects is for Hermione to actually name the elephant in the room. Does this mean she’s about to shut him down once and for all? Tell him she’s happy with Krum? And that he should fuck off? Well, Fuck.

“Okay, but—”

“I love being your friend and your roommate, I’m in a stable relationship, and not willing to change that right now.”

Shit.

Hermione continues. “Will Viktor and I marry each other? Probably not. But at this point in my life, this is what I need.”

So, Hermione thinks Ron is pining uncontrollably for her? Is that how it is? “I didn’t break up with Lavender because of you, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

Does she know, though?

“And that is not why Krum gives me a vibe.”

She laughs. “Okay, why then?”

Ron groans. He really shouldn’t show her. Even if she thinks he found it at the loft, she’d probably just get angry at him for going through his things. But, for some reason, he can’t resist. “I found this today.”

Ron pulls his phone from his pocket and clicks through his photos. When the photo of Krum’s little story surfaces, he slides his phone to her across the bar.

Hermione picks it up and her eyebrows narrow to the text. “Where did you find this, Ron?”

What can he say? On his desk. In his apartment. The one I broke into earlier. “He left it out,” says Ron. It’s technically not a lie.

“That’s an invasion of his privacy,” says Hermione, coldly.

“Does it not concern you?”

Hermione shrugs. “Honestly, no, it doesn’t. He’s already shown me.”

“What?”

Hermione contemplates before giving up more details. “He’s taking a creative writing class, and this was one of his assignments,” she says, gesturing to Ron’s phone. “To write a fanfiction story from his favorite show. And he loves Criminal Minds.”

“Are you serious?” Harry was fucking right.

“Yes, it’s what he does every Tuesday and Thursday night. And that’s where he is now, actually, at a writing retreat.”

“So he’s like… serious about writing?”

Hermione shrugs.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re the dead girl in that story?”

“Not really, no.”

“And that you were killed by your lover?”

Hermione laughs but shakes her head.

“It’s not very good.” He’s definitely grasping at straws now.

“I know that,” says Hermione. Ron’s pleasantly surprised that she agrees with him.

“Why does he do it?”

“He enjoys it. Isn’t that enough?” Finishing off Harry’s old fries, Hermione wipes her hand on a napkin. “Can I have a cream ale?”

“Sure,” says Ron as he reaches for a pint glass. “So you’re confident that he doesn’t want to kill you?”

Hermione laughs. “No, he doesn’t, thank god.”

“He’s not going to break your stomach lining and then your heart?”

“Okay,” groans Hermione. “Don’t be mean.”

Ron hands her the dripping cream ale. She smiles and takes it from him, her cheeks tinging pink with what Ron presumes is secondhand embarrassment. Honestly, it’s quite nice that she supports him, even though his hobby is a bit weird. It’s what Ron would call a green flag. Krum is a lucky bastard.

“My heart isn’t breakable right now, anyway,” she adds, before taking a sip of the foam layer at the top of her beer.

Ron cocks an eyebrow.

“Still have too many walls up, you know.”

“Oh I know, you’re a total ice queen.”

Hermione laughs, and Ron feels himself relax. It was a tough few days of not speaking freely with her.

“Thank you for talking to me. I missed having you as my friend,” she says.

The way she emphasizes friend sits strangely with Ron. As though she’s dictating the specific role she wants him to play right now. For some reason, it doesn’t feel quite like being friendzoned, and he can’t figure out why. There’s something temporary about the way she says friend.

Or is he reading way too much into that? He doesn’t want to be her friend. And yet, he loves being her friend. How does that even make sense?

“Right,” says Ron, cautiously. “So if I wanted to write bad fanfiction, would you support me? As a friend?”

“Of course!” says Hermione cheerfully. “I’d beta read for you.”

“Well then, maybe I’ll take up the habit. Show you I have other talents besides giving you free beer and being your attractive roommate.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, yet a smile graces her lips. “I bet you’d be a good writer,” she says as she gulps down the last of her beer.

“Maybe you’ll find out. Want another beer?”

“Sure!”

Ron pulls her glass away and refills it under the tap. This is definitely the weirdest friendship he has. But he’ll play along.

For now.

It is far too late when Ron finally makes it home from the bar, and as much as he wants to sleep, he’s too wired from his conversation before. He strips down to his boxers and collapses into the bed. Although he would love to continue talking with Hermione, there are no signs of life in any of the bedrooms, so it’s a safe bet that everyone in the loft is asleep.

Ron turns to his side and reaches his phone on his bedside table. Without a second thought, he starts typing away. Hopefully Hermione has her text notifications on silent. There is no reason she can’t have two story tellers in her life.

“She was about 5’6, had brown eyes, and wore a Hamilton t-shirt. She loved to watch romantic comedies and was a total coffee snob, even though she couldn’t tell the difference between a cappuccino and a latte. Her sultry gaze and bushy brown hair splayed wildly out at all angles, making her appear like a sexy medusa. In fact she could turn you rock hard in an instant. She had her whole life ahead of her. Or so she thought…”

Before he can overthink it, Ron presses send.

His heart rate quickens as he stares at his message. She’s asleep, so there is no way she’ll see it until tomorrow morning—

Then, three little dots appear at the bottom of his screen, and his palms begin to sweat. Oh shit.

“Oh my god, Ron, what is this?”

Well, he’s committed now.

“Little did she know, her life as she knew it was about to end. In walked a man, about 6’5, bright red hair, and a pale, yet chiseled adonis-like body. Nothing like her current boyfriend, but everything she wished her current boyfriend could be. He didn’t waste time writing fanfiction and playing sports, and instead crafted beautiful cocktails from the basement dive bar, was quite broke, and regularly forgot to do his laundry. Like a REAL MAN.”

Hermione is quicker to respond this time. “You’re ridiculous. But keep going please.”

Yes, ma’am. “And he wasn’t just a sex god. He was also a… dun dun dun… MURDERER.”

“LMAO. This is so mean. But I’m laughing so hard.”

Ron continues typing away. “She knew all of this. And yet, she still wanted him. She didn’t care if it was her last night on earth, because she knew it would be her best night on earth. And that was all she needed.”

“OMG now you’re getting carried away.”

She’s not wrong, yet something urges him to keep going. “She entered his apartment, so he could enter HER.”

Yeah, maybe he is getting carried away, but it’s fun, so what’s the harm? Plus, she promised to support his creative writing journey.

While waiting for Hermione’s response, Ron’s bedroom door bursts open, and Hermione stomps across the room. Her face is flushed and Ron can tell she is trying to hide a smile. “Phone, please?” she asks, her arm extended.

“No, I’m writing a story!”

Hermione stands her ground. “You’ve lost your phone privileges.”

“But I’m going to be the next Stephen King.”

Hermione lets out a laugh and dives onto the bed, wrestling his hand for his phone. She braces her knees on either side of him, pinning him between her legs. Ron makes a show of struggling, but as much as he wants to keep her there forever, he eventually lets her win.

“Fine,” he says, handing over his phone.

It only takes a moment for them to pause, limbs entangled, for Ron’s mind to run wild. How easy would it be for him to turn the moment serious? He could wrap an arm around her waist and pin her to him. He doubts she’d resist. She has a boyfriend, but she also seems surprisingly comfortable with her arms draped around Ron’s body. She knows he’s only wearing boxers under the covers, right?

They linger there for a moment that solidifies Ron’s inkling from before. She bites her lip, her eyes dart down toward the covers. The way she doesn’t immediately jump off of the bed when she notices that he’s in his underwear suggests that the friendzone is an arbitrary construct.

Ron steadies his voice in an effort to hide his rising heart beat. “Careful, Hermione. I’m a sex god with a habit for murder.”

Yeah, took one second for him to fuck that up.

“I fucking hate you,” she says, as she wrangles herself back up, his phone in her hand. “You are most definitely not a killer.”

Yeah, it took one second for him to fuck that up. However, Ron’s stomach flutters at the sound of her swearing. She hardly ever cusses, only when she’s with him. “Right, but am I a sex god?”

Hermione laughs. “I wouldn’t know, would I?”

Ron raises an eyebrow. “Care to find out?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have had that whiskey shot at the end of his shift. He’s acting a bit too bold.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Her answer echoes in Ron’s mind. He doesn’t miss the way Hermione averts her gaze, and her cheeks flush red.

“I know. We’ve established that.” Then, with a inhale to gain courage, he adds, “But if you didn’t?”

Maybe Ron imagines it, but a look flashes across her eyes, and the corners of her lips turn up in a smile. She shakes her head as if to halt the beginning of a fantasy before it runs wild. “I really should sleep. Goodnight, Ron.”

“Night, Hermione.”

Ron grins as she turns and leaves the room, fully aware that she never answered his question.

#be11a loft #romione #ron and hermione #ron x hermione #hermione granger #hpromione #ron weasley #angst #ronweasley #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #muggle au #slow build #slow burn

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drarrypotterrenaissance · 9 months

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A Glimmer of Hope

Once both you and your soulmate come of age, you can see shimmering sparkles, like a heat map, on things they’ve recently touched. A casual inter-house quidditch match between the returning eighth years gets a bit competitive, and Harry discovers that there's a lot more waiting for him on the other side of the war than he expected. For @harryjamespotterweek 2023, Day 5 (Quidditch, Soulmate AU) Rated T, 1.6k words. Read on ao3 here

The air whipped against his face, the sun made him squint his eyes, and Harry felt truly alive for maybe the first time since he had died. The summer had been hard, and choosing to come back for a final year at Hogwarts had been even more difficult, but this, this felt good. In the air, on a broomstick, Harry felt like he was a million miles away from the rubble on the other side of the castle, he felt like he had left all the sorrow and death behind him, and he felt like maybe it had all been worth it after all.

Of course, Malfoy had chosen that moment to collide with him, ramming him with his shoulder and knocking Harry off course. It was only a scrimmage, a casual match for the newly-christened ‘eighth year’ students to enjoy as part of a new intramural league set up to ease the blow of being excluded from the official quidditch tournament, but of course Malfoy was taking it seriously. Harry thought, as he rubbed his now-bruised shoulder, that he should perhaps be angry at Malfoy for still being so competitive, so needlessly combative during a match like this, but more than anything he felt relieved.

Everyone had been walking on eggshells the last few days, with no one quite sure how to return to lessons and friendships after a war. Even Malfoy had been infuriatingly polite and withdrawn, speaking quietly to Harry and a few others, offering sincere apologies and not expecting forgiveness, and Harry had hated it. The War was over, the suffering should end at some point too, but it seemed like it never would, and Harry just wanted things to be normal, even if he was beginning to suspect he had never truly known what that was. So, to have Draco Malfoy antagonize him during a quidditch match, petty and sneering and taunting and normal, felt like the best thing in the world.

Harry straightened himself on his broom and took off down the pitch, back in the direction of Malfoy, determined now to beat him to the snitch. He was still a few broomlengths away when he spotted it, circling near the base of a Slytherin goal post. Harry put on a burst of speed, Malfoy shadowing him so closely their knees kept knocking, and they were almost there, hands reaching out and only a foot off the ground, when the snitch looped around and came closer to Harry. They both grabbed at it, Malfoy just catching the end of a wing before Harry had it in his fist and Draco was toppling off the end of his broom.

The Gryffindors in the stands went wild, and Harry could hear Ron’s shouts of triumph from the other end of the pitch. Beaming, Harry raised the snitch in his still closed fist, realizing distantly that this was the first time he’d held one since that last walk through the Forest. He looked up at it, trying not to think about what came after that walk, what happened at the end, when-

Harry noticed something odd. One of the snitch’s wings was glittering strangely, as though it was coated in a hazy heat wave. Gingerly, he touched the glimmering wing tip and found that, although it looked as if it were radiating heat, it only tingled a little to the touch, still feeling like metal cooled by the wind.

Harry hadn’t found his soulmate yet, and he hadn’t spent much time thinking about it either. He’d only been eighteen for a month and change, and since he’d never expected to make it that far he hadn’t given much thought to who his soulmate was. Ron and Hermione hadn’t said much to him about it either. He knew it was a private thing, something for a couple to discover for themselves and to only share when they were ready, and his friends had chosen to ignore their own bond until the end of the fighting. He could still remember waking up one morning in the Forest of Dean, dragging himself out to the campfire and pausing at the entrance of the tent, not wanting to intrude on the private moment he had just walked in on. It must have been Ron’s birthday, although they’d lost track of time again and hadn’t felt much like celebrating besides. But when Harry saw the two of them by the fire, he was sure that Ron must have turned eighteen, because he and Hermione were both looking at a mug in something close to awe, each taking turns touching it gently, as though it might shatter apart if they made a sound. Finally, Hermione had schooled her features, and said, “We shouldn’t… not until- after it’s all over.”

Ron had looked pained, gazing at Hermione with something that could only be described as love and longing, before nodding and quietly saying, “Alright. Whatever you want, ‘Mione,” then leaning in and kissing her gently on the forehead. Harry had ducked back into the tent at that point, and he had pretended not to notice the way Ron looked around at all the things Hermione had recently touched, seeing a shimmer visible only to him when he came in a minute later.

Of course, Hermione’s resolve to wait on their happily ever after hadn’t held out until the end of the war, and she had kissed Ron in the Chamber of Secrets only two months later. Harry privately thought that she had made the right choice – despite her somewhat awful timing, it was nice to see his two friends finally together, openly in love, and it didn’t make sense to wait on a future that might never come, when they could be together for however many moments they had left.

Unfortunately, when Harry reflected on his best friends’ happiness after the War he was still happy for them, but found that he also felt empty inside, as though their connection had scooped out something from inside of him, far larger and more crucial than the portion of Voldemort’s soul had been. He was lonely, he had realized, and it seemed like such a petty thing to complain about in the ruin and grief left in the aftermath of everything they had come through, but something in his brain had flickered with hope at the idea of finding his own soulmate. He hadn’t been eighteen yet though, and so he pushed his feelings down and went to more funerals, alone within the grieving crowds.

Harry hadn’t thought much about his soulmate over the summer, but suddenly a conversation with Ron came back to him.

“It’s the most incredible thing, Harry. Everything Hermione touches, I can see. There’s some sort of glimmer, or something, all hazy around where her fingers were, and it’s just for me, I’m the only one who can see it.” He had looked rapturous, and Harry had been so happy for him, and almost sick with emptiness at the same time.

Now, Harry thought he understood what Ron had meant. The tip of one wing of the snitch was unlike anything else he’d ever seen, and when he looked closely he thought he could make out the smudge of fingerprints from a grasping hand. It was incredible, Harry thought, looking at the little glimmers shifting in the sunlight; he had a soulmate.

It shouldn’t have been such a shock. Everyone had a soulmate, and for most wixen it was only a matter of time until they met theirs, yet it had always seemed like such an unreachable concept for Harry, something he had never expected to live long enough to enjoy, and then something tamped down by grief. But now, looking at the shimmer on the struggling snitch still clasped in his hand, Harry could feel his world shifting. The impossible was turning into the inevitable, and everything seemed to be falling into place all at once for him. He felt good, for the first time in ages, warmed by the sun and the rush of competition and finally feeling like things were back to normal because Draco Malfoy was still a competitive arsehole, even if he was remorseful for his part in all the tragedy.

Harry rubbed his aching shoulder again, trying to think fast. The other members of the eighth year team were circling the pitch, and would be coming down to land beside him in a moment. He knew who his soulmate was, and it made all the sense in the world, because of course it would be Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who had tormented him, who Harry had followed and watched, who had always been focused on getting Harry’s attention and who had risked quite a lot to save Harry at the Manor, only to be saved by Harry in return a few months later. Of course, it was Malfoy, they’d been in each other’s orbit since the very beginning, obsessive and intense and every other strong feeling except for love. So, of course, the universe would see to that too.

Harry took a deep breath and looked around. Ron was going to land in just a second, the rest of the team would be close behind. Draco was a few feet away, returning to his fellow Slytherins with only a faint air of frustration surrounding him, and none of the anger Harry had grown accustomed to watching lash out after other lost matches. Harry was standing in the sun, truly enjoying the peace they had won for the first time after the war, and he decided that he wanted to see how far it could go. Turning away from the swarming Gryffindors, he held out his hand and called out, watching Malfoy turn around to regard him with an open, curious expression.

“Hey Draco, I think there’s something you should see.”

#hjpweek2023 #drarry #drarry fic #romione #(the romione is background but also might be my favourite part of this fic)#my fic #my writing #quidditch #soulmate au #everything your soulmate touches shimmers for a little bit for only you to see #i'm posting this a day late because of computer troubles

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edie-k · 2 years

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Legally Ginger: Chapter 13/13 “Any Cosmo Girl Would Have Known”

Summary: Vic’s trial concludes and so does this story.

Thank you to all of you that have commented and showed me love and encouragement!

Thank you to @adenei, who was always patient and helpful, even when I handed her a pile of shit. And thank you to @accio-broom for her extra eyes and confidence boost.

I’m not feeling particularly warm to an organization that’s referenced in this chapter today so in honor of this story ending, please send up a big “Fuck Deshaun Watson.”

Since I already gave the preview, let’s get to it!

Chapter 13 can be read here.

You don’t read anything until it’s complete? Time to start!

#romione fanfic #romione #ron x hermione #hermione granger #ron weasley #romione fanfiction #hp fanfic #romione au #au romione #legally ginger

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romione-trope-fest · 1 month

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Capture My Heart

Title: Capture My Heart

Author: adenei

Trope: Muggle AU

Brief Summary: Work meets play at a work picnic/team bonding event. Hermione gets a little more than she bargained for when a certain redhead is held captive during a healthy team bonding game of Capture the Flag.

WC: 2,541

TW: n/a unless you count excessive forearm mentions

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

What am I, twelve?

Hermione paces back and forth in front of the currently unoccupied ‘jail cell.’ Really, it’s a piece of rope tied around a few trees just off the beaten path of the trail that is her team’s home base. Swiping through her phone, she’d rather be anywhere else than playing this stupid game at the stupid company picnic.

Don’t they realize she still has a ton of work to get done? Cases never end for a public defender, especially not when certain detectives seem to be a little too good at their job, putting deadbeats who can’t afford their own lawyer behind bars.

It’s not his fault. She should be grateful that there’s someone who actually does their job and takes it seriously, but her workload is screaming otherwise. And since her department refuses to hire an additional person, Hermione will continue to aim all of her resentment at him.

Now, if only the other side would just capture her team’s flag so they can be done with this God forsaken children’s game. Then she can get back to the office. Yeah, that’d be great.

Bored out of her mind, Hermione goes back to scrolling the newest set of case files that were emailed to her that morning. It’s the only thing she can do considering she was given the most boring position on her team. Like a group of lawyers and paralegals are going to catch and apprehend a bunch of detectives. And even if they did, what was she going to do? Hold them in contempt? Honestly.

A rustling from nearby catches her attention, and she locks her phone before shoving it into the back pocket of her jeans. At least the fall weather and smattering of dead leaves on the ground prevents anyone from sneaking around too stealthily.

“Oi, Hermione, where are you?” Ernie MacMillan, her desk partner, calls from down the path.

She rolls her eyes, though no one can see her. “Right here, where you left me, remember? To guard an unoccupied makeshift jail cell.”

“Hey, not my fault McGonagall forced you to participate. And lucky for you, it won’t be unoccupied anymore.”

“Yeah, right.” She scoffs. “Like any of you caught one of those egotistical prats.”

“Hey, I take offense to that!” The second voice makes her freeze, a shiver running up her spine.

Of all the people, does it have to be him?

Hermione might not just be resentful of that one particular detective for keeping her overworked. It might also have something to do with the fact that he is extremely attractive, charismatic, and all around swoonworthy. And she’s not the only one who thinks that. He’s also way out of her league given all the single straight women in the county building have a crush on him.

And who wouldn’t? With messy waves of striking auburn hair that’s faded on the sides, piercing ice blue eyes that can spot the assailant in any situation, and a lopsided smile that’s not only welcoming but inherently trusting, it’s hard not to be attracted to him. But that’s nothing to Hermione. Sure, he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s his intelligence that turns her on—that and the infuriating way he always rolls his dress shirts up to his elbows, showing off his perfectly sculpted forearms any time he books a criminal.

If he ever is single, she assumes it’s never for long. There’s probably a line of women waiting to date him. Not that she’d know or anything. She refuses to delve that deep into his personal life—if for the sole fact it’ll kill the tiny shred of hope she has for something as minimal as getting a drink with him sometime.

Screw getting a drink with him. You’re about to be left alone in the woods with nothing to do. Take advantage of the situation!

Oh my god, no. Get it together, Hermione.

Right. Even as images of potential scenarios flow through her mind, she shakes them out of her head. The last thing she needs is for Ron Weasley to see her drooling over him. Especially since he and Ernie are fast approaching.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t meant as a compliment,” she retorts, unwilling to let him get under her skin.

Before the detective can speak again, Ernie cuts in. “Yeah, well, try not to insult him too much. Even holding one hostage increases our chances to win.”

“I thought jailbreaks were against the rules?” Hermione asks. Not that she cares. She’ll willingly let him go in five minutes just to have her peace and quiet again—if only to daydream about him behind his back.

Ernie makes a big show of shoving Ron into the makeshift jail cell then looks back at Hermione. “They are. So make sure he stays there.”

“Or what?” Hermione crosses her arms. “You’ll make me buy coffee for the floor Monday? Sorry, I can’t. I have a full day in court.”

“Again?” Ernie groans.

“Yes, which is the reason I’d prefer to be back at the office and not in the woods for a silly picnic to begin with.”

Ernie grimaces and attempts to placate her, even though they both know it means little to nothing in their field of work. “At least there’s overtime?”

“I suppose. Though it’d be nice to have a weekend to myself once in a while.” Then Hermione turns to the captor and grumbles. “All thanks to you.”

“On that note, I’m going to get back to the rest of the team.” Ernie backs away a few steps, then takes off at a jog.

Hermione side-eyes the bane of her existence—pointedly as she leans against a tree. Ron holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t blame me for doing my job. You’d think crime rates would start to go down eventually.”

“Please, Ron,” she chides. “You of all people should know that crime is always going to exist.”

He saunters—fucking saunters—over to her and props himself against another tree, once again showing off his forearms. Of course he’s still managed to highlight them despite dressing casually with jeans, a heather gray t-shirt, and a dark blue flannel unbuttoned over it. It’s in striking contrast to her jade sweater, jeans, beige peacoat, and brown leather boots.

Ron looks at her through his light blonde lashes. “So what do you suggest, Hermione? That I not do my job? Turn a blind eye to evidence in an investigation or stop asking key questions during interrogations?”

His gaze never falters, and she can’t help but feel like it’s piercing through her, like he’s trying to solve the mystery that she is to him. It’s uncomfortable in all the right ways, sending jolts of energy through her and making her forget where she is and what she’s doing. In all honesty, it’s making her want to jump his bones.

Which would be completely unprofessional.

Ugh. This is why she tries to avoid work functions outside the office. It’s much easier to avoid her attraction in that environment. But here, in the woods with the sun shining through the trees and the foliage creating a warm ambience, it’s hard not to let her imagination run wild. It’d be too easy to let herself believe he’s eyeing her with the same want she’s been harboring for over a year.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she forces herself to say. “Just, I don’t know, try a little harder to suggest other lawyers. I’m only one person, and I can only do so much.”

Ron twists his mouth and cocks his head as he thinks about her suggestion. “I guess I could, but then what excuse would I have to come see you if I’m not delivering cases?”

His playful demeanor hosts an undertone of seriousness that causes Hermione’s breath to hitch. This time, she’s the one to search his eyes for a deeper meaning, but she’s absolutely terrible at reading people. That’s why she took the public defender position—it was meant to be a stepping stone while she strengthened her abilities to read a jury. Then, she’d be able to go after the job she really wanted. One that would help her do some good in the world.

Giving up, she decides to just ask him outright. “Why would you think you need an excuse?”

“Because detectives don’t usually hang around with attorneys.”

“Probably because all they do is pile on more work for us.”

If ‘they’ means Ron and ‘us’ means her, then yes, that would be true.

“So, you’re saying I could drop in to say hi whenever I feel like it?” Ron raises an eyebrow to accompany his question.

“If you want, but then people might think we’re friends…”

He pushes himself off the tree and steps toward the rope separating himself from her. The motion sends an uninvited thrill through her. “Aren’t we?”

“I figured we were closer to work acquaintances.”

She shrugs, attempting to keep things light and breezy while her body is on fire, desperate for her to open herself up to something more. But she won’t. Not yet. Especially when she’s wary of his intentions. After all, the rest of his team is vying for their stupid flag that’s somewhere on the grounds of the park.

His hand claps his chest, and he makes a show of stumbling to his knees. “Oh, you wound me, Hermione.”

“Please, stop being so dramatic.” She lets out an unbecoming snort through her laughter. He grins at her and she rolls her eyes. “This better not be some ploy to distract me in an attempt to get the flag.”

Ron stands back up and places his hands on his hips, once again flexing his forearms. God, she hates it so much. “Come on, Hermione. If I cared about the game, I wouldn’t have let myself get captured.”

She bursts into more laughter. “Yeah, right. There’s no way you got captured on purpose. That’s even more suspicious.”

“Why?”

“Because all I’ve listened to this week is how ‘we have to take down Weasley.’ How you’ve ‘single-handedly won the game for the last three years.’ Who’s to say you’re not distracting me just to get closer to your goal?”

“Maybe my goal isn’t the flag this time.” There’s something about the way he says it that wipes the smile right off her face.

“W-what?” she squeaks.

“Maybe I got captured under the guise of sacrificing myself for a teammate to get closer to the flag when really, I just wanted to spend time with you outside the office.”

Despite the fact that her heart is positively pounding in her chest, she keeps up her front with an eye roll. “Why?”

“Because I like you.”

The words hang between them as she blinks blankly at him. “I—you—” She swallows hard. “You do?”

Tentatively, he lifts the rope and steps underneath it. The tips of his ears are pink, something she’s noticed every once in a while but never thought anything of it.

“Uh, yeah. Thought it was obvious.”

Oh my god, is this actually happening?

For a moment, she’s completely enraptured by the way he inches closer in an almost tentative matter. But then her mind chooses logic and once again blares the warning signs that this is a game.

“Not as obvious as ‘no jailbreaks,’” she reminds him.

He stops and she inwardly kicks herself for ruining the moment—if there’s even a moment to be ruined. But then he grins at her and takes another step forward. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

She can hardly believe it. Hope rushes over her again, and it’s all she can do to try and keep it contained. The last thing she needs is for him to see how completely enamored she is with him. Even still, a little giggle escapes her throat as she volleys a quip. “That’s rather bold, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But hopefully it’s worth it.”

“Why?” She quirks an eyebrow at him, the unknown meaning behind his words suddenly sobering her.

A million possibilities flood her mind until he offers a sheepish grin and elaborates. “Because maybe I’ve forfeited the game for personal reasons.

“Personal reasons?” she repeats.

“That center around asking you out.”

Asking me—holy shit.

He waits for a beat as Hermione stares, slack-jawed, at him. Then, he adds, “So, uh, any time you want to put me out of my misery and let me know if it was a wise choice would be great.”

He’s serious. He’s actually serious. Ron Weasley came here with the intention of asking her out. He could have any girl he wanted, yet he’s here, alone with her, detailing his plans of asking her out.

She wants to savor every moment. Taking her time, Hermione steps closer to him, memorizing the hope in his eyes, the worry on his browline, the way his cheeks are completely red like he’s embarrassed. Then, a smirk forms on her lips. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“You technically haven’t asked me anything yet.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, uh, would you want to grab dinner or something?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Hermione taps her chin. “I’ve got quite the case load right now. I really shouldn’t. Next week is going to be brutal. There’s no possible way I could give up part of my weekend. Unless…well, I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Even though she’s messing with him, she still finds herself succumbing to his gravitational pull. Because despite it all, the last thing she wants to convey is the possibility that she might say no. Of course, she’d have to question his detective skills if he could ever believe that.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to. She’s not quite sure where the brazenness comes from, but she doesn’t resist the pull urging her even closer. Her hand reaches up, sliding the soft fabric of his flannel between her fingers, which invites him into her personal space, and he grasps her hips.

For a moment, she forgets that there’s even a game going on, and that they’re at a work function—one she’d very much like to leave right now if at all possible. But first, there’s another thing she’d prefer. And luckily, he doesn’t make her wait.

His voice is suddenly husky, filled with lust as his eyes flit down to her lips. “I think that can be arranged.”

She tilts her head up as he leans down. Their first kiss is gentle, tentative, as if he doesn’t believe she’s given him permission. But from the moment their lips meet, the fire within her reignites, and Hermione wants more. Hungrily, she reaches up, fingers combing through his hair, urging even closer and deepens the kiss.

Ron moans, squeezing her hips as he backs her into the nearest tree, and if she’s not careful, she might just let him do whatever he wants to her right then and there.

That thought seems to snap her back to her senses, and she breaks away, her eyes taking a moment to catch up to her mind. Though heavy, she forces her eyelids open and meets his gaze. “So, dinner?”

Ron nods. “Don’t think they’ll miss us if we leave early, do you?”

“Not a chance.”

#submission #muggle au #romione #romione muggle au #romionetropefest

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constitutionalweasleymonarchy · 4 months

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Romione kiss - 1813 edition

From the most recent update to my Regency Muggle AU, The Pride of Burrough House: chapter 23. I love writing Romione kisses and wanted to share this one.

“You’re full of odd questions today,” he remarked curiously.

When she didn’t respond, he decided, “No, I take that back — ” He sent her a sly look. “You’re full of odd questions every day — Hey!”

He laughed as she swatted him with her book.

“Now listen here, miss — ”

Hermione wasn’t expecting it, and the book slipped from her fingers easily when Ron grabbed it, rolling away from her and rising to his knees

“ — that’s no way to treat — ” He paused, appraising the cover. “Now this one I haven’t seen before.

“Pride and Prejudice,” he recited as though reading aloud in class. His eyes glinted wickedly. “Is it about you?”

“Oh!” She lunged, but he was too fast for her, jumping to his feet and tucking it behind his back.

“It’s about a girl who meets a very rude boy,” she informed him pointedly, rising herself and brushing off her skirts. “Now give it here.”

Ron evaded her once again by lifting it high above his own head, feigning indignation. “Well, ask me nicely!”

She huffed.

“Mr Weasley,” she goaded, saccharine and affectedly courteous, “might I please have my book back?”

She punctuated her request by sticking out her tongue.

His laugh was the sort you couldn’t hear but could see, and he obliged her. When she grasped the small tome, though, her fingers closed over his and he didn’t let go, not right away.

Not for the first time she noticed that something about standing so close to him, face-to-face, set her nerves jangling — something inscrutable between them that made it hard to breathe, and not just because they were still breathless from their play.

Perhaps it was because they’d been so deliberately avoiding talking about it, instead talking in circles around it. Perhaps it was because they’d quietly refused to give it a name, that it grew impatient and decided to declare itself.

Whatever the reason, Ron decided to see about something, and Hermione decided to let him. She knew what was going to happen almost the moment the idea formed in his mind, just by his little intake of breath. Even so, at the first (somewhat inartful) clasp of their lips against one another, Hermione inhaled sharply. The book tumbled, abandoned, to the ground.

Ron’s face was flushed when he pulled away, and shyer than she’d ever seen him. He struggled to find his voice, and Hermione realised she couldn’t bear to hear him say he was sorry. Because she wasn’t, not at all.

Hermione solved that problem by kissing him again. She saw his clear blue eyes go wide, saw his hands gesture awkwardly at his sides, afraid in that second to do anything with them. Finally, when her hands rested at his shoulders, his came up to softly frame her face.

Hermione had always thought she was too sensible for this sort of thing. That maybe someday there’d be someone, because that was a nice thought, in its way; but not yet, when she still had so much to learn and do.

The trouble was, from that moment on, every minute of every day, Hermione wanted very little else than to be kissing Ron Weasley.

#romione fanfic #fic excerpt #romione #ron x hermione #muggle au #regency au #ron weasley #hermione granger #ronsgirlfriday #burrough house

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adenei · 2 months

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Welcome to My Life

New fic! New fic! New fic!

Well, it's not really new. It's been sitting in my drive for about a month and I honestly just forgot to post it.

Summary:

Being in a relationship is not all it's cracked up to be—especially when it's not with the right person. But what can Ron do? He's stuck between a rock and a hard place, not knowing how to let Lavender down easy OR how to find a way back into Hermione's good graces. So, he does the next best thing: ignores the problem. Which is fine until he and Harry run into a bit of a sticky switchuation.

6th year AU a la Freaky Friday with an Advanced Switching Spell gone terribly wrong—or perhaps right, depending on how you look at it.

Chapter 1 on AO3 or read below

Likes, comments, reblogs appreciated!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Trouble in paradise?”

Ron flips off a sniggering Harry, but keeps his pace as he ignores the calls of his girlfriend. “Won-Won! Wait! Where are you going? I thought you were going to walk me to Divination.”

Fuck that.

He can practically hear the pout in her voice, but there’s no way he’s turning around or walking all the way across the castle just to double back to the common room. It’s his free period for fuck’s sake. And he’s never been more excited for one.

Ron is desperate for the break—both from the constant, never-ending rigor his teachers keep pressing upon him and from her. It seems like every time he turns around she’s right there waiting for him. After class, during meals, in the common room after a long day of classes. Can’t a bloke just have some time to himself? Why does she feel the need to be attached to his hip all the damn time?

It’s not that he doesn’t like Lavender. She’s his girlfriend for crying out loud. But Merlin, has she always been this annoying? And clingy? It definitely wasn’t like this before Christmas. At least he doesn’t think so. But ever since they returned from the holidays, it's been ten times worse. All she wants to do is snog and he…doesn’t.

Maybe it’s because everything about her lost its appeal when he opened that horrific gift on Christmas morning. A gaudy, fake necklace? In what reality could she ever believe he’d want something like that? It was a simultaneous slap in the face while having a bucket of ice water dumped on his head. A stark reality of how well she didn’t know him—how well they didn’t know each other—and it was something he couldn’t overlook anymore.

Of course, it was all made worse when his first thought upon receiving the gift (after a hearty what the fuck?) was ‘Hermione would have never given me something like this.’ And while it was true, it was also the catalyst that spurred the downward spiral contributing to the very obvious, very slow demise of his current relationship. Which would go faster if Lav could cotton on to the fact that Ron’s lost interest. But he is losing hope that she’s going to get the hint, even in the midst of him blowing her off for the sixth time this week.

Once he and Harry round the corner and are well on their way up the grand staircase toward the common room, his best mate speaks again. “I still don’t understand why you can’t just chuck her.”

“Have you ever chucked a girl?” Ron sighs, tightening his grip on the bag slung over his shoulder.

“No, but—”

“Exactly. I don’t want to, like, hurt her or anything. Or blindside her.”

Harry snorts. “Well, if she’s blindsided at this point, then that’s entirely her fault.”

“She has to start getting the hints eventually. Maybe I just need to be more obvious,” he mutters.

“I don’t think you can be, mate.”

Harry’s probably right. Lav has to be ignoring the signs on purpose. Because in addition to bolting out of the room following any shared classes, Ron’s also taken up extra Prefect duties, rearranged his meal schedules, taken to studying in empty classrooms in the evenings (but never the same one so she doesn’t find him), and encouraged Harry to go out to the pitch for extra practices to avoid her over the last four weeks.

Only once has he been dragged out of the common room for an underwhelming snogging session where he succumbed to it for about twenty minutes—and only because he was thinking of someone else—before he made up some excuse about not feeling great and disappeared back to the boys’ dormitory. It’s amazing how much clearer his mind can be when it’s not distracted by a constant assault of sticky lip gloss and a tongue being shoved down his throat. And how much more he can accomplish. Ron’s pretty sure he’s further ahead on his coursework than Hermione is at this point. Not that he understood all of it. He still missed Hermione’s help with that.

Fuck. Hermione.

As if reading his thoughts, Harry contributes more to their stilted conversation. “Yeah, well, if she doesn’t, I’m sure you could just make nice with Hermione again. I bet that’d help her get the hint.”

Ron rolls his eyes. He knows why Harry’s suggesting it. His best mate is sick of splitting his time between the two because they can’t seem to get their shit together. And yeah, Ron would like everything to go back to the way it was, with the three of them being friends again, but he has no fucking clue how to fix things. And it’s not like breaking up with Lavender is going to magically solve anything.

According to Ginny, Hermione still snogged Viktor. Which is why Ron let Lavender snog him. Then Hermione set those fucking birds on him, they didn’t go to Slughorn’s fucking party together, and now they haven’t spoken in two fucking months. Ron wouldn’t even know where to begin to try and rectify the shit show that is their friendship—if there’s anything left to salvage at all.

Ignoring Harry’s suggestion, he changes the subject, desperate to talk about anything other than Lavender or Hermione. “Want to get that advanced switching spell practice out of the way when we get back to the common room?”

“You actually want to do work? Thought you were planning on taking a kip by the fire.”

Ron shrugs. “Yeah, but it seems dead useful. Might be a good skill to have for the Aurors.”

“True. Alright, yeah, we can give it a go. McGonagall might give us extra house points if we can pull one off too.”

For whatever reason, Professor McGonagall had revisited switching spells today. At first, Ron thought it was laughable, given they were first-year spells. But then he’d actually paid attention to her lecture. Like really paid attention. More than usual. It was during her explanation of the types of objects and animals you could use that Ron realized there was more the professor was saying if you read between the lines. Especially with the war against You-Know-Who looming outside the castle walls.

Who knew when something like this could be beneficial to them? Like switching owls to gain intel through intercepted letters or even switching places with someone else if Polyjuice wasn’t a ready-made option. Not that McGonagall had expressed any of that in the lesson, but Ron could extrapolate. It wasn’t that difficult.

And if they could pull this off, it’d be beneficial to have in the future, which Ron plans to tell Harry once they’re alone. A fleeting thought to include Hermione passes through his mind, but now isn’t the time. Maybe when they’re on better terms. If that ever happens.

“What are we going to use though?” Harry must have been rambling because he stops and stares at Ron after giving the Fat Lady the password.

Oops.

Ron must have tuned him out. “Oh, er, hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

They climb through the portrait hole as Ron considers their options. Sure, they could play it safe and stick to switching similar objects, but that wouldn’t be enough to impress their Transfiguration professor. They had to challenge themselves. But with what?

And then, it hits him clear as day. Owls. Sure, they’re still the same, but also different.

“Is Hedwig in the dorms? Pig was there this morning. I bet we could use them!”

Harry looks warily at Ron. “Er, are you sure? We’ve never attempted the spell.”

“We’ve done it hundreds of times on animals that were similar in size. Hedgehogs, rabbits, tortoises. Pig’s small, yeah, but Hedwig isn’t a giant, so that shouldn’t cause an issue. Plus, they’re so different, we’ll know right away if the spell worked and then switch them back.”

Harry eyes him a moment more before giving in. “If you say so.”

“Brilliant. I’ll go grab them.”

It doesn’t take long to retrieve the owls, and by the time he returns back to the common room, he sets their cages on the table in the center of the room. Hedwig stares curiously at Harry while Pig flits to every corner of the cage, eager for whatever is about to happen. Harry puts his hand against the metal, stroking the snowy owl’s feathers from between the bars.

“It’ll be alright, just a quick practice for Transfiguration.” Then he turns to Ron. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Right. What’s the spell again?” Ron asks.

“You don’t remember?”

“Uh...”

Harry groans. It’s not Ron’s fault Lavender chose the exact moment McGonagall was going over the incantation to slide a note under the desk to him, her fingertips grazing his inner thigh in the process. Parts of him hadn’t gotten the memo that he really wasn’t interested in her like that, so he’d had to crumple the paper in his fist to get a grip.

All he can offer Harry is a weak look in response, and he’s pretty sure his best friend puts the pieces together. Holding up his hand, he shakes his head. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know. It’s either Inter se Mutatio or Altera Mutatio. But I don’t remember which.”

“Is it in the text?” Ron reaches for his bag, but stops when Harry’s eyes bug out of his head.

“Okay, you and Hermione seriously need to get sorted because I don’t need two of you.”

“Fuck off.” Ron snorts. “You know I wouldn’t care about looking it up, but since we’re about to perform a switching spell on our owls, I’d rather be accurate. Unless you want something to go wrong.”

“Yeah…right,” Harry begrudgingly agrees, but doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, it’s not in there. At least I don’t think it is. McGonagall usually tells us what page to open to if we’re working on something out of the book. This…wasn’t.”

“Ah, right. Well, do you remember the difference between the two?”

“No. Just that one should rarely be used, unless it’s a dire circumstance. Whatever she meant by that.”

Ron resists the urge to smack his forehead. He has a distinct feeling that McGonagall is teaching them this on purpose, yet Harry can’t be bothered to pay—fuck, maybe he is starting to sound a bit too much like his other—former—best friend. He seriously needs to lay off the studying. And he will. After they practice this.

“Okay, well, think. Which one did she discuss first?”

Usually, McGonagall will tell them the spell first, and then end the lecture by reiterating it before giving them time to practice. So, chances are, whatever she said in the middle was the one they shouldn’t use.

“Er…” Harry squeezes his eyes shut to think. “‘Inter se’. She definitely said ‘inter se’ first.”

Ron nods. He seems to have some recollection of this. But then he remembers the end of the explanation. Just before the bell rang. “Didn’t she end with ‘altera’ though?”

“Yeah, but that was right after she explained what not to do.”

“Right. Yeah. Alright, let’s go with ‘inter se’ then.”

They each practice the wand movement a couple of times before Harry gestures for Ron to try. “Want to go?”

“Y-yeah. Sure. It’s not gonna be, like, painful for them, is it?” All of a sudden, hesitation swept over him.

“She never said. But when we did it with animals and stationary objects, they always seemed fine. Besides, McGonagall wouldn’t have taught it to us if it was dangerous. Right?”

“Y-yeah. That makes sense. Didn’t Sirius always used to say Animagi transformations weren’t painful too? Just uncomfortable until he got used to it.”

“Exactly. So, they’ll be fine. Just don’t fuck up the incantation.”

“If I fuck it up, it’ll be because you told me to use the wrong one.”

Harry waves him off. “Just do it so we can enjoy the rest of our free period, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ron raises his wand, pointing it at Hedwig. Always start with the bigger object and move to the smaller one. Harry stands behind his owl, and it appears as if he’s holding his breath.

Bloody tosser doesn’t have faith. Well, I’ll show him.

Without delaying the attempt any longer, Ron begins the spiral motion with his wand while stating the incantation confidently. “Inter se Mutatio.”

As he finishes the flourish of the spell, his wand jerks off course, seemingly of its own accord. The tip is pointed at himself by the time it settles. For a moment, nothing happens.

“What the fu—”

“Uh, Ron, what did you—”

Then, a weird rippling feeling comes over his entire body. His wand clatters to the floor and Pig and Hedwig begin hooting frantically in their cages. Ron tries to look for Harry, uncertain of what is happening, but before he can lay eyes on his best friend, another peculiar sight distracts him. The spitting image of his body appears before him in ghost form.

Oh shit. This isn’t good.

He’s not sure what he’s just done, but he doesn’t have a chance to make sense of anything more. Unconsciousness threatens to take over, and the next thing he knows, his lifeless frame crumples to the ground.

#romione #a la freaky friday #ron weasley #hermione granger #hp fanfic #ronmione #romione fanfic #6th year au

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