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jomiddlemarch · 3 months

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they two play out the game

“Be honest—”

“What do you want me to say, Hermione? That I fell in love with you at school, when you loathed me, when you loathed me because I made you feel that way because I couldn’t bear your pity or worse, being beneath your notice, a shrug of your shoulders, an eyeroll? That the Amortentia I brewed in Potions smelled like ink and rose geranium soap and the bloody catnip you must have grown for your Kneazle in the greenhouses because you never would have nicked it from Sprout? That I envied Weasley for his family loving him and welcoming you, when my father wanted you dead and my mother refused to remember your name?”

Draco paused, lifted a hand from where he’d been gripping the railing and loosened his tie. It was dark blue, because they were no longer children, defined by Houses. He wore his robes open, like an Oxford don, and she could see the suit he wore was Savile Row, not Wizard-tailored. His brogues were polished to a shine short of a House-elf’s efforts.

“Should I tell you I’ve dreamt of you for years, in that periwinkle petal dress and on my ballroom floor, screaming for mercy, and in bookshops, in teashops, in the pub, laughing, smiling at Potter and Longbottom, making a face when you take a sip of your bitter? In the Wizengamot, at my trial, like a Fury. At all the other trials, demolishing their smug assurance, making them cower, making them see? Do you want me to explain how I told Astoria we would marry but I’d never be able to love her and she told me she already knew it, that she understood everything and that if I didn’t mind too much, she supposed we’d do well enough together? You want to hear how when my son was born, I wanted to Owl you, before anyone else, even though you’d have been baffled to receive any message from me, would have probably thought it was a prank from George Weasley, an overture to return to the Weasley bosom after you and Ron ended it ostensibly amicably, except that you’d left England and hadn’t been back in six years for more than a fortnight?”

He took a step nearer and Hermione resisted the urge to fold her arms across her chest or draw her robes closer in some nonverbal attempt at protection. He’d grown taller after the War ended and she hadn’t, not a whit, probably stunted by the stress and starvation of the Horcrux hunt, but he was still a few steps below her on the stairs, so he continued to look up at her, a supplicant. He was still giving her that power, that dominance over him which she hadn’t believed when he’d offered it earlier in words alone.

“Shall I tell you how I followed your career, the papers you wrote, the conferences you attended, collecting clippings like a lovesick groupie with his favorite Quidditch team? How I heard your voice when I taught Scorpius his first spells? How I told him the brightest witch I’d ever known was Sorted into Gryffindor and he was confused because his mother had been a Ravenclaw? How my wife fell in love with my best friend and I didn’t care, or rather, I was happy for her because Theo loved her back and it was nothing for me to look away and let them have the time they could? How I thought if you knew, you’d perhaps admire me for once, for not being selfish, for making some sacrifice, except that you’d be wrong, it wasn’t a sacrifice at all, not when I cared about them both in one way and not at all in another? You want to hear how I thought I’d seen you—at the train station and in the City, in the Prophet, your hair braided, that streak of white like a halo, like a queen’s ivory filet, your eyes, sweet Nimue, your eyes, Hermione—”

“I’m not a saint,” she put in.

He climbed another stair and now he looked directly at her. She could rest her hands on his shoulders if she wanted. She could raise a hand and stroke his cheek, graze the steel temple of his spectacles, the silver hair at above his ears.

“I know. And I know why you don’t wear a glamour or charm your hair the color it was when we were young. You want me to tell you how my wife died and I wanted you to comfort me? To come to her funeral and hold my hand, to wear the veil for her and to let me fold it back over your head to face the truth? How I wanted you in my bed, fresh from your bath, in a nightdress you’d let me ruck up to your waist, naked beneath me, your skin like silk, arching up into my hands, gasping, laughing when I accidentally tickled your waist. Crying out when you felt my mouth on your breasts, suckling, when you felt my cock hard between your thighs, when I begged you? When I told you to spread your legs, love, when I praised you for being so good, my beautiful, darling, delicious witch I wanted to fuck all night, that there was no one else, there never had been, there never would be, only you, my darling with your dark eyes and your brilliant mind and your magic, your heart, your cunt—You want me to say that I love you, that I’ve loved you to the best of my ability for the best part of my life and that I don’t want you to go, not now, not ever, but I know that’s not up to me?”

There was a slight flush in his cheeks, a gleam in his grey eyes that might be tears, but his voice was steady, restrained, and there was space between them yet that she knew he would not breach. She used the effort required to cast tandem wandless in a duel to the death, more than she’d used when she was eighteen and expected to save the world.

“If it’s the truth—” she said.

“It’s the truth,” he answered. “There’s more, I suppose, but it’s much the same.”

“Then it’s what I asked for,” she said. She closed her eyes for a moment, part of her sure he would not be there when she looked again, a dream, a vision she’d conjured, Nimue and Merlin both, trapped within her desires while the world lived and grew around her. She opened her eyes and there he was, waiting. There was a shadow in his gaze, the expectation of rejection, abandonment. He was not a man accustomed to hope. She’d asked, though, and he’d answered.

“I’ve learned, as I’ve grown older, that I can’t hope for the best. Settle for what I’m given. I must take what I want, with both hands,” she said and reached over, up a little, to cup his face with her palms, her fingers touching the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. He was very still, almost rigid, and she felt a frisson of fear, of being deceived, denied.

“With both hands,” she repeated a little hesitantly. “Unless, you don’t, after all—Scorpius will not, and you have to put him first, of course—”

“I do,” Draco, beginning to smile. “And I was told not to come home without you, though Scorpius is willing to take my word for your arrival. He’s not waiting there for us.”

“No?” Hermione said, feeling terribly warm, terribly, wonderfully desired. Needed. Accepted.

“No, I shall have you all to myself,” he said. He finally put his arms around her, very carefully as they were still on a staircase and perhaps he was a little unsteady now. “D’you suppose, before we go, I might kiss you?”

“Here? Where anyone might see?” Hermione asked, though the hallway had been deserted for the past hour and the charm on the wall sconces needed to be recast. Though she had let herself look at his mouth, the curve of his lips. Let herself admit her own appetite had gone beyond any curious hunger, to craving, the sweet she had been forbidden for so long.

“Yes. Be honest, would that bother you?” he said.

“Do you think I will say it would? Do you expect me to tell you no when I’ve just said you’re what I want? All that I want?” she said, echoing him. Making him grin, a hint of the smirk she first remembered seeing on his face as a young boy, now subsumed into such tenderness she felt nearly overwhelmed.

“Is it the truth?” he said.

“Yes,” she said and then she didn’t say anything else because they were beyond needing any other word than “Home—” the Side-along as easy as a breath, as waking from a dream into the day.

They named their first daughter Verity, explaining it was a family name.

#dramione #post-hogwarts #Hermione x Draco #hermione POV #romance #scorpius malfoy #the beauty of fanfic #just justing to the big climatic scene #the burn of a slow burn #prior draco/astoria #astoria/theo #prior ron/hermione #draco really monologues for all he's worth #gets a little blue

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bluebugsy · 8 days

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We finally hit 100k words 🎉

Now we just have to get to the ending ☠️☠️☠️

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girl-oncegolden · 5 months

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#hermione pov #dramione #hermione granger

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diangelofan · 2 years

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Prompt: heartstopping

Harry's hands around Draco's waist; the way their whole body, their souls, are just focused on one another as if this is not a room full of hundreds of Hogwarts graduates, but just the two of them. Everyone with eyes can see that what they have is heartstopping.

- Word count: 48 words, @drarrymicrofic

#drarry #draco x harry #harry x draco #harco #drarrymicrofic #microfic #hp microfic #harry potter #@drarrymicrofic #hermione pov #outsider pov

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runwiththenight-catchthedawn · 2 years

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Hey friends, I'm sorry it's taken so long to post an update for the Incandescent Series. I'm planning on posting Chapter 3 tonight. I was feeling really insecure about the first couple chapters and truly considered abandoning the story, but I've fallen in love with it all over again, so I will begin posting regularly! For those of you that have supported it thus far, thank you so much!

I do, however, desperately need a beta writer if anyone is interested! :)

#dramione #dramione ff #fanfiction #dramione fanfic #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #dark!hermione #pining hermione #mutual pining #hermione pov #writing

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handledwithgloves · 16 days

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‘an ode to ron weasley’ by hermione jean granger 🩷

#pov: hermione #i cried making this #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #harry potter #harry potter fan art #romione fanart #golden trio era #golden trio #golden trio fanart #pro ron weasley #pro romione #if ron has no fans im 💀#romione resurgance #romione revival

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ursdahlia · 1 year

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muggle black tie at the ministry

#dramione fanart #dramione #draco x hermione #hp fanart #next: harrys pov

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sodamnradd · 2 months

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Hermione emerged from Harry’s closet wearing nothing but his blazer.

“You know he’s never going to buy that.”

She unclasped her clip and ruffled her hair in the mirror, pinched her cheeks, slapped them until they pinked. Bit her lips. Pinched her thighs so they would bruise.

“Quick.” She pushed her hair to the side and tilted her head. “Give me a hickey.”

“No.” Harry reeled back.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal and I’m not—”

“Harry James Potter, put your mouth on my neck right now.”

“If Malfoy actually believes I did that to you, he’s going to…” he trailed off, because he didn’t know how Malfoy was going to react. But it would not end with a pat on the back and a ‘congratulations’. “I work with the guy.”

“Traitor.” Hermione rumpled the bedsheets.

“He’s not coming into my room.”

She ignored him.

“Just tell him you want to get back together.”

She hurled a pillow at his chest.

The sound of the fireplace made them freeze.

“Stop it, Harry!” Hermione started to giggle, making a soft, sultry moan Harry never wanted to hear from her mouth again.

“Potter?” Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Years of pure-blood etiquette made Malfoy one of the most well-behaved men Harry knew, so it was extremely out of character when he threw the door open, uninvited.

Malfoy came face to face with Hermione.

She swept her curls from her eyes and plastered on a freakishly convincing look of surprise.

Malfoy’s cold eyes darted from Hermione, semi-dressed. To Harry, who, luckily, was fully clothed and only slightly flushed from embarrassment.

He asked tightly, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said at the same time Harry replied, “She’s trying to make you jealous.”

She glowered at him.

But Harry was looking at Malfoy. Noting the betrayal in his eyes. “She thinks you slept with someone. That’s why she’s been acting like this. I swear I didn’t touch her.”

“Harry!” Hermione cried.

Malfoy seemed torn, but he knew Harry well, and Hermione even better. The devastation on his face morphed into concern. “Granger?”

Hermione looked away, shoulders bunching up, arms crossed.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded.

She shot him a deadly look, and Harry was relieved not to be on the receiving end of it for once.

“I saw you go into that senator’s suite. Her hands were on you. Grabbing your tie, dragging you inside. She shut the door… You…” Her voice caught. “Came back hours later. Showered. Tried to… touch me."

Realising the truth, Harry opened his mouth to correct her assumptions, but Malfoy beat him to it. “You were gone the next morning because you thought—”

“I knew.”

“You thought,” he corrected her. “I slept with someone else and crawled back to you afterwards?”

She shrugged. “Older women have a certain allure. I saw how she looked at you.” She clutched Harry’s blazer, as if realizing how ridiculous she looked.

But Malfoy didn’t seem to find her ridiculous at all. His gaze raked down her chest, lingered on the swell of her breasts, her bare legs. “You have no idea how you… That you believed I would ever… When you’re…”

Harry had never witnessed Malfoy tongue-tied before.

“I know what I saw.” Hermione stepped back as Malfoy stepped forward.

“That woman was my assignment,” Harry interjected, even though they weren’t supposed to talk about open cases. But Hermione needed answers and Malfoy was useless. “I asked Malfoy to pretend he was spending the night with her as a safety precaution. He didn’t want to do it. But I was desperate.”

“I occasionally grant Potter favours. Though now I will expect many in return.” He shot Harry a telling look. “For a bloody long time.” Great.

Malfoy approached Hermione again, and this time she let him. He touched her cheek. So gentle, Harry wondered if Malfoy had been Polyjuiced. “There’s no one else, Granger. Ever.”

Hermione shut her eyes. Leaned into his palm. Malfoy lifted her chin. Stroked her hair. Murmured something against her lips. She kissed him. His hand trailed up her thigh. Beneath the blazer.

Harry shut the door behind him, making a mental note to ask Kreacher to change the sheets later and set the blazer on fire. He grimaced when he heard the bed squeak.

The first of many favors he now owed Draco sodding Malfoy.

(732 words, photo prompt from twitter)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles #harry potter #harry pov

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cursed-byesexual · 5 months

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I'm such a sucker for fics from the pov of some NormalPerson™ who tries to understand what the actual fuck is going on with your fave. For example;

- Hermione's parents sort of got used to their daughter talking about dragons and curses and she makes it sound like its no big deal so they just go along with their strange kid. Except now there's a man at the door who says he's the minister of magic and he would like to personally invite you and your daughter to the first memorial of the final battle as she is a war hero of the highest order. What do you mean there was a war? Hermione, get down here this instant!

-Or a true crime podcast about the crimes of Sam and Dean Winchester through the eyes of someone who went to college with Sam. He hosts podcast nights and everytime one of Sams alleged kills is described he tells the friends who are listening with them about that time Sam went vegetarian for a month after watching a nature channel docu.

-Or Percy Jackson returns to a mortal high school after one of his adventures and one of his teachers has to try and decipher the transcripts from his old schools. How the fuck did this little skater boy blow up his last school? Why isn't he in prison??? Or dead??? The parent-teacher conference night that follows is one for the ages as Sally Jackson lies her ass off, but with skill.

-Or John Watson decides to go to a class reunion against better knowledge and Sherlock tags along to learn more about John out of boredom. His former classmates don't understand what the hell Sherlock Holmes is doing at their party if there hasn't been a murder and absolutely come to the conclusion that the two are together. They have to be, right?

Basically anything that puts these unhinged adventures and relationships into perspective I guess, sorry if these don't make sense,,, tag me if you know any fics of this sort! For any fandom! Or comment you own hc!!!

#harry potter #hermione granger #Percy jackson #Pjo #bbc sherlock #Sherlock #john watson #secret good supernatural #Supernatural #Spn #sam winchester #Dean winchester #outsider pov #fic idea #fic rec #fandom #johnlock

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undercoverdrxco · 3 months

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my personal collection of outsider pov - dramione fics

Hermione [Jolene]

How Ron Weasley Learned His Lesson

Exposé (Ginny’s Version)

Five Times Harry Potter Was Sus of Hermione Granger and One Time…

enjoy <3

#dramione #dramione outsider pov fics #dramione fanfic #draco and hermione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #hermione x draco #draco x hermione

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jomiddlemarch · 3 months

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While You Were Sleeping

Chapter 4

Some people, primarily Muggles, count sheep when they have trouble falling asleep.

Wizards preferred Puffskeins or occasionally crups. Molly Weasley had once admitted she counted crups in Weasley sweaters, after George had spiked her tea with something she made him pull from the store shelves.

(Hermione did not believe anyone who said they counted dragons other than Hagrid, who listed them off by their forenames.)

Hermione preferred facts.

Fact: the Eguzkiko continued to think she and Draco were a married couple.

Fact: Draco was fluent in at least five languages.

Fact: Draco wore a subtle cologne that smelled like Hermione imagined the Silk Road would, minus the camels.

(Unconfirmed fact: this was exactly what Amortentia now smelled like to Hermione, forget cut grass and parchment.)

Fact: Hermione’s facts were usually about statistics, geopolitical historical alliances, and characters in Dickens’ novels because her father had loved those dearly but since the start of this mission, her facts had increasingly, exclusively become All About Draco.

Fact: Hermione appeared to have Feelings for sodding brilliant, widely accomplished and knicker-incineratingly fit Draco Black Malfoy, Esq., Feelings she felt ill-equipped to express.

Fact: She felt no more drowsy now than when she’d extinguished the reading lamp and turned on her side to avoid trying to make out his profile or the exquisite line of his neck against the pillowcase.

Fac—THUMP.

“What was that?” she exclaimed.

“I don’t—” Draco began.

THUMP. Thump. thump.

“What the bloody fuck?!” Draco said, sitting bolt upright. There was a yelping quality to his cry, that couldn’t be denied, though his voice was still pitched low enough that no one would have called it a shriek. Also, being bolt upright showed his broad shoulders to notable advantage (who knew pyjamas could be so impeccably tailored?)

In any case, Hermione had that covered, the shriek-department that is. She did manage to keep it to one solitary shriek that she choked back at the end, right at the moment when Draco reached over and grabbed her upper arms. She only had a split second to evaluate the grabbing, but it was definitely from the making-sure-you’re-real and I’ve-got-you-don’t-worry categories, not the get-a-hold-of-yourself-witch or I’m-about-to-shake-you-silly-for-being-a-silly-bint. Also, his hands were big and warm and transiently made her feel very much cherished and she was glad she’d tied back her hair so he didn’t accidentally pull any of it, though the prospect of his hands gently running through her curls was dreadfully appealing.

When she wasn’t devoting her not inconsiderable brain-power towards the mental recitation of facts, she was capable of noticing quite a bit.

“Are you all right?” he asked. With the grabbing, he’d closed the distance between them and they were close enough she could see the hints of green and blue in his grey eyes, the faint shadow of his beard, a darker shade than his hair. There was a small scar near his left temple and she wondered at what curse had caught him there, how badly he’d been injured to leave such a mark impervious to the Healers at St. Mungo’s. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, are you?” she said. Her heart was still beating very fast, but it had more to do with Draco than the earlier noise.

“Yes,” he said. He loosened his grasp on her and let his hands drop, but they still rested on her forearms, lightly enough she could shrug him off. She did not.

“What was that?” she said when the moment had started to grow too intense, the hollow at the base of his throat too tempting.

“I don’t know,” he said. “At home, I’d guess it might be an old house settling for the night or a storm brewing, but here—”

“Could it be something magic?” she said. She swallowed, then said what she’d first thought, when all she had felt was terror, when she’d wanted to call out his name. “Don’t laugh at me—”

“I won’t,” he said.

“A monster. Under the bed. I know it sounds foolish,” she said.

Hermione was absolutely certain that every single one of her acquaintances, with the sole exception of Luna Lovegood, would agree it sounded foolish. And even Luna was likely to give her reassuring smile and tell her that kidakomori were far fonder of people than people ever gave them credit for and Hermione would have to pretend that she was aware of kidakomori and their undeservedly dubious reputation.

“It doesn’t sound foolish. Not to me,” Draco said.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to say it first, because I agree it makes me sound unhinged, but I also thought of a monster under the bed,” he replied.

“You were supposed to talk sense to me. To tell me I was overreacting,” Hermione said.

“Are you even capable of overreacting?” Draco countered. “I realize I am tacitly validating your prior assault on me—”

“We were children! And you were beastly,” Hermione said.

“And I deserved it,” he said.

“Well, no one deserves to be hit,” Hermione said.

“I understand the progressive Muggle approach to childhood discipline and in general, I don’t disagree but in that particular situation, I must say I did. And not only because I was making a point.” He smiled at her and she liked it far too much.

“Do you really think there’s a monster under our bed?” she said, trying not to whisper and failing.

“You said our bed,” Draco replied.

“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on? Not the monster part? And the fact that we have no wands and even wandless magic is verboten in here, even assuming either of us knew what spell to cast for a monster under the bed,” she ranted. Her exposure to Parseltongue had been so negative (whose wasn’t?) she kept herself from hissing, but it was a close call. Draco moved his right hand from her forearm to her wrist and then laced his fingers through hers. It would have been the sexiest move she could remember any man making except for the possible monster beneath them.

“Inanis belua, but you have to put the emphasis on the bel and let the final a drift. Like leviosa,” Draco said.

“Inanis belua,” she repeated.

“Perfect,” he said. “You’ve always had an ear for incantation.”

“How did you learn it?” Hermione asked. It seemed he wasn’t going to make her face the implications of our bed. At least not at the moment.

“Narcissa,” Draco said, again referring to his mother by her first name. Hermione almost wished for another round of eerie thumps to distract them both from the ticking bomb that was his relationship with his mother. “She coddled me, as much as she could—the Malfoy heir was expected to be superior in all regards, but the Blacks tend to be high-strung, overly sensitive. It was a secret, that she taught me the spell. I wasn’t to tell my father.”

“I don’t think it’s coddling to make your little boy feel safe,” Hermione said, hoping she’d picked the least inflammatory aspect of what he’d shared. The less she said about Lucius Malfoy the better. Even after all these years, she wasn’t sure she could talk about him without venom and however Draco felt, the man was still his father, albeit immured in Azkaban .

“Perhaps,” Draco said.

“I suppose you think it’s horribly middle-class of me. Or Muggle,” she said.

“I think you were raised by kinder people than I was,” he said. Hermione thought of the estrangement that existed between her and her parents and also how it had been as the Grangers’ little girl, the plush calico kitten that had been tucked with her under her covers, the bedtime stories, the trips to the library with a trolley to bring home her latest acquisitions. When she thought of them, they were still Mum and Dad.

“It was Bellatrix who taught her the spell,” Draco said, watching her face. His own eyebrows were drawn together, a serious expression similar to one he wore when wrangling with a particularly thorny bit of medieval Eguzkikan legislation.

“I take it you’re of the confront your fear persuasion,” Hermione said. “Or is this some kind of weirdly roundabout apology Or a Pureblood thing? If it’s a Pureblood thing, you’ll have to give me some context, like whether it’s all the Sacred Twenty-Eight or just the Blacks. It doesn’t feel authentically Malfoy.”

“I’m not sure what it is,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, still hanging onto her right with his own. “I thought, we’re talking about monsters, from our past, we’ve never spoken about what happened with Bellatrix. We’re sleeping together every night, it seemed odd not to address it but perhaps that was better—"

“It wasn’t better. But this isn’t necessary,” she said.

“I think it is,” Draco replied. “Necessary, but not better. She’s so hard to talk about and no one wants to, beyond cursing her, and I understand, but to not talk about her, it’s as stupid to me as blasting Andromeda off the tapestry. And I’ve never told you how terribly sorry I am that I couldn’t figure out some other way to help you, when she was hurting you. I don’t know what I could have done but that’s not enough, Hermione. It never was and now—”

Draco broke off and Hermione found herself raising her left hand to cup his cheek, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone. It went on far to long for him to mistake is for only gentleness.

“D’you know, I think we’ve had enough of monsters,” she said. “Only I wonder—”

“What?” he said.

“There’s been no more noise. Might we have done wandless magic with that spell of yours, banished the bedframe’s resident horror to parts unknown? And if we did, will the Eguzkiko be deeply offended and break off diplomatic relations?” Hermione asked.

“I won’t tell,” Draco said. “Wandless is near-impossible to trace and tandem wandless hasn’t been recorded. Or regulated in any magical region. I think we’re safe.”

Fact: Draco’s eyes weren’t only grey.

Fact: Draco had been a little boy afraid of monsters.

Fact: Hermione wanted to fall asleep holding Draco Black Malfoy’s hand. And he let her.

#dramione #there was only one bed #fake marriage #rom-com #but with angst #hermione POV #hermione granger #draco malfoy #hermione x draco #post-hogwarts #epilogue what epilogue #sleepy time tropes #diplomat!hermione #lawyer!draco #getting into family stuff #the author repudiates JK Rowling

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bluebugsy · 25 days

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✨Summary✨

The Dark Lord has spared Minny’s life after the war and blessed her with the opportunity to work under the careful eyes of Draco Malfoy.

When she’s taken to Wiltshire after a medical procedure she has no memory of receiving, she is eager to be useful in fulfilling whatever Malfoy needs. She doesn’t question him, she doesn’t push back against his orders, and is perfectly subservient to him.

However, the longer she stays at the manor, the harder it becomes to remain the perfect servant that Draco is entitled to. The darkness begins to swallow her, and she sees how much of a stranger she’s become, even to herself. Will she uncover the truth of her identity? Or will she hold steadfast to being the servant that Draco tends to?

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 4 months

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Share your lastest WIP! If you want 👀

which one 🥲😂😭💀 i have a few - will this do?

“They’re quite odd, aren’t they?”

Abraxas is snickering when he says it. He’s just loud enough to grate - nothing new - but in what should be the quiet sanctity of the library, his tone sufficiently pulls Tom from his reading.

His eyes lock on Abraxas across from him and flick to the ‘they’ in question.

And, of course, it’s the Grangers.

Since entering the magical community, Tom has learned a thing or two about their societal norms. An interesting component being that it is surprisingly challenging to be seen as ‘odd’ here. A wixen can be any number of things: lazy, stupid, poor, muggle - the list goes on, but ‘odd’ is a category used sparingly when directed towards each other. Much unlike the muggles Tom has known and grown his whole life around.

He was always seen as odd by them - freakish - and continues to be whenever he returns to the orphanage for summer. So he doesn’t much care for the word.

Besides, if anything, the Grangers aren't even worth gawking over and snickering about. Their worst can be summed up to anti-socialistic, codependent, and exclusionary behaviours - probably a trauma response from the war. They clearly have no interest in playing house with their dormmates or the rest of the school, so why bother?

They are sitting beneath the second-story stair landing where the elves have managed to shove one last table. It’s one of the more tucked away and private places on this level — a place Tom would not consider and will not consider; he needs to be visible, available — and they’ve claimed it like it’s never belonged to anyone else. Like it was placed there just for them. Their ease of acclimation to Hogwarts as a whole has certainly raised some eyebrows, yet still, he isn’t concerned.

He had also known Hogwarts was his home the moment he had stepped foot in it, after all. He is not so foolish as to believe himself an outlier.

Hermione Granger’s hands are waving wildly, turning in circles and gesturing in a vague sphere-like shape. She’s talking aloud - not that Tom, or anyone else, can hear it - and doesn’t seem to like what she’s saying, given the harsh line between her brows. Ronald Granger is sitting in front of her and starts shaking his head. He says something and reaches across the table to take her wrists — expands them — the sphere becomes an oval.

Harry Granger sits beside them pensive, with his head down and reading carefully from a book in his hands. He starts to turn the page but pauses; he frowns and looks up.

He looks right at Tom.

Granger blinks once, slowly. He mouths something, but it’s not directed towards Tom because his siblings turn to look at him. It only lasts a moment before they suddenly turn around to stare at Tom as well, their eyes wide and alarmed.

Tom watches on as Harry Granger slouches - maybe sighs? He shakes his head and palms his face in something like dismay. It doesn't take a legilimens to read his lips now—

“You are both such idiots.” He says.

The corner of Tom’s lips curl. It’s possibly a smile. He’ll never call it that out loud.

“Very,” he finally replies to Abraxas.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #my fic #unnamed fic #pov: tom #knights meeting #555 words exactly #must be a sign #if you believe in that sort of thing #thank you for sending in an ask - i won't lie when i first saw it i wasn't going to post anything because i only read the first part #and i was thinking - no one shall demand anything of me #but then i saw the second half #😂😂😂😂😂#also this should look familiar #i've posted something related to it before - but i've made changes #for starters i gave them all hermione's last name instead #at the hour i am posting this - hopefully no one will see it 😂

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