be11atrixthestrange

[be11atrixthestrange]

Guilty as Sin?

Thank you for this song, Taylor <3.

Read on ao3

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I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox

I'm seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

The energy that permeated The Three Broomsticks on a Saturday night was one of students that had been cooped up all week. Hermione could barely hear Ginny’s voice through the noise, and even if she could, she probably would have struggled to pay attention. Of course, she was thankful for the invitation even though Hogsmeade weekends weren’t really her thing these days.

Ginny liked to talk about Quidditch and boys. Hermione loved Ginny, but conversations about Quidditch and boys grew tedious after some time. Not that Hermione never thought about Quidditch or boys — in fact, she spent most of her time trying not to. 

Hermione stared at the glass in front of her, the honey-like hue of its contents matched the dim light of the bar. She didn’t even like butterbeer that much, but it was something to do with her hands. She reached for the glass, and her fingers made an imprint in the condensation, sending shivers down her spine. Then, she brought it to her lips and took a swig. 

The smooth buttery flavor made her mouth water in a way the butterbeer itself couldn’t satisfy. 

Unsatisfying. Maybe that’s why she didn’t like butterbeer. It wasn’t quite enough. 

Hermione placed her drink back down on the table and turned back to Ginny, only to find she had stopped talking. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” said Ginny. 

Hermione frowned — it was no secret that she hadn’t been a perfect friend lately. Distracted was an understatement. Ever since Ron and Lavender had gotten together, nothing could cheer her up. Ginny was usually pretty understanding, but maybe her patience was finally running thin. “Sorry, my mind was just wandering.”

“Oh,” said Ginny. “No, I was just looking behind you.”

“Behind me?”

“Yeah.”

Hermione nodded. She didn’t need to look to know what Ginny was referring to. And yet, as if someone else was controlling her body, she swiveled in her chair to confirm. 

His bright red hair was unmistakable. It always was. That was usually one of the things Hermione loved about him, but not recently. She couldn’t not see him even if she didn’t want to. 

He sat at a table for two near the bar’s entrance, with Lavender across from him. She had clearly styled her hair — her curls looked fresh and sleek, unlike Hermione’s wild and untamed mane. Her face glowed underneath perfect makeup, and her feminine clothing revealed just enough to catch the eyes of men sitting at surrounding tables. But Ron’s eyes seemed glued to the butterbeer in front of him, not Lavender. 

Maybe Hermione’s optimistic side was just imagining that. 

“Sorry,” said Ginny. “I wouldn’t have suggested The Three Broomsticks if I knew they’d be here.”

“I know,” said Hermione. “It’s okay.”

She couldn’t avoid him forever. Not in person, and definitely not in her mind.

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

That boy had been living in Hermione mind for as long as she could remember, and especially since Lavender laid her paws on him. In fact, that had only made it worse.

It started in their fourth year, when Hermione wondered what would have happened if Ron had asked her to the ball, and not in a last-resort kind of way. As she danced with Victor and felt his hands grace her lower back, she imagined they were Ron’s. She hadn’t meant to, it just happened. She kept her eyes transfixed on Victor’s face, hoping that could erase Ron’s image from her mind, but later that night, when Krum led her out to the gardens, it was too dark to make out the color of his hair. So when he tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers, it might as well have been Ron. And of course, she closed her eyes, and let her stomach erupt with butterflies — just like it had every time Ron’s gaze had ever lingered on her for a moment too long.

The daydreams intensified in their fifth year. Prefect rounds became a test of her sanity, especially when she was paired with him. Exploring empty classrooms and wandering the dark corridors at night paved the way for fantasies. Every time they opened a door to find a broom closet, she imagined him pulling her in there, pushing her against the wall, his lips on hers, his hands roaming her waist and toying with the hem of her shirt. She wondered what it would feel like to be entangled with him, the heat of his body and breath a delicious contrast to the cold stone wall against her back. 

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

The heat of the following summer was a blessing in disguise. As the sun beat down on the Burrow grounds, Hermione had the perfect excuse to wear her shortest shorts and sleeveless tops. She relished in Ron’s gaze on her thighs as they sat out in the grass. She noticed how his eyes grew wide when she stripped down to her bathing suit for a swim in the pond. He spent the entire summer with a glowing sunburn, but Hermione had a feeling that his face would have been crimson red either way. 

She spent those summer nights in the camp bed in Ginny’s room, wondering if she’d made a mark on Ron’s mind. She laid awake remembering how his hands trembled when he hugged her, the way he stood closer than usual, and the feeling of his arms as they wrapped around her bare waist when he pulled her off the dock and into the water with him. 

Then that split second underwater when their bodies made contact, and his arm stayed locked around her. It took everything she had to resist wrapping her legs around him, and sometimes she wished she hadn’t even tried.

Would he have responded positively? He might have slid his hands up her legs and pulled her tightly against him, before crashing his lips into hers when they resurfaced. She blushed thinking of the way his hips would have felt pressed against her, their mutual desire clear as day. 

During those nights at the Burrow, as Hermione’s hand wandered to the drawstring of her pajama bottoms, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was also lying in bed upstairs, wide awake, replaying the summer’s events in his mind. Maybe, like Hermione, the fact that he wasn’t alone in the room was the only reason his hand behaved, unmoving, leaving him to wonder what it would feel like to have her in bed with him.

It was entirely possible.

These fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me, we've already done it in my head

If it's make-believe

Why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

It wasn’t until she was alone in her dorm one night that she let her mind wander even further. She’d had enough of the lingering glances and the pure torture of wandering the halls with him, resisting the temptation to touch him. Hermione could have exploded when Lavender waltzed into his life. How could she contain the years of built-up fantasies, now that everything she wished would happen could only play out in her head?

So she let it play out. When her roommates were out one night, and the lights were dark, she drew her four-poster curtains shut and cast a silencing charm. She imagined him lying there, under the covers, sidled up next to her with his clothes nowhere to be found. When her hand slipped into her own knickers, it could just as easily have been his. Why should she have to wonder how his fingers would caress her, how his tongue would pave a trail between her legs, or what it might feel like with him fully inside her? She deserved to know. 

And once she knew, a dam had been broken. It happened in the shower, in broom closets they’d discovered on prefect rounds, and in empty classrooms when persistent thoughts of Ron wouldn’t leave her alone during a study session. 

The Ron that lived in her mind — the one that was hers, not Lavender’s — did well with practice. It didn’t take long for him to learn her body, how to make her breath hitch and her eyes roll back in her head. The Ron of her fantasies knew how to elicit a gasp and a moan. He took pride in making her scream his name.

Somehow, she knew the real Ron probably would too.

My bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name

Building up like waves crashing over my grave

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

Hermione took another sip of her butterbeer, which effectively brought her back to reality, even if only for the moment. Her mouth watered, and whether that was from the taste of butterbeer or something else, Hermione didn’t know.

Ginny was still talking, having not noticed Hermione’s eyes glazing over as her mind transported her somewhere else. 

She risked a glance toward Ron’s table to see that he was still there, and his red hair sent a jolt of electricity through her body. How did he have that effect on her even after breaking her heart? It wasn’t fair. Hermione gulped down the remainder of her unsatisfying butterbeer, and the tingle in her spine strengthened.

There was really only one way to quell the heat that seeing him ignited, and even then, it wasn’t never quite enough. It had already happened in her dorm, the shower, a broom closet and an empty classroom… Why not add a bar bathroom to the list?

“I’ll be right back,” she announced to Ginny as she stood. “Bathroom.”

Ginny nodded and Hermione turned toward the back of the bar, shouldering her way through the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ron looking in her direction, but she didn’t dare risk eye contact to confirm it. He was on a date, and she didn’t want Lavender’s wrath. 

Maybe he still harbored the same thoughts she did. There was something between them before Lavender got in the way, she knew it. Those glances, extended hugs, intense eye contact… did he get butterflies the way she did? Did he think of her at night? And if he did, would seeing her across the bar remind him of what could have been?

Hermione pressed the door to the loo open and slipped through, her heart pounding at the possibility.

A girl could hope.

#romione #ron and hermione #ron x hermione #hermione granger #hpromione #ronweasley #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #ron weasley #ttpd #guilty as sin?

[be11atrixthestrange]

Chapter 2!

The Girl From The Bar

Title: The Girl From The Bar

Author: Be11atrixthestrange

Trope: Muggle AU

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

Word Count: 2015

Rating: M

—

-Four Years Ago-

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

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

“Another Gold Rush please!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Interesting choice with the jalapeno.”

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

“Shit, didn’t see you there.”

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

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

“Ahh.”

“And she was completely smashed.”

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

Keep reading

[be11atrixthestrange]

Final chapter!

Love and War

Fic Title: Love and War 

Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange

Selected Trope: Cockblocker Harry (+ future fake not dating)

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione shared their first kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts…. Or at least that’s what everyone else thinks.

Word Count: 4078 (Chapter 1 of 3)

Rating: T (Will likely be upgraded to M for future chapters)

Any Trigger Warnings: Mention of character death 

Chapter 1

-The Burrow, Summer 1997-

Most summers at the Burrow were busy, but the summer of 1997 could only be described as chaotic. After a dramatic escape from death eaters and an intense week of mourning Mad-Eye Moody, the Weasley clan set out to bottle up their grief like freshly-brewed butterbeer and transform their homestead into a wedding venue. Normal Weasley things, really. 

It was a hot afternoon, and Ron just needed to be alone. Well, maybe not totally alone, but solitude was better than the frantic state of his home. The bustling Burrow provided the perfect opportunity for Ron to lie low. When he was certain Molly Weasley was distracted, he crept up the stairs, tiptoed into his room, and eased the door shut, breathing a sigh of relief for an empty space. He was desperate for a moment of rest, and couldn’t risk his mother spotting him finishing a chore just to assign him a new one. 

He plopped into his bed and buried his head into the pillow. Ron couldn’t help but feel his tasks were superfluous. He had only spotted one gnome during an entire morning of de-gnoming the garden, and as soon as he returned to the kitchen for a drink, his mum appeared with another chore — cleaning the downstairs bathroom. That wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t assigned to him for the third time that week. Mrs. Weasley, being the worrier that she was, probably just wanted to keep her children occupied.

Ron jolted at the sound of a knock on the door. “Erm, come in?” He jumped to his feet and grabbed a dirty shirt from the floor. Having something in his hand might make him look busy.

To his relief, it was Hermione who cracked the door open. 

“Hello.” Just like Ron, she shuffled across his room and collapsed onto his bed. 

He had to admit that he liked the way his bed looked with her on it. “Aren’t you supposed to be putting away laundry?” he asked.

“Already finished,” she said as she fluffed a pillow under her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the bathroom?”

“All done.”

“I reckon we should ask for another task then.” She shifted over to the side of his bed, and to Ron, it looked a lot like an invitation. 

Keep reading

[be11atrixthestrange]

I love how I can confidently go on tumblr when Ao3 is down to see a community crumble in 3 minutes x

[be11atrixthestrange]

This one is me! Follow on ao3 for updates;

The Girl From The Bar

Title: The Girl From The Bar

Author: Be11atrixthestrange

Trope: Muggle AU

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

Word Count: 2015

Rating: M

—

-Four Years Ago-

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

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

“Another Gold Rush please!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Interesting choice with the jalapeno.”

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

“Shit, didn’t see you there.”

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

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

“Ahh.”

“And she was completely smashed.”

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

Keep reading

[be11atrixthestrange]

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

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

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

[be11atrixthestrange]

The figure skating / hockey AU I didn’t know I needed!!

Have An Ice Day

Fic Title: Have An Ice Day

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

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

Word Count: 1580

Rating: G

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

Hermione Granger only dates hockey players.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—I wasn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[be11atrixthestrange]

This was so sweet!! I loved every Weasley interaction and the way the calm each other down is perfect. Love love love

Title: The Storm before the Calm

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

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

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

Rating: G

Word count: 8,320 words

Trigger warnings: -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have some water. You’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

“Have some water and try to calm down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does anyone feel like this right before?”

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

“She’ll get there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck! The vows!”

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

“What about the vows?”

“I’m going to fuck them up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to see her now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ron sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“Thanks, Gin. You’re the best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re my everything.”

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

“You’re hopeless, Ron.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s too late.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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@adenei I thought of you

Peraltiago + Romione Parallels

*none of the gifs are mine*

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The hockey AU I didn’t know I needed!!

Have An Ice Day

Fic Title: Have An Ice Day

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

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

Word Count: 1580

Rating: G

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

Hermione Granger only dates hockey players.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—I wasn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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@reallybeth9 I missed your stories!! This was phenomenal and I can’t stop smiling

Never been privy to

Fic Title: Never been privy to

Author Name: reallybeth

Selected Trope: cockblocker Harry

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

Word Count: 3k

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: None

Thanks to JonRiptide for the beta!

oOo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Amazing!!! I’m hooked already ❤️

Do You Like Chocolate?

Fic Title: Do You Like Chocolate?

Author Name: Mertronus

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

Brief Summary: Ron’s senior year begins with an unexpected surprise

Word Count: 2,040 (Chapter 1 only)

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: None

—

Chapter 1

Ron walked through the doors of Central High and took a deep breath. Senior year. This was it…his final year of high school. There was so much to be excited about this year. He was at the top of the totem pole, so to speak. An upperclassman. All of the other classes would look up to him—and not only because he was one of the tallest in the school.

He was also one of the starting wide receivers for the Central High School Chiefs football team—for the third year.

He had homecoming and prom to look forward to, as well as the senior trip.

But there was also so much he was dreading. Ron tried not to dwell on those things as he located his new locker near his homeroom. He sighed and swiveled the dial to enter his code—then tried again when his locker refused to open. On the fourth try, it finally unlocked. Typical.

Central High wasn’t rundown or anything…but it definitely wasn’t new. Everyone knew that the lockers rarely opened on the first try.

“Weasley,” came a voice from beside him.

“Potter.” Ron leaned against his now-closed locker and watched his best friend fiddle with his own, just three lockers away. “So, you can drive to my house, eat my mom’s breakfast, pick up my baby sister, and just ignore the fact that your best friend was sleeping right upstairs?”

Harry laughed as he shoved his gym bag into the locker. It had only taken Harry two attempts to open it, Ron noticed with annoyance.

“Your baby sister is a junior now and would put you in your place if she heard you call her that.”

“She could try,” Ron chuckled. “Now back to why you didn’t wake me up.”

Keep reading

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“Her- Hermione? Hermione. Hermione.” It was as if he were moulding her name to fit exactly right in his mouth. He grinned at her. Two of his front teeth were crooked, angled symmetrically. They gave his smile an intriguing aspect of permanent mischief. “That’s an interesting name, Hermione.”

POETIC

(This is so gooooood)

Let's Go

Fic Title: Let’s Go

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: Muggle AU, Soulmates

Brief Summary: Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley meet one magical night at a pub during their final year of uni.  

Word Count: 1864

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

******

Even from across the bar, she could see how blue his eyes were. 

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure why she couldn’t stop staring. Sure, his eyes were captivating but she typically didn’t find freckled redheads attractive. Nor burly men looking as though raised on a farm. She preferred a slight and slender male physique, likely because she felt more in control that way. 

The stranger’s eyes flashed in her direction again, and she immediately jerked her head down. Then, almost by its own accord, Hermione’s gaze lifted again. They caught eyes once before the stranger turned to continue his conversation with his raven-haired, bespectacled friend and his friend’s girlfriend. A hint of a smirk emerged on the stranger’s face. Judging by their identically-hued hair and a shared quality in their easygoing demeanour, perhaps found in the ways they leaned against the bar or shook their shoulders as they laughed, Hermione wondered if the girl was the stranger’s sister. 

The stranger’s bespectacled friend said something to him, eliciting a mirthful punch to the shoulder. That hint of a smirk never really went away, even as the stranger kept his eyes trained on his two acquaintances.

Suddenly, the friend and the probable sister stood up and bid their farewells. As the couple moved towards her direction to reach the exit, the female redhead regarded Hermione with what appeared to be unabashed, gleeful curiosity. Her boyfriend behaved in the opposite, determinedly avoiding eye contact. He put two flat palms on his girlfriend’s cheeks and positioned her head away from Hermione. 

“What?” Hermione heard the girl say liltingly to her beau as they passed her. 

“Right, that’s my cue to leave, too, then,” said a voice from somewhere around Hermione’s right ear.  

Oh, crap. She had almost forgotten that she was with Parvati. Hermione swivelled in her friend’s direction. “What do you mean?”

Parvati raised an impish eyebrow. “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed you eye-bonking that ginger tree of a man for the past five minutes.” She jerked her head in the stranger’s direction. “Here’s your chance now that his mates are gone. Good luck, love you!”

Hermione grasped Parvati’s arm. “No, Parvati, don’t leave me—”

“He’s coming over, let go of me!”

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[be11atrixthestrange]

So good!!! ❤️❤️❤️

When You Wish Upon a Star

Title: When You Wish Upon A Star

Author: adenei

Trope: Soulmates

Summary: 

Three years after graduating, Hermione finds herself at the annual Hogwarts Alumni Quidditch Tournament, still single, living alone with Crookshanks, and no closer to finding love than when she was a student here. But sitting there on the sidelines, she can’t help wishing for something more, and finds herself weighing her options as the party rages on, mourning the lost chances of ever being anything more than Ron’s best friend.

She doesn’t have to wallow for very long though, because as fate would have it, her prospects for love suddenly take a turn…but is it for the better?

WC: 2360 (Multichap) 

Rating: M

TW: none

**********

Music blares at an overwhelming decibel level, but the crowd of people somehow manage to shout and cheer above it. There’s a strong smell of Firewhiskey in the air, and if the colors red and gold could throw up everywhere, it’d still be tamer than the sight in front of her. This isn’t Hermione’s scene at all, yet here she stands in the stuffy common room, packed to the brim with more people than it should probably be allowed to hold. 

It’s crazier than any victory party Hermione’s ever attended, and for once she’s more than happy to not have any Prefect or Head Girl duties falling on her shoulders. If things get out of hand, that’s on Minerva. She’s the one who let them all in for the celebration, knowing full well what would probably happen. 

After all, how else would you expect a large group of former students to act whilst reliving their glory days? It doesn’t even matter that the Annual Hogwarts Alumni Quidditch Tournament was specifically designed to be an inter-house event, or that participants were required to write their names down to be magically sorted into teams. Gryffindor is always over-represented, which meant there’d be major celebrations regardless of which team won.

Still, Hermione appreciates the camaraderie it builds. There have been many efforts to rebuild the magical world following Voldemort’s defeat, and the recently instituted alumni event is one of those things that people have looked forward to over the last few summers.

This year, though, proves to be a little more chaotic. Not that Hermione would actually know. It’s her first time attending one of these things—if only as a spectator. But based on the stories she’s heard about the past couple years, she has a hard time believing it’s ever gotten this out of hand.

But maybe that’s because of the way the teams shook out—notably with Harry and Ron being chosen for the same team. They’d also somehow managed to get Ginny, George, and Demelza. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh when she’d found out. Regardless of her limited Quidditch knowledge, even she knew they were an unstoppable group, and there was no hope for her to skip sitting in the stands this year. Especially not when Ron had flooed straight to Hermione’s flat when lists were delivered, begging her to come and watch. Of course she’d said yes. 

She’s glad she came though. It’s been nice to see everyone, and things were made a little sweeter when Ron and Harry won the Alumni Cup. After all, there’d been moments—both during the feast and the current after-party—where Hermione almost felt as though she were a student again. Almost. 

But she’s not. Three years have passed since she graduated, and while nothing about Hogwarts has changed since the last time she roamed its ancient halls, everything about her has. Or maybe it hasn’t, depending on the way she looks at it. 

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[be11atrixthestrange]

It’s me again 🫣

Whiskey on Rounds

Fic Title: Whiskey on Rounds

Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange

Selected Trope: OOTP Missing Moment

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione skive off prefect rounds.

Word Count: 1661

Rating: General

—

The sound of Hermione’s footsteps stumbling down the stairs functioned as an alarm for Ron, who was deep into his astronomy textbook. It was a relatively uneventful Wednesday night for the fifth years. Hermione had, of course, finished her schoolwork early, while Harry sat brooding on one of the armchairs pretending to study. As usual, Ron was on his own again, and burying himself into his homework was better than getting his head bitten off by their easily-angered best friend. 

Without a second thought, Ron slammed his textbook closed when Hermione appeared at his table. 

“Ready for rounds?”

“Yes,” he said, then added under his breath, “Thank Merlin.”

“I heard that,” grumbled Harry from his chair. 

“Sorry mate,” said Ron apologetically. “I’ll see you later.”

As predicted, Harry didn’t answer. The pair had just gotten into an argument about nothing in particular, which was extra frustrating because it couldn’t be fixed. Ron was either not angry enough about something, or too optimistic about something else. Honestly, he didn’t actually know. He just needed a break. Ron turned toward Hermione who shrugged, and the pair turned and left through the portrait hole. 

“He’s being such an arse right now,” said Ron, as soon as the portrait door closed behind them. 

“Ron. Don’t swear.”

“You know I’m not wrong, though.”

Hermione didn’t protest, as Ron had expected. The pair had talked about this before. Ever since Voldemort had returned at the end of their fourth year, and Harry had that dreadful experience in the graveyard, things had just been off with him. They complained about it in private, but Ron knew they were both just worried for him. Honestly, this year it felt like they were his parents, constantly fretting about keeping him safe, happy, and out of trouble. Not that any of their efforts mattered. 

The pair trotted through the corridors toward the east wing, where they usually began rounds, but before they reached their destination, Hermione darted down an unfamiliar corridor. 

“Hermione, where are you going?”

“Follow me,” she said, reaching for his arm and tugging him alongside her. 

“We usually start rounds in the—”

“Shhh.”

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[be11atrixthestrange]

Makes me laugh every time 😍

The Talk

Fic Title: The Talk

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes

Selected Trope: Cockblocker Harry

Brief Summary: Maybe there’s a reason why Harry is always interrupting: no one ever gave him “the talk”.

Word Count: 1302

Rating: M

Any Trigger Warnings: mild spicy content and typical Weasley swearing

***

“Fuck, I missed you today.” Ron murmurs the words against her neck, and Hermione groans her approval as she claws at his t-shirt, seeking bare skin.

“I missed you too,” she purrs, letting her hands run up his chest. It doesn’t matter that they were together all day; they were at the Burrow, and they couldn’t do this. After holding out for so long, their kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts had burst a dam wide open, and any moment engaged in activities other than the current one feels like a waste. Especially with Hermione going back to school and Ron off to Auror training in a few weeks.

Ron backs Hermione toward the bed as his lips meet hers in a searing kiss. She abandons her efforts on Ron’s shirt to focus on the button of his jeans, which can be removed without his mouth leaving hers. He kicks his trousers off and they land on the floor with a dull thud before they fall on the duvet in a tangle of limbs.

The force of the landing breaks the kiss momentarily, and Hermione takes the opportunity to rid Ron of his shirt, leaving him in only his tented boxers. “You’re falling behind, love,” he teases as he reaches for the hem of her cotton sundress, letting his fingers skim her thighs as he pushes the fabric up.

Hermione sits up and obligingly holds her arms over her head. “Help me catch up, then,” she quips back, her lips twisting into a saucy smirk. Ron wastes no time adding her dress to the growing pile of clothes on the floor before diving back in for another kiss. She lies back on the bed, pulling Ron with her so that she’s surrounded by his warm, comforting weight.

As soon as Ron’s hands slip beneath her back to free her bra clasp, the sudden sound of the front door slamming from two floors below makes him pause. “I thought Harry was going out with Ginny tonight?” Ron questions.

“I thought so, too. You locked the door, though, right?”

Hermione’s eyes dart in that direction, and Ron nods in answer. He kisses her again, both of them trying to ignore the creaking sound of Harry coming up the stairs, calling for them. “Ron, Hermione! You guys home? I got pizza!”

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[be11atrixthestrange]

Eeeek! So dang cute!!!

Ocean Eyes

Fic Title: Ocean Eyes

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: OOTP Missing Moment, Cockblocker Harry

Brief Summary: Hermione demands that Ron explain the meaning behind his Christmas gift. 

Word Count: 976

Rating: T for mild language and subtle UST

Any Trigger Warnings: None

Note: Excerpts from OOTP are bolded. 

***

“I’m scared

I’ve never fallen from quite this high

Fallin’ into your ocean eyes”

- Ocean Eyes, Billie Eilish

Happy Christmas. You stink. Ron.

As Hermione sat at the edge of her borrowed bed at Grimmauld Place, she stared many stares at Ron’s untidy scrawl. Principally confused stares. But also annoyed stares and hopeful stares and stares that were accompanied by a curious fluttering in her chest.

She switched her stare to the small perfume bottle in her other hand. After several beats, she finally opened the bottle and tentatively lifted it to her nose. Goodness, it smelled heavenly. Like chocolate and butterbeer. Like Ron.

She grew hot. Surely Ron understood the message that he was sending Hermione: I want you to smell like things that I like. Surely Ron knew what such a message meant. Surely he was not that obtuse. 

Hermione sighed. Of course, he was that obtuse. Ever since Hermione suspected Ron’s feelings for her, she had given him every sign under the sun to get him to act. But each attempt was more futile than the last. Her last breadcrumb was the kiss on the cheek before his first Quidditch match. When that yielded nothing, Hermione gave up. It seemed improbable that after nearly two months of inertia, Ron would suddenly express his feelings in such a cryptically infuriating manner. 

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