#so have some maudlin Hermione and Crookshanks

[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

[divagonzo]

Knackered

A/N: Praying this the start of the writer’s block crumbling away...

While I didn’t know about any Secret Santa exchanges (and being low on spoons) I did get some mild inspiration to write tonight. This goes out to everyone flying solo tonight at home, missing friends and family in the middle of all this madness and mayhem.

May your new year be better than the last one.

Note: This was partially inspired by my getting completely pissed Christmas night and posting an AMA and getting nothing. So tonight I’m sober and listening to Rand purring while asleep in my arms, while I wrote this up.

Rated PG-15/15/M for alcohol consumption to excess, consequences of drinking way too much, and some citrus notes at the end. 98% ace safe. 

Demarcation line for 2021 damnit!

Hermione was sitting at home, in her favorite chair by the fire, completely pissed.

Harry was at work and so was Ron. Ginny was off at Holyhead for the New Year's Day match against Puddlemere. Luna was off... somewhere doing Merlin knows what and her parents were in Ibiza on Holiday and patently didn't invite her along. Their relationship was hardly there anymore. She felt that painfully with every day she didn’t hear from them.

Hermione gave Kreacher the night off and bade him a good night.  She went to her beaded bag, which was beyond time for replacing yet she found she couldn't do an hour without it within reach, and pulled out a large brown paper sack containing two bottles she had picked up from Gerry's Wines and Spirits after work. She's popped in, taking in the selection of items and knowing exactly what she wanted tonight for her pity party of one she wanted to have. What kind of world was it that she was celebrating the turn of the new year, a new Millenia, the way some were saying, and all of her friend and family weren't present in her life, whether for work or for holiday. So instead, she'd have a pity party, indulge in more than some wee libations, and fall asleep by the fire tonight since she wouldn't see Ron until Sunday morning.

She wouldn’t see Harry or Ginny until late tomorrow night, if not Sunday morning either. She'd stood in the store, trying to decide on the spirit of her father's tastes - Balvenie, single malt, the older the better, or the tastes of her Mum - Rum, lightly aged, the darker the better.  Then again it wasn't like she was going to pop back up to see Aberforth and get a bottle of his Firewhiskey, not after the incident earlier in term and Ginny spouting off on things that shouldn't have been said in front of first years. She had enough for both and settled on that, knowing that she could take the other as a gift to the parents if she didn't indulge in them herself. Once Kreacher was off for the night, she plated some cheese and pickles and other finger foods and stood at the counter in the kitchen trying to decide on which. She settled on the Scotch her father loved drinking - Balvenie - and she opened the top of the bottle she'd chosen and took a sniff. Compared to her father's tastes, this one smelled a delight, with the color of Ron's hair with the evening sun drifting through it, reminding her of a particularly lovely evening at the Burrow out beyond the pond where he'd made love to her before they fell asleep under the stars. "Accio glass," she thought and a small heavy glass hit her hand easily. four ice cubes tinkled on the sides of the glass before she poured a full measure - two fingers, if she recalled, and took her plate and drink with her back to her chair by the fireplace.

"I better lock up before I start in on this," she muttered to no one, not even Crookshanks, and pointed her wand at the fire, locking the fireplace for the night. Even then locked was subjective, since Ron and Ginny and Harry could easily bypass the fireplace with the wards in place. Bill saw to that, strengthening the enchantments on Grimmauld Place when Harry moved in permanently the previous Summer. It was Harry’s residence but he also allowed Ron and Ginny in since he was also the Secret Keeper.  Sure she had a book, and her small and less than filling meal, and would miss her best friends on this cold night in London. But she had to let them live their lives on their terms, not on hers. She'd promised herself that once Ron and Harry made the Aurors and Ginny signed off on her contract - that she would keep quiet on the nights she would be home alone, by herself, no friends to speak of to have any sort of company. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, savoring how smooth the beverage was on her lips. Then she reached for the little bit of prosciutto and brie and took a bite, then another drink before setting it down to read by the fire. It wasn't like Ron didn't know how she felt about his work, or how he stretched himself too thin sometimes, working full time with the Aurors and then so many extra hours with George. While the Aurors have him the notoriety and professional satisfaction he needed and craved, George was where he made his money, with his ideas and creativity. He had a real knack for coming up with an idea, one that George could run with, and make something of it, then refining it to sell it for profit. Just the few ideas of his that made it to production were enough to pay for their upcoming vacation to Athens, even if it was in the off-season but their first real vacation as a couple, for the two of them, and no finding parents or enormous stress behind finding them.

She picked up the glass and found it empty. "Accio Balvenie," she said aloud and waited, seeing it eventually settle down on the table in front of her. She poured another measure of the caramel brown distilled liquor, enjoying the taste enough to not mind the other effects, of which she wanted to enjoy, like quieting the anxiety in her head of Ron coming back to her.

Harry wasn't so much of a worry, given that Ron was there too. They had a sibling kind of love, one involving the occasional row and some days of not talking to one another, but deep down there was the respect and love forged in fire between them. One short conversation with Ginny was all it took to make things right for them, especially after burying the past actions that affected and harmed so much.

She'd been given a third chance and by God! She was going to not throw it away.

The plate forgotten, Hermione poured another measure. She hadn't been this inebriated since that night in Australia, where she had a meltdown to rival anything she'd had in her youth, and gotten pissed on brandy from a local store, hiding in the bathroom drinking heavily until she passed out. Ron eventually returned to find her, sobbing into a stinking toilet. Ron pulled her from the toilet seat, crying her eyes out and smelling of used brandy. He tidied her up, gave her a few glasses of water, tucked her into bed in his arms and let her sleep for almost twenty four hours.

It was the first time she'd truly felt alive after all the shite they'd gone through the previous year, including magically altering her parents memories to erase her from their existence. It was only earlier that night, before she ran out of their rented house on the Gold coast, apparating to the location nearest to the wizarding hotel they were staying in, and then spent half the night walking the streets, drinking brandy until the wee hours of the morning until she stumbled into their shared room, waking Ron from his fitful slumber, and promptly retching up everything she'd eaten in the past year.

Through all of the tears, the rage, the anguish, Ron was there, cleaning up her mess, tending her tenderly, and listening to everything and letting her vent her spleen of everything in her soul.

"Why couldn't he be home tonight when I need him?"

She picked up the bottle and poured one more, knowing that she would have a repeat of that night on the Gold Coast if she had more than that. She was a lightweight compared to Ron and Ginny, for sure, as long as it wasn't a particular kind of elf-made wine. Firewhiskey they could drink like a grouper and suffer no ill effects but a glass of elf made wine and they were having her reaction after too much brandy.

"Damn it, who schedules a raid on New Year's Evening? What bloody criminal is so mental to be out committing crimes worth catching tonight? I need Ron home, in bed with me."

She had a sniff and finished the liquor in her glass, looking forlornly at the fireplace. "I need him home to quiet the noise in my head. It's too loud in there."

Crookshanks came strolling in, purring loudly, having chased something earlier upstairs. He wasn’t Ron but he would certainly do for now. 

"Ready for a quiet nap in my lap?"

Sure enough, the territorial bundle of furr jumped in her lap and started kneading her legs, turning circles before purring as he fell asleep.

"At least I can comfort someone," She said to herself before falling asleep, the book in her hands forgotten in her inebriated slumber.

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

Hermione stirred, hearing a noise from the kitchen. She checked her watch, seeing it was past one am, and heard it again. "Kreacher must be back," she said to herself before hearing what sounded like a glass breaking and a "oh shite," erupting. 

Crookshanks jumped down when she wobbled up onto her shaky legs, pulling the black walnut wand from her hidden holster on her arm. While she was far from sober, the magic she felt growing inside along with the bone deep terror of someone in the house with her was enough to focus her mind on the coming task - seeing who was breaking things in their kitchen.

She stumbled slightly along the wall, using it to support herself up while holding the wand in her right, keeping a nasty curse at the front of her mind. Auror Jones taught her a few things she hadn't sussed out that would be just a hair under the line of being illegal curses. 

A light at the bottom of the stairs lit up someone in the kitchen, bent over the cooling cabinet. She took two steps and heard the step creak. "Shite," she said aloud, bringing her wand up.

And felt it soaring from her hands, landing in the outstretch hand of the person at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hermione?"

Ron stepped into the lights and she felt some relief wash over her followed by a moment of abject terror. 

"It's me. Christmas night I read a chapter of Hogwarts, a History, to you when you had trouble falling asleep."

Hermione took a step and felt her legs giving out, falling firmly on her bum on a step. "Whoa, easy there." Ron was up the stairs in a flash, picking her up and bringing her downstairs to sit at the enormous dining table in the kitchen. "Why are you home? Was I asleep that long? Is it Sunday morning?" Ron sniffed. "You had alcohol, didn't you?" 

She felt defensive a moment before that thought evaporated in her brain haze. "Yes I did. It's New Year's Eve and you were at work. I was all alone so I said I'd have a pity party." She looked him up and down. "Why are you home? And where is Harry?" "He's still at work, writing up some reports. I'm home because our mission ended early. We caught him almost immediately and I'm caught up on my work so Robards sent me home early, said that there were enough bailiffs and aurors on duty that he didn't need me tonight." He turned around and when he turned back he had a glass of water for her. “Drink up," he said softly. She did as he asked and felt a little better. "Do you want me to get a sobering potion from the cabinet? You know we keep them now for these occasions." "Yes, please," her voice was tiny compared to his. He laughed but did as she asked, handing her a vial of what looked like had been drug from the bottom of the Thames. "I hate this potion," she said aloud and chugged down the 45ml of potion, fighting the gagging reflex on the consistency of it. Slowly the fog lifted from her mind, negating all of the alcohol in her system. Ron knelt down in front of her, looking worried. "Drinking while home alone isn't a good idea, Hermione." "I know but I missed you terribly. I am being selfish, expecting you to be home when I want you here and not when you are here. It's foolish of me." "No it's not, but we can talk about it tomorrow after we've had some sleep. I'm knackered and I know you are too, just by looking at you." She stood hugging him tightly. "Quiet the storm in my mind before we fall asleep, please?" She looked up and saw him smile softly. "Promise me that you'll sleep 'til noon tomorrow if I do? I need the sleep too, ya know? And if you wake early, let me sleep in?"

The look of love on his face melted her. She’d do anything to see that smile she loved. He gave it to her willingly, without reservations, never holding back. That was part of why she loved him so much.

”I will. Promise.” Ron held her tight before she felt the magic surround them for the short apparition trip upstairs to their bedroom, for a fast and dirty session before she would sleep for hours - or at least let him sleep in. It was the absolutely least thing she could do for him coming home to her early.

#Dragon's Fic #HP fic #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #inspired by RL events #aka Dragon got pissed on firewhiskey last Friday night #and it's too far from @knightandbooks prompt in my inbox for cheerful drunk hermione #so have some maudlin Hermione and Crookshanks #98% Ace Safe #tw: #tw: alcohol consumption

[essayofthoughts]

Hermione/Loki, academic librarian AU

Making this magical realism for reasons.

i. Most librarians were dedicants to gods and goddess of wisdom. Sometimes it was specific; the librarians at St. Mungo’s were mostly dedicants to Aesculapius, Sulis-Minerva or Kamrusepa, at Mages College, London to Hecate, Kamrusepa, or Isis. There were always a few odd ones: Hogwarts’ librarian, Madam Pince, had been a dedicant of Nane since she was four years old, the librarian of Magegate cemetery was a dedicant of Ninhursag, and the librarian of the Ministry, an Unspeakable who went by Maudlin, was a fierce adherent to Justice itself. 

Hermione Granger, head librarian of Dee’s College, Cambridge, was an adherent of Loki and no one was entirely sure why a guardian of wisdom was dedicated to a god of lies.

ii.You’re not a fool.

The voice echoed through her mind. Hermione had never thought she would be approached by a god, trying to court her worship. Even if that was how it was, now, gods seeking mortals they approved of rather than mortals picking gods they liked, she hadn’t though she’d ever garner some special notice.

It worried her that she had.

Would you rather I was? she asked the voice. She would not yet append my lord or my lady because the voice in her head was oddly… genderless, and to offend the god come to court you was always a recipe for destruction. As the voice said, she was not a fool.

No! the voice cried. No. But so many of your kind are.

Hermione humphed and pulled the stack of grimoires closer to her chest. What a wonderful way to court a worshipper, she replies. Insulting her entire species. Now, if you’re not going to reveal yourself, I have work to do.

The voice had retreated, and Hermione had spent a constructive, if lonely, afternoon working on her seventh-year coursework.

iii.The first day Hermione spent on the job she was approached by a very odd man. 

She’d become one of Loki’s worshippers during her final term at Hogwarts, once Loki had decided he’d fooled around enough, played enough tricks, and proven to Hermione quite why she was an excellent fit for a god of lies, trickery, and defeating one’s enemies with wisdom and not violence. She wears his pendant - a simple silver disk with the runes of his name - and she worshipped as he had asked, providing power and her wisdom and her slow-learned skill at manipulation to further her god’s goals. He had, thus far, never asked her for a sacrifice before he granted her a boon. Perhaps it helped that she rarely asked for boons; she much preferred to get the job done under her own power.

The man who approached the desk was not the oddest she’d met - she’d met blindfolded Seers and shapechanging hunters, potioneers still covered with their ingredients and their brews (though usually that was just Snape, realising too late he was missing a reference text and running through all the libraries he had access to to find it).

This man was, for the most part, relatively ordinary. He’d a greying mane of hair, and leaned on a tall, golden-bound staff. His one eye was bright. Plenty of gods demanded sacrifice of senses and body parts. Gods of prophecy and wisdom were known to ask for the sacrifice of an eye for some of the greater gifts they could bestow and Hermione had encountered many blind or half-blind librarians. 

But there was something… off about this man. 

“I’m after a book,” the man said. “Perhaps you might help me? Lies of the Deceiver; the Prophecy of Ragnarok?”

The man watched her with his one bright eye as, slowly, she set down her quill and rose. “Norse section,” she said. “Intersection of gods and prophecies.” She pointed.

The man smiled slowly. “Might you lead me, my dear? I’m afraid my eyesight isn’t what it was.”

As Hermione stepped out from her desk and turned to lead the man down the corridors of books, her hand rose and grasped her pendant.

iv.Odin.

The voice echoed in her mind that night. 

I’m sorry, I should have kept you further from his Sight.

Hermione sat up and ignored the grumble-snarl of Crookshanks at her feet. In the dark she flicked her fingers, set a light going in the lamp beside her bed. Then, from a drawer, she drew out her knitting.

She knew this tone from her god. He was going to keep her up all night talking, and there’d be a potion for tiredness by her bedside in the morning.

I’ve read the myths, my lord. she sent. After he sacrificed his eye there is very little he does not See or Know. In the quiet she counted her stitches. My lord? Or is it my lady, today?

Neither, Loki sent. Perhaps it is idiot. 

Hermione counted her stitches, looped her yarn. Or, perhaps Loki, you picked a very intelligent mortal to be your dedicant, and she researched you and your entire pantheon thoroughly before agreeing.

…I thought you agreed because I convinced you.

In the flickering light of the lamp, Hermione stifled a smile. Perhaps. But perhaps it wasn’t your words, but the records of your deeds that convinced me.

v.When a mage walked up to her desk five minutes before her lunch break, Hermione resigned herself to not getting any lunch today. It was just sod’s law. Someone would turn up right before she could safely flee, with a question none of the junior librarians could handle and she’d be stuck for the entire hour helping some daft old mage find three or four obscure tomes from far corners of the library. 

Without looking up she set her quill in it’s inkpot, sprinkled sand on her parchment and said, “What is it that you’re after?”

“Well,” said a voice she recognised altogether too well. “I was going to ask if my favourite librarian wanted to go for lunch.”

#hermione granger #loki #hp fic #sort of #my fic #lucdarling #ask games #ask