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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 year

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I posted 128 times in 2022

22 posts created (17%)

106 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@romione-trope-fest

@accio-broom

@acnelli

@adenei

@folk-melody

I tagged 117 of my posts in 2022

Only 9% of my posts had no tags

#romione - 86 posts

#ron weasley - 69 posts

#hermione granger - 68 posts

#ron x hermione - 59 posts

#romione trope fest 2022 - 25 posts

#romione fanfic - 24 posts

#romionetropefest - 13 posts

#romione trope fest - 12 posts

#dh missing moment - 11 posts

#fake dating - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 30 characters

#ron weasley x hermione granger

My Top Posts in 2022:

IWSC Writing School, round 2–Ron after leaving the tent in DH. Hints of Romione.

A Costly Mistake

He knew he had made a colossal mistake before his feet even hit the ground, but the realization that he was not alone in the forest only amplified Ron’s regret at leaving the relative safety of the tent.

“Well, well, what have we got here?” A tall wizard in baggy robes strode toward him as the others moved to surround Ron. He raised his arm, but his wand was wrenched from his hand by a silent disarming spell before he could fire off one of his own.

“Looks like a student,” said another wizard, now pulling Ron’s wand through his fingers in examination. “You running from ‘ogwarts, mate?”

“No.” Ron coughed and lowered his voice, wanting to render unrecognizable any part of himself that he could manage. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to remain calm. He had to get away from this gang of wizards that he had unwittingly Disapparated into and back to Harry and Hermione. “Been out of Hogwarts for years. And who the bloody hell are you?”

A third wizard withdrew a scroll from his pocket and consulted it. “We’ll be asking the questions. What’s your name, then?”

“Why should I tell you?”

A hard blow was delivered to his stomach, knocking the breath from Ron’s lungs, as a strong arm was wrapped around his middle from behind, holding him in place. The tip of a wand dug into his neck, and Ron let out a gasp of pain before he could restrain it.

“Because we got no qualms about killing you either way.” The voice in his ear was gruff, and the wizard holding him smelled like he was in desperate need of a shower. “But you’ve got nothing to fear if you’ve got nothing to hide.” The man echoed words Ron had once heard from Dolores Umbridge, and the implication that these men were from the Ministry made his blood run cold. “Now, you on my friend’s list of runaway Mudbloods, or not?”

“Stan,” Ron gulped, blurting the first name that came to mind as the wand pressed deeper into his neck. “Stan Shunpike.”

None of the wizards surrounding him called out his lie, so he figured he had at least bought himself some time as the wizard with the scroll scanned the list in his hand. “No Shunpike on the list,” he confirmed.

“Told you,” Ron snapped, swallowing his relief. “I’ll take my wand back now.”

“Hold on.” The wizard who had first addressed him took a step closer and peered at him. “We sure he’s telling the truth?”

“He looks like Stan,” replied the wizard holding Ron’s wand with a shrug.

“Yeah, but we can’t afford to be making any mistakes, now, can we?”

The two wizards began to argue, and Ron saw his opening. He bent his arm and swung it backwards into the gut of the wizard holding him. He doubled over, allowing Ron to snatch the man’s wand and disarm the one who was holding his, Disapparating with both wands before they could make another grab at him.

“Ow—bugger,” Ron groaned, looking down at his hand. Two of his fingernails were missing, and the wounds were bleeding profusely where he had splinched himself. Of course, he had no one to blame for this injury but himself. He hadn’t really blamed Hermione for the first one, but he knew he’d had a funny way of showing it in the past few weeks.

That bloody locket.

He would apologize for his behavior later; he had to get back to them first. He had to get back to her. Ron’s gut was twisted with guilt as Hermione’s yells echoed in his mind. He’d heard her calling for him to stay, and he’d ignored her.

He took a look around his current location. It looked like the forest where the campsite was—similar foliage, and the ground squelched under his boots from the earlier downpour—but without any landmarks to go by, he wasn’t sure how far he had really gone. They had pitched the tent by a creek, he knew that much, and he couldn’t hear any running water. He raised his wand to try again, but the blood still dripping onto his coat from his splinched fingers made him pause.

Destination.

Ron took a deep breath to steady himself. He had to focus if he wanted to make a safe return to the tent; if he kept splinching himself, he’d soon be in pieces throughout the forest, and he shuddered at the mental image he conjured.

Deliberation.

His wand gripped tightly in his hand, Ron spun and Disapparated again. He landed this time near the creek, but as he let his eyes scan the winding path of the water, he could tell he was miles from where he’d left. Heaving a sigh, Ron prepared to Disapparate again.

Determination.

When his feet hit the ground this time, he knew he was in the right spot, though the forest was still. Even the pouring rain had slowed to a drizzle. Ron’s steps were slow and measured as he approached the area of the campsite, and his heart sank as he crossed where the boundary of the wards had been. It wouldn’t have surprised him if they had blocked him from entering, but the lack of resistance told him that the wards were gone.

They were gone.

30 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

Wishing the bestest of birthdays to the lovely @accio-broom ! 🥳🎂❤️

I wrote a little Muggle uni drabble to celebrate, enjoy!

Strawberries 🍓

Hermione heaves a sigh of frustration that’s just a bit too loud for the library, hoping her agitation reaches its intended target. This library is her favorite of the several on campus—it’s quiet compared to the main library, it’s not far from her class buildings, and it has a coffee shop right there on the bottom floor. The downside, though, is that it has far fewer computer stations, and she’s been waiting for an open bay for nearly twenty minutes now.

She’s not the only one with work to do; she knows that. But one student in particular is the subject of her ire. While the others are hard at work, their screens displaying research, or documents, or complicated calculations, she can see over his shoulder that he’s been playing a game since she arrived. That would be annoying on its own—a gross misuse of university resources—but the fact that it is currently delaying Hermione’s own task has her seeing red.

A quick glance at her watch shows that it’s now been closer to thirty minutes, and she decides enough is enough. Hermione hauls her rucksack onto her back and marches over to the computer station to confront the redhead.

“Excuse me?”

The boy swivels his chair around, and Hermione is met with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. “Yes?”

“You’ve been using this computer for a while now, and I was hoping that you might let me use it,” Hermione began. “You see, I have this paper to work on.”

“How do you know I’m not working?” he responds, and Hermione gawks at him. Up close, his little farming game is on full display, rows and rows of cartoon fruits and vegetables and livestock, and Hermione snorts.

“You’re very clearly not.”

He shrugs and spins his chair back around. “That’s your opinion.” Hermione opens her mouth to argue, but he points at the screen and continues, “This is a lot of hard work. See, if I don’t harvest this corn in time it will wither up and die, and then what would I feed my cows with?”

Hermione takes a deep breath and taps her foot to the rhythmic click of his mouse, trying to channel her irritation into the movement. “Fine, so when you finish harvesting your corn, can I have the computer?” She huffs as he begins another task. “What are you doing now?”

He throws a grin at her over his shoulder. “Planting strawberries. Here, I’m sorry. What’s your name? I’ll send you a sheep for your troubles.”

“What am I to do with a digital sheep?”

“Make digital blankets.”

“Look, this is really not funny,” Hermione hisses, her patience waning. “I have a paper to work on—“

“So you said.”

“—and you are—“

“A sociology major working on a research topic about students’ tolerance for inconvenience in their educational pursuits.”

Hermione narrows her eyes at him. He rattled it off so quickly that she’s not sure whether to believe him or not. “You just made that up.”

“How do they react when their favorite coffee shop is out of the blend they like? What do they do when there are no tables left in the dining hall?” He pauses and spins the chair back around to face her. “You have a higher tolerance than most. The other day, this bloke and his girlfriend were having an argument so loud even the librarian got involved, but you never looked up from your book.”

“You’re studying me?” Hermione isn’t sure whether to be creeped out or flattered.

He shrugs in reply. “I just notice things. But I’ll be sure to make a note—FarmVille on the library computer is crossing the line. Zero tolerance.” He closes the game and stands up from the chair. “All yours.”

“Thank you.” Hermione takes the empty seat and inserts her thumb drive to open her paper. She only needs to check a source before she continues, and she’s done in five minutes. Of course, by this point several of the other computers have been vacated as well. Figures, Hermione thinks as she grabs her backpack again.

As she stands, she sees the redhead sitting at the table nearby. Now that she’s done what she needed to do, her annoyance has fizzled, and she can’t deny she’s curious.

He looks up as she approaches and gives her a crooked smile. “I’m Ron, by the way.”

“Hermione.” She studies him for a moment. “Are you really a sociology major?”

“Let me buy you a coffee, and I’ll tell you,” he says with a grin. “The shop downstairs. Nothing inconvenient, of course.”

Hermione laughs, not sure what to make of this handsome stranger. “Okay. You’re on.”

33 notes - Posted November 26, 2022

Some Jily for @cruelsummer-ficfest ❤️

Everything Has Changed

“I can’t believe I’m letting you lot drag me to Hogsmeade when I’m so behind on my Potions revisions.”

Marlene’s complaint is contradicted by the fact that she’s leading the way through the castle, and Lily chuckles. Marlene would never let school get in the way of a good time, and they all know it.

“Professor Slughorn’s not that bad,” Lily says as they traipse down the stairs. “I’m sure his exam next week won’t be as tough as you think.”

“You can say that because you’re his favorite,” Dorcas grumbles. “The rest of us haven’t got the chops you have, Lils. Remind me why we carried on to NEWT level anyway?”

“It’s required coursework for Healers. Or have you changed your mind again?” Lily can’t help but tease.

“Okay, enough about school, please?” Marlene jumps in, to which Lily snorts.

“You are the one who brought up potions, Marls.”

“And now I’m changing the subject.” Marlene reaches for the front door with a smile, and the fall chill assaults them with unexpected force.

“It’s only October,” Lily complains with a shiver. They have barely even made it down the front steps onto the grounds, and at this rate she will be frozen solid by the time they get to Hogsmeade. “Why is it so cold out?”

“You could always ask James Potter to warm you up,” Dorcas snickers.

Lily rolls her eyes even as she can feel her cheeks flushing. “Oh, very funny. I would rather set Fiendfyre to my own coat; much more effective and not nearly as annoying as Potter is.”

Marlene scoffs. “Sure you would. Seriously, what’s going on with you two?” she presses.

“Nothing.” The answer is more true than ever, as James has barely said two words to her since term started. She frowns and tugs her coat tighter around her waist, changing the subject herself. “I think I’m going to run back upstairs and grab a scarf.”

“No,” Dorcas groans. “I’m already running late for my date with Paul.”

“Go on, then. I’ll catch up.” Lily breaks off from the other two, and Marlene fixes her with a discerning stare.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off that easily about this James business,” she warns.

Lily waves a dismissive hand at her, though she knows her best friend means business. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you there in a few.”

She trots back up to the castle, while Dorcas loops her arm through Marlene’s and continues down the path.

Most of the eligible students are already down in the village, leaving the castle quiet for a Saturday. Lily is halfway back to Gryffindor Tower when she sees none other than James himself coming down the corridor toward her. He and his crew are usually the first ones to Hogsmeade and the last ones back at night—any opportunity to escape the school for a bit—so she’s surprised to find him near the library, a bulging satchel slung over his shoulder.

“That’s a lot of books for Hogsmeade,” Lily jokes as they approach each other. “Or have you actually got a bag full of pranks?”

James shrugs, not quite meeting her gaze. “Not going to Hogsmeade today.”

“Why not? I figured I’d see you there.”

His hazel eyes flash up to hers. “Did you?”

Lily frowns up at him, startled by his defensive tone. “Yes. First weekend of the year? I thought you’d be leading the parade, not holed up in the library.”

James lifts his shoulder in another nonchalant gesture, and Lily’s heart races. Things have been weird between them this year—mostly because Potter has ceased asking her out every five seconds—but she isn’t sure why their friendship has delved into such awkwardness. James has always been an open book, and now that he seems to have put walls up to keep her out, all she wants to do is tear them down.

“Guess things have changed,” he replies. “Enjoy the village.”

He turns away from her, and she lets him take a few long strides before she calls to him. “Potter?”

His quick sigh echoes in the deserted hallway before he swivels his head around to look at her again, one eyebrow raised in question. “Evans?”

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48 notes - Posted July 14, 2022

Some DH tent angst for the @cruelsummer-ficfest 💕

You’re Not Sorry

It’s raining tonight.

It shouldn’t be raining—it’s the dead of winter, for Merlin’s sake—but the incessant splatter of water against canvas has Hermione on edge.

It hasn’t rained since the night he left.

Even now that he’s back, she can’t take her mind off it. Watching the storm clouds roll in as they pitched the tent earlier this evening, she knew then that she would be in for a rough night. Every clap of thunder, every flash of lightning takes her right back as if it were yesterday.

Her grip tightens on the handle of her pale blue toothbrush as she scrubs the faded bristles against her teeth. An over-zealous nighttime dental routine probably isn’t the most effective outlet for her frustration, but she’s got to do something. And besides, her toothbrush is too worn down by now to cause any real damage.

Hermione leans over to spit a minty mouthful into the sink, but starts when she stands up and realizes her face isn’t the only one in the mirror.

“Sorry,” Ron blurts, their gazes meeting only briefly in the reflection before he averts his eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you, I just—“

“You’re supposed to be on watch.” Hermione folds her arms across her chest as she spins to face him. He’s much closer than she realized, so near to her in the cramped tent bathroom that a strong inhale might have her brushing against his chest. She presses the curve of her back into the sink in a futile attempt to put some distance between them.

“Well, yeah, I was, but I need to use the loo. Didn’t reckon I’d have to fight anyone for it at this hour.” His lips twitch on one side in a timid smile, and Hermione forces her already tense mouth into the most intimidating frown she can muster.

“You know, it defeats the whole point of having a watch if you’re just going to up and leave in the middle of it.”

Ron shuffles his feet, and the quick purse of his lips gives away the effort he’s exerting to not get in a row with her. He’s been quiet—too quiet—since his return, constantly walking on eggshells around her, and it almost feels like it’s not her Ron that’s come back at all.

Her Ron. She scoffs at herself; he’s never been any such thing.

“I meant to be quick.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“You, you barmy witch!” Regret flashes across Ron’s face as soon as the words leave his lips. “Sorry, I—“

“Stop it!” Hermione snaps, cutting him off. “Stop saying that. You’re not sorry.”

Interspersed with the long stretches of tense silence have been Ron’s various attempts to apologize for leaving, and although she knows this isn’t the same, she’s sick of the meaningless word.

Ron tugs the door shut behind him, closing them into the tight space, and mutters a silencing charm. “Do you really believe that?” he asks as his blue eyes bore into hers.

Hermione’s heart pounds with the proximity. “What?”

“Do you really think I’m not sorry? Or—” He blinks, shifting his gaze to a spot over her shoulder. “Or does it not even matter that I am?”

“It’s—“ Hermione shakes her head, lost for words.

It’s not that she doesn’t believe him. It’s just that sorry doesn’t erase the chill in her bones leftover from standing in the cold rain for far too long, staring at the spot where he disapparated from. Sorry doesn’t drown out her own voice echoing in her head, screaming at him to stay.

“It’s not enough,” she says finally, blinking back tears.

Ron’s face falls as he takes a step toward her, his own eyes watering. “Hermione—“

“The loo’s all yours.” She ducks away from him, flinging the door open as she wipes a hand across her eyes.

Hermione hurries to her bunk before Ron can follow and buries herself under a pile of blankets. The thick wool coverings are a poor substitute for the arms she wishes were wrapped around her instead, but she’s not ready. Not yet.

She barely hears Ron’s footsteps over the pouring rain as he pads across the tent to resume his watch without another word to her.

74 notes - Posted June 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Happy birthday to the amazing @be11atrixthestrange ! Christmas in July is overrated so I wrote Halloween in July instead 🧡🖤

(Also nsfw)

Haunted

“This is barmy,” Ron grumbles as the queue inches forward. Hermione nudges him in the side, and Ginny disentangles herself from Harry just enough to shoot Ron a glare over her shoulder.

“It’s just for fun,” Hermione replies, looping her arm through his as she glances at the eclectic crowd around them. They’re surrounded by witches, vampires, and magical creatures—or at least, Muggles dressed as such. The back end of a drunk unicorn stumbles into Ron, contradicting Hermione’s statement.

“Right,” Ron snorts with a roll of his eyes. “Fun.”

The entrance looms above the four of them, the words Hugo’s House of Horrors spelled out in giant letters that have the grotesque appearance of being written in dripping blood. It reminds Ron of the message scrawled outside the Chamber of Secrets in their second year, though ironically, it was Ginny’s idea to spend Halloween at a Muggle haunted house after one of her teammates had recommended the experience. Harry and Hermione had both readily agreed, but Ron found the whole concept a bit ridiculous. After all, weren’t there enough real horrors in their lives without this manufactured bullshit?

“Oh, hush,” Ginny chides, extending her arm to the zombie bellboy who waits at the entrance with a handful of neon orange wristbands. “We’ll go to the pub after.”

“Should’ve gone there first,” Ron mutters as the attendant affixes a wristband to him.

“Beware the terrors that await you inside,” the zombie says in an over-dramatic greeting. “Four of you will enter, but take care that all four of you exit.” He adopts what Ron assumes is meant to be an evil laugh as the front door of the building swings open to admit their group. The spiderwebs strewn above the door are clearly store-bought, but Ron can’t help giving them a scrutinizing look before ducking beneath them, Hermione’s hand clutched tightly in his.

The door slams behind them, leaving them alone for the moment in complete darkness. Ron knows that the fear a haunted house is meant to instill is based on shock and awe more than anything else, but the anticipation fills him with unexpected dread. It’s all fake, he knows, but there must be a reason these things are so popular among Muggles.

Across from them, a door appears in a sudden glow of green light around its edges before swinging open with an eerie creak. Ginny and Harry lead the way into a room filled with more zombies like the one at the entrance. The characters groan and make a show of reaching for them as they pass through, though none of them come nearly close enough to try and eat the brains they’re moaning about.

The next rooms feature a chainsaw wielding maniac, a deranged butcher, and a mad scientist, all of whom keep a very safe distance from their guests.

“It’s a liability issue,” Hermione leans up to whisper to Ron, though she jumps as an animatronic monster rises from the scientist’s table. “So no one gets hurt for real.”

“How terrifying,” Ron replies sarcastically. “Remind me not to let Ginny make plans for us anymore.”

“I know it’s a bit silly,” Hermione agrees. “It was just something for the four of us to do together.” They exit into an empty hallway lit only by the light show of cartoon ghosts that move across the walls. Ginny and Harry have gotten ahead of them, apparently not realizing that they’ve left Ron and Hermione behind.

“It’s okay,” Ron concedes, reaching for Hermione with one hand and the next doorknob with his other. “Just hard to find this stuff scary when we went to school with real ghosts and shit.”

“I’d say the ghosts were the least of our worries at school.” Hermione chuckles as she follows his lead, but Ron stops short just inside the room. It’s clearly part of the haunted house, but it looks more like storage than an active segment of the route. A scarecrow missing its head is propped up in a corner, a mess of plastic headstones stacked on top of one another lines the wall beside them, and the room lacks the cheesy light and sound effects that permeate the rest of the structure.

“You’d think they would have this door locked.” Ron shakes his head as he turns to leave, only to find Hermione leaning against the door, blocking their path out. “What are you doing?”

“I think we just found a way for you to enjoy yourself on this little outing,” Hermione whispers.

The sultry look in her eyes is unmistakable, but Ron still finds himself asking in disbelief, “Here?” The haunted house isn’t exactly ideal for romance, surrounding them in a facade of death and destruction...but then again, their first kiss was in the middle of a war. Sod it, he thinks as Hermione throws her arms around his neck, and he responds to her kiss with matching enthusiasm.

She tears her lips from his just long enough to mutter a locking charm on the door before propping herself on the nearest tombstone—belonging to a Zom B. Hunter—to wrap her legs around his waist. Ron groans as his arousal presses against her, his trousers already tight. He’s not sure how far she intends to take this spooky romp, but he’s excited to find out.

He unfastens the buttons of her coat and slips his hand under her sweater, pushing the cup of her bra aside to palm the soft skin of her breast. Hermione lets out a moan as his thumb finds her nipple, only to clap a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t cast a silencing charm,” she whispers between her fingers.

“We’re in a haunted house,” Ron murmurs in reply as his other hand slides around to her back, popping the clasp of her bra with practiced fingers to give him better access. “You could just be a very randy ghost.”

Hermione glares at him as she reaches for his belt, releasing the buckle in one easy motion. “Or we could just go back to said haunted house and finish the tour,” she says even as she unfastens his jeans, letting her fingers drag behind his zipper and causing Ron to see stars.

“You don’t want that.” He retaliates by sliding his hand down between her legs. He can feel the heat even through her corduroy and he knows he’s right.

“No, I don’t.”

Ron ducks his head to fuse their lips together again. Their hands are a flurry of motion as fabric is pushed aside and buttons unfastened. They’ve had a lot of practice at making the most of hurried opportunities for sex in less than ideal locations, between time spent at the Burrow and Hermione’s last year at Hogwarts—his father’s tool shed and the potions cupboard on the third floor both immediately spring to mind—but Ron has to admit that a haunted house is not one he’d ever thought they’d check off.

They’re both undressed in short order—or, as undressed as is strictly necessary for a haunted house quickie—and matching sighs of satisfaction escape them as Ron buries himself inside her. Hermione crosses her ankles behind his bum, pulling him deeper and urging him on. Their surroundings fade to the background as they move together, and it’s not long before Ron feels his release approaching.

Wanting to make sure Hermione gets as much out of this as he does, he slips a hand between them, fingers working furiously to bring her to her peak. She moans out his name as her walls clench around him, and that’s all it takes to send him tumbling over the edge with her.

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83 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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firethecanonsfanfiction · 2 years

Text

It Only Takes One Kiss

Title: It Only Takes One Kiss

Pairings/Characters: Ron/Hermione

Summary: A week after the war, and after caring for the Weasleys, Hermione can no longer put what happened with her and Ron aside.

Warnings: Very sutble sexual references.

Challenges/Prompts: 'Second Kiss' trope for @romione-trope-fest

Originally published: March 4, 2022 on ao3 and March 21, 2022 on Fanfiction.net and Tumblr.

Reposted: N/A

The Burrow was a deathly quiet that Hermione wasn’t used to. Of all the times she’d been here, it had always been filled with life and laughter and so many bodies crowded around her. Siblings were shoved into two or three tiny rooms in order to make room for visitors like herself and Harry.

Now, a solemn air had taken over this once happy place.

Hermione had done her best to be the person the Weasleys and Harry could count on. She, too, was feeling grief from all that was lost on that horrid day a week ago, but not like them. She hadn’t lost a brother, or a parent, or someone she’d known her whole life. Her parents were safely in Australia, out of harm’s way.

She hadn’t intended to, but she’d taken on the ‘mother’ role. When she could, she cooked for the family, she checked in on all of them, she tended to any non-life-threatening wounds, and she offered a listening ear or a comforting shoulder if they ever needed one.

Surprisingly, most of her time had been spent with Ginny. Not because Ginny needed her the most, but because Ginny was the one who seemed to be coping the best out of everyone. She’d shed her share of tears over her brother, but the young woman had nerves of steel, and it was her that Hermione turned to when she needed downtime.

They shared a room, and their evenings were spent in quiet conversation, with Ginny usually inquiring about the rest of her family and Hermione filling her in on how everyone was doing. Ginny was the one who ventured from her room the most and took walks outside around the Burrow’s grounds. The rest had barely left their beds.

Hermione came down to the kitchen in the late evening of the seventh day, spotting Ginny sitting at the table. She startled when Hermione entered, and Hermione saw a few tear streaks along her cheeks.

Hermione offered her a smile, which Ginny returned.

“Everything okay?” Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded. “Yes.” She wiped at her cheeks. “I mean… yes.”

Hermione gulped, realising that that was the only answer she was going to get from her friend. “I was just looking for the bandages. For Ron.”

Ron had sustained an injury to his shoulder during the final battle at Hogwarts. In his grief over losing Fred, he had failed to notice its severity until a few days later. An infection had built up, and had he gone to St Mungo’s, or had his mother been of sound mind, Hermione had no doubt it would have been cured in a matter of minutes. But Ron had refused to go to the hospital, and Molly was in no way capable of caring for herself right now, let alone her children.

So, it was left to Hermione to help him, and she was no Healer.

“How is he?” Ginny asked. The last time they’d spoken about Ron, his injury had been improving. It was slow, but when she’d checked on him that morning, some of the redness and swelling had gone down.

“Improving,” Hermione answered, collecting the bandages she’d placed inside a cupboard. “But he’d be much better off if he saw a Healer.”

Ginny nodded, but didn’t respond. Hermione left her on her own and went up the stairs to Ron’s bedroom. She drew nearer to the door, hearing the low murmuring voices of Harry and Ron. She stopped, listening for a moment. Ron was the only person Harry would talk to at the moment, and she’d hate to interrupt whatever it was they were talking about. But, if she left Ron’s bandages on too long, then his wound would only get worse.

She pushed open the door slowly, and both of them looked up.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly. “I need to…” She held up the fresh bandages, and Ron nodded.

She entered, casting a glance at Harry, who’d fallen into a sullen silence upon her arrival. He laid on the small trundle bed on Ron’s floor, but when Hermione set herself up on Ron’s bed, spreading out the ointment and bandages, he sat up. “I’ll… go for a walk,” he said without looking at them.

“You can stay,” Hermione offered, but Harry shook his head. “Ginny’s in the kitchen.” She didn’t know if Harry would take that as an invitation to talk to Ginny, but he nodded, and then left, closing the door behind him.

Hermione turned to Ron, the pair of them looking at each other with a knowing expression. “I heard you talking,” Hermione said first.

Ron shrugged and winced. “He wants to go and spend some time alone at Grimmauld Place. I told him it was a dumb idea, but…”

Hermione beckoned him closer to her, ready to do her best to treat him. He shrugged off his shirt, something that had initially been uncomfortable for both of them, but a necessity nonetheless. Still, it didn’t stop a blush from creeping up Hermione’s cheeks seeing him like that. Though, like every other time, she put her own unruly thoughts aside in favour of making sure he was getting better.

“You really should see a Healer,” she advised, slowly unwrapping her poorly applied bandages from that morning. “You wouldn’t be in as much pain if you did.”

“I don’t need a hospital,” Ron argued. “Besides, you’re a good Healer. Even if you don’t have the things an actual one might. You have a gentle touch.”

Hermione flushed at his comment, lifting up his arm to inspect it.

“Looking any better?” Ron asked.

“A little. It’s not leaking pus anymore, so that’s a good sign.” She reached for a sponge and dipped it into the ointment. Keeping Ron’s words in her mind about having a gentle touch, she dabbed it over his shoulder slowly… gently.

Ron shifted.

“Sorry,” she said, quickly pulling the sponge away, worried that it had stung.

But Ron shook his head. “It didn’t hurt. It felt…” but he didn’t finish, a red creeping up his ears.

She looked up, their eyes meeting, and that familiar flutter in her chest returned. She might have spent most of her time with Ginny, but the time alone with Ron was her favourite. She just wished she could find the words and the courage to talk about what had happened between them a week ago.

They’d kissed, and she desperately wanted to talk to him about it, and to find out what it had meant. Had it been a once off? A ‘we might die today’ kind of kiss? Or did it mean something more? So much had happened since then that the last thing she wanted was to put pressure on Ron to talk about something that seemed trivial in the scheme of things, but so often these looks — these soft touches — had occurred between them and it was driving her crazy not knowing what to do next.

Breaking his gaze, she finished sponging over the ointment and then picked up one of the fresh bandages and began wrapping his shoulder in silence. Ron didn’t speak again, though she wasn’t ignorant to the goosebumps that appeared on his flesh every time her fingertips grazed his skin.

All too soon it was over and she pulled away. “Finished,” she announced. “Do you need anything to help with the pain? I can go back down and get you something if you do.”

Ron shook his head. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

Hermione smiled, quickly trying to think of an excuse to stay where she was. Maybe another reason to initiate contact between them. She remembered that he’d hurt his hip, too.

“How’s your hip?” she asked, and without thinking she moved to take a look at, fingers touching the elastic of his shorts, before he grabbed her wrist. She looked up at him, surprised.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red. “That’s pretty much better.”

“Maybe if I just look at it and —”

“It’s fine,” Ron said, this time with more force, moving her hands away from him.

Hermione blinked, and her eyes trailed back down to where she thought the injury was. And now she saw why he reacted as he had — the slight bulge in his pants.

She flushed and busied herself with tidying up the used bandages and everything else.

Oh.

At least she now knew that the attraction wasn’t one sided.

Ron’s eyes were on her as she gathered the stuff into her arms. She felt them burning into her as if nothing else mattered to him.

Making sure to keep her eyes above his shoulders, Hermione finally looked back at him again. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, not really sure why she was apologising for it.

Ron seemed to think the same thing, for despite his burning ears, he looked amused.

They stared at each other for a few more moments before she sighed, setting everything back on the bed. She needed to talk to him about it, even if it was for him to say he wasn’t ready to take anything further. She’d completely understand if that was how he felt, given what he was going through, but it would be better than the dancing around the topic which was all they were doing now.

“I know this is awful timing,” Hermione began, “but… I don’t think we can just pretend nothing happened last week.”

She saw Ron visibly swallow, but he nodded.

She ploughed on. “Did it… did it mean something? I mean… it wasn’t just a kiss, was it?” She tried to hold his gaze, but lost her nerve and looked away.

“It meant a lot.” Ron’s reply was soft and quiet — barely audible, but meaningful.

She looked at him again, surprised to find that he was smiling. He looked relieved, perhaps that she’d finally brought it up.

She returned his smile, feeling her breath leave her. “Oh… it meant a lot to me, too. I mean… I didn’t just kiss you because I thought we were going to die or anything.”

“Yeah, I know that. I mean, I think I knew that at the time. It wasn’t like that for me either, just so you know.” He smiled again and she felt her cheeks tinge pink.

“I’m glad.” She fidgeted with her hands, wringing her fingers together and trying to figure out what to say to him next. “I guess this means… well, I’m not really sure what it means? What do we do? Er… what do you want to do, I mean?” She was blabbering, she knew, but she wasn’t used to having a conversation like this.

“I dunno.” He was still smiling at her, like he couldn’t quite believe she was there and they were talking about this.

“I like you,” Hermione blurted out. She flushed a moment later.

“I like you, too. A lot." Ron’s ears tinged red again. "I mean, you saw… wow, it feels good to be finally saying I like you out loud."

Hermione flushed again, finding it very hard to keep a smile off her face. She swallowed, keeping her eyes on his face despite her growing desire to lower her gaze again. “Well, I think… I think we need to do this slowly. If we do anything, that is. I mean… I hope… I just…” Her cheeks were burning now and Ron could tell.

He was fighting back a laugh and she didn’t know if it was due to amusement or happiness. Maybe it was a bit of both. “I’ll go as slow as you want. Where do you want to start?”

Hermione was grateful to learn that they both seemed as lost as the other, because she was going to ask him the exact same question.

Where did they start? So, they’d established that their feelings were mutual, but they’d spent seven years dodging those feelings, pushing them aside and prioritising their friendship. It felt almost like second nature to try and preserve that, even now.

“I want to kiss you again, Hermione.”

Hermione startled at Ron’s sudden frankness. He’d seemed as nervous and as uncertain as she was a moment ago, but something in his eyes showed her a new boldness within him. It had taken a lot of courage for him to say that — more than she had.

“I’m… I’m done pretending,” Ron then said, as if to explain her unasked question. “If the last week has taught me anything, it’s that I need to make every moment of my life count, because you just don’t know when it’s going to be the last moment. I’ve thought about that a lot lately while lying here feeling sorry for myself, and there’s two things that I’ve figured out.

“The first is that I loved my brother and I am going to miss him like nothing else, but I’m glad… well, I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She closed it again and waited, because he deemed to want to say more.

His eyes were focused on his Chudley Cannons bedspread as he spoke. “The second thing I worked out just now, sitting here with you. I don’t know what my last moment will be, but if it’s going to be soon, I’d be pretty happy if I ended it kissing you again. I’ve done enough pretending, I think. Pushing down feelings I so desperately wanted to feel. I’m… I’m done with it. I’m going to be honest about my feelings from here on in. No hiding them anymore. So, Hermione, I’m telling the truth when I say this. I lo —”

Hermione reached for his hands, shaking her head. “Don’t say it,” she urged, feeling the thumping of her heart in her chest. “Slowly, remember?”

He nodded. “Right. Sorry. I just… I feel it and it’s a very strong emotion. I can’t help it.”

Hermione squeezed his hands assuringly, letting him know it was okay. He looked up at her, giving her a sheepish smile.

“Just kiss me,” she pleaded. “I just want you to kiss me.”

It was all the invitation Ron needed. His hand — the one attached to his good shoulder — moved to the back of her head, drawing her towards him. Their lips met somewhere in the middle, crashing against each other in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate. Her own hands moved to his waist, gripping at his bare skin from where he hadn’t put his shirt back on. She felt goosebumps rise up on him wherever she touched him. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her even closer toward him. Her chest exploded with so many feelings in just one kiss.

It was different from the first time. The first time had been desperate, a moment of weakness on her part. But this time it was so much better. And they were alone this time, with no one around to interrupt their moment. Her mind started to wander as her body relaxed, enjoying every time his lips met hers again.

Then suddenly, she became painfully aware of Ron’s ‘problem’ from earlier, and realised that it, and her touching his exposed skin in the way that she was, was probably only encouraging him. He didn’t seem set to break the kiss any time soon, with his mouth moving away from hers and down to her jaw before skimming over her neck…

It surprised her by how much he seemed to want her; how desperate he was for her and she pulled away in shock, ignoring the roaring fire that had sprung up in her own body and the part of her brain telling her that this was going to happen eventually, so why not now?

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, dropping his hands from her hair and pulling himself away from her completely so that they weren’t touching at all. He looked guilty. “Too much, too fast. Sorry.”

Hermione moved forward so that she closed the gap he’d put between them. “It’s okay,” she assured him, dragging her fingers along his good shoulder, down his arm, relishing in the response she got from him. “It’s just… a little too fast for me. That side of things, I mean.”

He nodded. “It just feels so good.” His voice came out in almost a moan. “You feel so good. And finally having you here… it’s the bloody best feeling in the whole world.”

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him again, this time with a gentler touch. Ron sighed against her.

She had to agree. Feeling his hands become tangled in her hair, his palms pressed against her head, drawing her closer to him, the rapid thumping for her heart… it was better than anything she’d ever felt in her entire life.

When they broke away again, looking each other in the eye, Ron whispered, “I really want to say it.”

“I know,” she whispered back, her heart bursting to jump out of her chest and wrap Ron up forever. “I do, too.”

His lips pressed against her forehead and she fell against him, resting her head against his chest. His arms engulfed her, making her feel safe and warm.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured against her. “And all I mean is… stay. That’s all I want. To fall asleep with you next to me.”

She nodded. “I’ll stay.”

They both sighed and smiled. For the first time in a week, Hermione could safely say that she felt perfectly content exactly where she was.

#romione #romionefanfiction #romionetropefest #second kiss

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romione-trope-fest · 2 months

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Thunderstorms

Title: Thunderstorms

Author: Mertronus

Tropes: OOTP Missing Moment & Cockblocker Harry

Summary: A thunderstorm shakes things up inside Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Rated T

Word Count: 1190

No Trigger Warnings…unless thunderstorms aren’t your thing

A loud clap of thunder sounded throughout the house, and the room was momentarily illuminated by a flash of lightning. Hermione pulled the blanket closer around her as she tried her best to read through the storm, but the truth was, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was dark, gloomy, and spooky on its own. Add a raging summer thunderstorm to the mix…

And it was downright awful.

Hermione threw her book onto her bed as another clap of thunder sounded. She looked over to the other bed where Ginny slept. Ginny could sleep through anything.

Much like your brother, Hermione thought with a sigh.

The thought of Ron had Hermione on her feet, wrapping her dressing gown around her and shoving her feet into her slippers. If a book couldn’t distract her, maybe Ron could.

Ron and Harry…

Yes, she would find the boys and they would keep her mind off the storm.

Hermione thought that the house was quiet given the amount of occupants in it…surely they weren’t all asleep already?

No, she knew that at the very least, Harry and Ron were awake. They never went to bed early.

She crept toward the stairs to head to the next floor where the boys’ bedroom was, but as she passed the drawing room, a flash of red hair caught her eye. She quickly redirected her steps and poked her head into the room.

Ron sat in the corner playing a solitary game of chess. When her feet hit a creaky floorboard, his head snapped up.

“Hey,” he called out quietly. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said entering the room fully. “I’m fine. What are you doing in here alone?” She perched on the sofa closest to where Ron sat. “Where is everyone?”

Ron sat back in the chair and stretched. His too-short pajama shirt lifted a bit when his long arms stretched over his head, and Hermione caught a glimpse of her best friend’s pale, flat stomach. It was littered with freckles, as was every other part of Ron’s body that Hermione had seen, and she could just make out a thin, light trail of red hair leading down toward—

“Hermione?”

“Hm, what?” Hermione jumped and stared at Ron wide-eyed.

“I said Ginny’s asleep I suspect?”

“Yes,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Yes, yes Ginny’s already asleep. In our room. Where I just was…in bed. My bed. Where did you say everyone was?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Mum and Dad are in bed, Fred and George are doing Godric knows what in their room, and last I saw Harry he was with Buvkbeak and Sirius.”

“Oh?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. I came down here to give them a moment. Felt like Harry might need some time with his Godfather before we head back to school.”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed. The constant worry about Harry sometimes plagued her. At least here, at Grimmauld, not only was Harry safe, but there were so many others to worry over him as well.

“What about you?” Ron asked as he stood to join her on the small sofa. “Can’t sleep?”

Their legs brushed as he sat, and her breath caught. Even with all of the times she and Harry had touched or bumped into one another in some way, and yet she never felt the way she did when Ron was so much as a foot away from her. In the same room even.

“No,” Hermione said pulling her legs up onto the sofa and wrapping her arms around them. She rested her head on her knees and looked at Ron. “Can’t sleep.”

A roll of thunder sounded in the distance and Hermione watched the realization cross Ron’s eyes. “The storm.” Hermione nodded. “You’ve never liked storms.” Hermione shook her head. “I think it’s passing though,” Ron offered.

Hermione shrugged. “I think we’re still in for a long night.” As if to verify her thoughts, thunder sounded and it was much louder than it had been just a few moments before…closer. Hermione itched to move closer to Ron, but that would mean admitting that she was even more scared than she’d ever let on.

Ron shifted on the sofa, angling his body to face her. “Hermione if—”

Just then several claps of thunder rang out so loudly that the house seemed to shake from the sound alone. Hermione shrieked and jumped, then hid her face as she tried to calm herself from the fright.

It’s just a storm…nature…happens all the time…nothing to be afraid of. Pull yourself together Granger!

“Shhh, it’s alright,” a soft voice cooed in her ear. She buried her face in deeper and took a shaky breath.

It wasn’t until the smell of Ron invaded her senses that she registered where she was.

His hands were rubbing her back, his arms wrapped around her. Her face was buried in his chest as her hands grasped his shirt for dear life. His warm thighs were under her bum…

Hermione had literally lept into Ron’s lap.

With wide eyes, she raised her face to look up at Ron. She mentally prepared herself for the teasing, the jokes…but she was only met with a look of concern.

“Y’alright?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“M’sorry,” she mumbled, moving to get herself off her lap.

Ron’s arms tightened around her. “It’s okay. But are you okay?”

Hermione gazed at Ron, his face no more than an inch from hers. Thunder sounded outside, but she never felt safer.

“I am now,” she whispered.

One side of Ron’s mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, and Hermione’s eyes drifted down to his lips. She wondered how it would feel to press her lips to his…just once. She wasn’t sure if she was leaning into him, or if he was leaning into her.

Or if they were simply leaning into one another.

Time seemed to stop as their mouths seemed to be no more than a breath apart. She could smell the sweet chocolate on his breath. Another breath and—

“That was a loud one, wasn’t it?” Harry called as he entered the drawing room. Hermione jumped up at the first sound of his voice and turned to act as if she were looking out of the window. “You alright, Hermione?”

“Fine,” she breathed out as she tried her best to reign in every emotion that was coursing through her body.

“That last hit of thunder spooked Buckbeak so bad, Sirius and I had a rough time settling him.”

Hermione turned from the window and found that Harry had taken her place on the sofa beside a very red Ron.

“He’s alright now?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, closing his eyes and resting his head back on the sofa. “Yeah, he’s fine now.”

“Good,” Hermione nodded. “Well, I’m going off to bed. You two need to do the same.”

Without another glance at Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room.

#romionetropefest #ootp missing moments #cockblocker harry #romione

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romione-trope-fest · 4 months

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Romione Trope Fest is back for 2024!!

Who's excited?!?!?!

We'll be announcing the trope list on January 1st, and we think you're gonna love this year's selection!

For now, please review our FAQ's or send an ask if you have any questions <3

#romione #romionetropefest #ron and hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger

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romione-trope-fest · 2 months

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Capture My Heart

Title: Capture My Heart

Author: adenei

Trope: Muggle AU

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

WC: 2,541

TW: n/a unless you count excessive forearm mentions

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

What am I, twelve?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again?” Ernie groans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which would be completely unprofessional.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I figured we were closer to work acquaintances.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

“W-what?” she squeaks.

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

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

“Because I like you.”

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

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

“Uh, yeah. Thought it was obvious.”

Oh my god, is this actually happening?

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

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

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

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

“Maybe. But hopefully it’s worth it.”

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

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

“Personal reasons?” she repeats.

“That center around asking you out.”

Asking me—holy shit.

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

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

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

“On what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a chance.”

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

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romione-trope-fest · 2 months

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I Wish It Was Only a Teaspoon

Today's second post features an AO3 submission!

Title: I Wish It was Only a Teaspoon

Author: Iris-blanche

Trope: Soulmates

Summary:

Ron has never been a big fan of his soulmark, and Hermione is under the impression she doesn't have one. Both are idiots sometimes, and apparently feeling the other's emotions doesn't help as much as you'd think.

WC: 5,886

Rating: T

TW: n/a

#romionetropefest #romione #soulmates #ao3 submission

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romione-trope-fest · 2 months

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Masterlist Link

AO3 Collection

#romionetropefest #romione #soulmates #ootp missing moments #cockblocker harry #only one bed #fake not dating #weasley weddings #muggle au

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romione-trope-fest · 1 month

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The Perfect Pair

Title: The Perfect Pair

Author: adenei

Trope: OOTP MM

Summary: OOTP Missing Moment following the aftermath of Hermione’s epic fail when finding out Ron’s prefect, not Harry.

WC: 1,139

Rating: G

TW: none

***********

Hermione’s probably going to wear a hole right through the floor if she keeps the constant pacing up, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop. Constant moving is the only thing that briefly wipes the look on Ron’s face out of her mind.

She knows she messed up. Big time. She should have never assumed anything. But why on earth was Harry holding Ron’s Prefect badge? What else was she supposed to think?

In her defense, she did look to Ron first for confirmation, but his back was to her and his head angled down. It’s not like the recipient’s name was plastered on it.

Realistically speaking, Hermione figured it would be one of them. She supposed it could have been Neville too, but definitely not Seamus or Dean. The possibility had been going through her mind all summer as she weighed the pros and cons of why Dumbledore might pick Harry over Ron or Ron over Harry. She only threw Neville’s name in there because of how he’d tried to stop them from sneaking out after curfew first year.

But it’s fine. It’s all fine because Ron had been named Prefect—exactly what she’d been hoping for. Not that she would have minded the extra time spent with Harry, but after nearly the entire summer with Ron…she can’t explain it. She doesn’t think she prefers Ron’s company over Harry’s, but maybe she does. Because even though she was so worried and desperate for Harry to finally join them, an odd sensation settled in the pit of her stomach when he finally did arrive. Maybe it’s because of his moodiness. Yes, that has to be it.

Even still, she misses the time she and Ron got to spend alone together in the evenings. Come to think of it, they haven’t been alone since the morning of Harry’s trial, and even that was brief. Ginny joined them shortly after breakfast, pondering what might happen if Fudge found a way to expel Harry from Hogwarts.

None of that matters right now though!

Right now, she has to find a way to talk to Ron, to clear up the misunderstanding. Judging by the look on his face, he clearly thought she was disappointed. And she’s not.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts she doesn’t hear the door open and close, then open again a few moments later.“Hermione, what—”

The sound of his voice causes her to whip around so suddenly that she loses her balance and has to use Ginny’s bed to catch herself so she doesn’t tumble to the ground.

“Where’s Harry?” she asks instinctively.

Once again, it’s the wrong thing to say. Ron’s face darkens. “Sorry, I’ll just—Ginny thought you wanted—”

“No!” she lunges forward, clutching his arm as he tries to back toward the door.

Ron raises his eyebrows at her and cocks his head to the side. “Are you alright?”

“No—I mean, yes. I just—ugh! Harry’s not about to come in here, is he?”

“Er, no…why?”

“Because,” she hisses, “I wanted to talk to you but not in front of him and I feel like we haven’t gotten a moment alone since he got here and—”

Ron shrugs his arm out of her grasp. “Look, Hermione, if this is about the Prefect thing, it’s fine. I thought it’d be Harry too—”

“No, it’s not—I mean, yes, it probably could have been but I’m glad it’s not,” she says quickly.

Her admission garners Ron’s attention. His eyes meet hers, searching for sincerity. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better. It’s alright. No one expected it to be me.”

“I—well, I can’t say I was expecting it—” Hermione shoves her foot in her mouth again.

“See?”

“No! Let me finish. Please?” She takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm her frenzied mind before continuing. “I wasn’t expecting it because I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but…I wanted it to be you.”

Ron shakes his head. “Hermione, please don’t make it worse by lying—”

“—I’m not!”

“Really? I saw how excited you were when you saw Harry holding the badge.”

“That wasn’t why! I mean, yes, I wanted it to be you or Harry but it was my excitement projecting when I went up there. It wasn’t—it was more relief than anything.”

“Then why were you so awkward when you found out it was me?” Ron counters, causing Hermione to finally snap out of her flustered state.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly be more excited about that, could I? Harry was standing right there! What was I supposed to say? ‘Ooh, even better?! I like spending time with you more than Harry anyway so look how perfectly this works out?’”

As soon as the words slip out, she claps her hand over her mouth. She did not just say that out loud.

“You—what?”

“I—”

Ron’s face flushes scarlet. His ears turn pink and he stares at her. She can’t handle the intensity of his gaze, so she stares at a worn old knot in the wood floor. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she wills her brain to come up with something—anything—that can shift the conversation away from that slip. And while she’s never been great at giving compliments, she thinks she finally knows how to stay on the subject while steering around her embarrassing admission.

“You really do deserve the badge, Ron. Don’t listen to your brothers.” She digs her toe into the wood, not brave enough to meet his eye. Skirting around him, she makes her way to the door. “We should, um, get back to Harry. Or see if your Mum needs help cleaning or something.”

“Oh, uh, right. For the party.”

Despite the prevalent awkwardness, neither of them moves, and Hermione wishes she knew what to do in a situation like this. And to think she’d just been wishing for a moment alone with him! Why are things so weird right now? Merlin, she hopes she hasn’t made things even worse.

She wonders if maybe she should apologize too when he speaks again. “Er, Hermione?”

“Yes?” she squeaks.

“Thanks. That, er, means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.” A grin splits onto her face, matching his own lopsided one. She’s caught up in the moment until his eyes flicker to the door, reminding her they should go. “Now, shall we head back upstairs?”

“Yeah, probably should. Make sure Harry isn’t brooding over something else, right?”

“Right.”

While she’s relieved they’re okay, a new problem needles its way into her mind as she opens the door and heads into the hall. She should probably be more concerned over the way her heart is fluttering, but she pushes it aside. After all, it’s probably nothing, right?

#submission #romionetropefest #ootp missing moments #romione

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romione-trope-fest · 1 month

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Title: The Storm before the Calm

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

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

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

Rating: G

Word count: 8,320 words

Trigger warnings: -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have some water. You’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

“Have some water and try to calm down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does anyone feel like this right before?”

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

“She’ll get there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck! The vows!”

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

“What about the vows?”

“I’m going to fuck them up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to see her now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ron sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“Thanks, Gin. You’re the best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re my everything.”

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

“You’re hopeless, Ron.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s too late.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#submission #weasley weddings #romionetropefest #romione

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