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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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What a sweet take on only one bed from @my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass 🥹💕

Title: The new normal

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

Selected Trope: Only one bed

Brief summary: New parents Ron and Hermione share a bed in the hospital after the birth of their daughter Rose.

Rating: G

Word count: ~ 3,200 words

Trigger warnings: brief mentions of blood and torture

The soft glow of the street lamps that filtered through the curtains enveloped the small sterile hospital room, as Ron sat in awe, watching his exhausted wife cradling their newborn daughter against her chest.

Hermione looked gracefully beautiful in the dim light, a radiant glow emanating from deep within her. The soft curve of her cheek caught the gentle glow, while strands of her curly chestnut hair had escaped the loose bun on the top of her head, framing her pale face like a halo. That was probably what people called afterglow. Ron had only read about it, and until now, he hadn’t been able to understand what it meant. But as she lay there with their brand-new baby girl nestled against her bare chest, he knew exactly what people were talking about.

With a tender smile, he watched her gently caress the auburn hair of their peacefully sleeping baby girl, and shook his head in disbelief. He marveled at the strength that had emanated from her in the last thirty hours, both physically and emotionally. Overwhelming love and gratitude enveloped him for the woman beside him; the woman who had grown and brought their child into the world with unwavering determination and strength.

The pregnancy had been far from easy. Hermione had suffered from severe morning sickness practically her entire pregnancy. Ron vividly remembered the times when he had rushed her to the hospital in panic because she couldn’t even keep water down. There had been days when her weakness led the healers to keep her in, administering potions to replenish the essential fluids and nutrients crucial for both her and the baby.

“What are you thinking about?” Her frail voice pulled him away from the unsettling memories.

“How incredible you are,” he answered and rose from his chair, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He planted a tender kiss on her temple and whispered, “I love you.”

She turned her head to kiss him and he raised his hand to her pale cheek and kissed her back tenderly.

“I love you too,” she murmured, and he let his lips travel from her mouth, over her cheek, to her forehead, where he placed a final tender kiss before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

The baby girl stirred briefly, scrunching up her face, before she turned her head to the other side and went back to sleep. Ron gazed tenderly at the little being, once again feeling the urge to shake his head to comprehend everything that had happened in the last few hours.

The room was silent again, no words were needed. The only sound to be heard was the bustling hospital floor in front of the door and a distant anguished scream of a woman who seemingly still had ahead of her what Hermione had just gone through.

As he watched his little family, Ron’s heart swelled with endless pride and admiration. His gaze fell back from the sleeping baby to his wife, her tired eyes now closed as she was propped up against a bunch of pillows with their little girl bonding on her bare chest. It seemed as if she had finally managed to fall asleep. She looked so small and vulnerable, lying there with her pale face and her delicate shoulders free, exhaustion radiating from every fiber of her body. Ron knew that this moment would be etched in his memories forever.

Suddenly his stomach grumbled loudly and he noticed that he hadn’t eaten anything for more than twenty hours, as he had been so focused on helping Hermione through everything. Careful not to disturb the peaceful scene, Ron rose from the bed and tiptoed toward the forgotten hospital bag on the wooden chair in the corner, hoping to find a snack to curb his hungry stomach. After quietly rustling through the bag, he found an oat bar hidden in the depths of it and pulled it out with a content grin.

Just as he was about to take a bite, he heard Hermione’s muffled, weak voice in the background, and turned to find her watching him with a curious expression.

“What are you doing, love?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was just looking for a snack. Are you hungry too?”

“No,” she replied with a soft yawn.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he told her again, approaching the bed and placing the oat bar on the nearby table. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“You should sleep, too. I know you’re exhausted.”

“This isn’t about me. You’ve been through so much. You should really sleep while our little miss is still asleep,” he insisted, glancing at the peacefully slumbering bundle on his wife’s chest.

Hermione’s labor had been an arduous journey, spanning nearly thirty excruciating hours. She had endured each contraction with steadfast determination and bravery. She could still see her face in front of him, pain etched across it as relentless waves of intensity had swept through her body for hours and hours on end. The hospital room had echoed with the rhythm of their little girl’s monitored heartbeats and the whimpering sounds of Hermione’s labor.

Ron was well aware of his wife’s resilience. She had always been unswerving and able to cope with immense workload. Yet, the strength it had required her to bring a new life into the world had caught Ron completely off guard. The healers and midwives had worked tirelessly, offering support and guidance through the challenging process, both to her and to him. As the hours had passed without real progress, the toll on Hermione’s physical and emotional strength had become increasingly evident and very hard to witness. Yet, she had pressed on, drawing on pools of inner strength he didn’t know she possessed. Ron had found it very difficult to witness his wife in such intense pain. The room had seemed to close in on him as her distress had intensified and she had started crying and moaning in pain, her noises filling him with helplessness. Stricken by the echoes of the war, he had fought hard to separate her cries from the haunting screams of her past torture. He had to repeatedly reassure himself that this time her pain was necessary and held the promise of a huge reward - their long-awaited baby girl.

“You need to rest too,” Hermione interrupted his memories with a soft smile. “Both of us.”

“You just had a baby, love. I’ll take her and wake you when she needs to nurse.”

She gently shook her head, reaching for his hand. “No, come lie down with me.”

Ron hesitated, as he surveyed the small, cramped hospital bed. “Love, the bed is too narrow for both of us,” he reasoned gently. “You’ve given your last shred of strength and I want you to rest.”

She managed a weak smile. “I appreciate that, but I‘m not strong enough to argue with you right now. Please, Ron, I need you close.”

Ron sighed. “I’d love to join you, really, but I don’t want to add to your discomfort. I know you’re sore. You need to recover, and squeezing myself into this bed won’t help.”

Her exhausted eyes pleaded with him. “I’m not going to argue with you. Just lie down with me. I’ll only be able to sleep if you’re close.”

She gazed at him with her large, fawn-brown eyes, and he sensed his defeat. Despite knowing that wedging his tall, lanky frame onto the narrow mattress wouldn’t be comfortable or restful for her, he was equally certain that in the current situation, he absolutely couldn’t deny her any requests.

“Fine.”

With a careful manoeuvre he joined her on the narrow hospital bed, kissing her pale cheek in the process.

“Let me take her,” he implored. “Then you can try to get comfortable.”

Hermione carefully placed the peacefully sleeping baby onto Ron's chest before turning to her side, letting out a wince as she nestled against him. Ron’s arm instinctively encircled her, supporting her in adjusting her tired and aching body.

As they lay there as a family of three for the first time, a tsunami of emotions overwhelmed him. The tiny, fragile being in his arms, a product of their love, made him marvel at the miracle of life. Ron had yearned to be a father for so long, but now that it had finally happened, the reality felt surreal and, at the same time, quite frightening. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity of the emotions flooding through him in this very moment; emotions he didn’t even know were possible.

Hermione wiggled against him, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she attempted to find a comfortable position for her battered body. Feeling her movements against him, Ron instinctively adjusted his position to make more room for her on the cramped bed. Once she seemed settled against him, he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

“Ron?”

“I told you to sleep, love.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Yeah, sure, I totally buy that. Just went through over 30 hours of agony, shed like ten liters of blood, but nope, Hermione’s not tired.”

“It just feels so surreal.”

“It does, I know what you mean, but seriously, try to catch some sleep. She’s likely to wake up hungry soon.”

“It was a wild ride, wasn’t it?” she mumbled into the crook of his arm.

“Wild is an understatement,” Ron quipped with a snort.

“I didn’t even realize I lost so much blood.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s considered normal, but to me it looked like a bit of a massacre. There was a lot. The healers were surprisingly cool about it, though, so I guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“Thank you for being there.”

“I didn’t do anything. You did all the hard work.”

“You did more than you think. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You were amazing.”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Hermione asked, gently caressing the baby’s cheek with her fingertips.

“She’s perfect,” Ron answered, kissing the tiny head.

“I can’t believe she came out of me.”

“I can assure you, she did. I was right there.”

“It’s so surreal to think we’re parents now.”

Ron smiled down at the little bundle on his chest.

“You were incredible, love. I’ve never seen anyone handle something so intense with such strength.”

“I had my moments of doubt, to be honest, especially during the end.”

“You know, it was really hard watching you in that much pain. I was really worried when you started screaming.”

“I didn’t even notice. I’m sorry I scared you,” Hermione said, a grateful smile playing on her lips. “Thank you for staying strong for me.”

“You know,” he began softly, “I was reliving some of the darkest moments of the war.”

Hermione’s eyes looked up. “Ron…”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, but your sounds - the cries, the pain - it was hauntingly familiar. It felt like I was right back at the manor. I wasn’t prepared for it to be that intense. I tried to remind myself that this time, your pain would be rewarded.”

She nodded, her fingers reaching up to caress his stubbled cheek. “It's strange how life comes full circle, isn’t it? We faced so many evil and dark things together, and now we’ve brought something so good and pure into the world.”

Ron’s eyes softened as he studied her. “You were so brave, love.”

A faint, content smile graced her lips. “I had quite a good motivator.”

Ron leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead again. “I really wish I could’ve taken your place, or at least taken away some of the pain.”

As soon as he had said it, he realized he didn’t really know which situation he was referring to. The nightmare of his life when he couldn’t come to Hermione’s aid all those years ago, or the arduous and agonizing birth of their daughter, just a few hours prior? Perhaps he also meant both, and it was just as blurred together as it had felt a few hours ago.

Hermione sighed, leaning into his touch. “You did more than you know. You kept me going when I felt like I had nothing left.”

Her response subtly implied that she wasn’t specifying one event over the other either.

“I want you to sleep now,” Ron ordered gently and tightened his hold around her. "I’ll be right here.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes already closing. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to her temple, before slowly and carefully pulling the blanket up around the three of them.

As soon as they were settled, Ron looked down at the tiny fragile figure on his chest and then back to his wife whose breathing had finally started to become slower.

He had to take a deep shuddering breath as he was suddenly overcome by a boundless love surpassing anything his heart had ever experienced. He thought he knew what love was. He loved Hermione, and he loved her so deeply that he’d willingly sacrifice everything for her in the blink of an eye. But it had not dawned on him until now that he could love her even more than before after she had given birth to their baby girl. And in addition to the deepening love for Hermione, there now existed another love - distinct and incomparable to what he felt for his wife. It was something entirely different, pure and profound, so omnipresent, all-encompassing and unconditional that he almost couldn’t grasp its intensity. This had to be the kind of love everyone spoke of. This had to be the kind of love Harry and Bill had mentioned. Omnipresent, all-encompassing and unconditional, and although the little girl wasn’t even three hours old yet, and Ron had no idea who she would become, it was a love unmistakably destined to last forever.

He took in a shuddering breath and at the same time, their newborn daughter stirred. His gaze shifted downward, and a tender smile formed on his lips as he watched Rose’s uncoordinated movements. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth parted, and a soft whimper escaped, while her tiny fists clutched Ron’s shirt. Then she instinctively and heartwarmingly turned her little head, nuzzling against Ron’s chest with an open mouth.

“There, there, Rosie. I’ve got all the love in the world for you, but I’m afraid I haven’t got what you’re looking for. The milk bar is right over there with Mummy.”

Very gently, Ron caressed his daughter’s tiny back with his fingertips in an attempt to lull her back to sleep. He continued his tender efforts, hoping to soothe her so Hermione could get a bit more rest. Unfortunately, his attempts proved fruitless as Rosie’s quest for milk on his chest suddenly turned frantic. Shifting his hand, he cradled the small, unsteady head, providing support as the little girl turned it left and right with an open mouth, attempting to suckle on his shirt.

“Sorry, sweetie, Daddy doesn’t have anything for you,” he soothed and a second later Rose added her not so soft voice to the mix, letting out a croaking whimper.

“Oh, no, please don’t cry. Let’s wake Mummy, yeah?”

As the little girl’s whimpers intensified and her frantic search for sustenance continued on Ron’s chest, he gently reached out his hand to touch Hermione’s cheek to wake her up.

“Hermione, love, I’m sorry but you need to wake up.”

Hermione stirred and let out a small wince, her eyes opening but instantly closing again.

“Please, love, she needs you,” he coaxed, as Rose croaked again, her tiny mouth continuing to turn left and right, seeking sustenance from different parts of Ron’s shirt. Between each attempt, she expressed her frustration with a heartfelt cry.

“Hermione!” he urged a little louder while Rose’s cries escalated into full-on screaming, and a moment later her strident sounds echoed through the room.

“Shh, please don’t cry, Rosie. I’ll wake up, Mummy. Just hold on,” he tried to soothe the baby girl with gentle shushes as Rose alternated between heart-wrenching screams and desperate suckling on his shirt.

As his gentler attempts failed, he opted for a more determined shake of his wife’s shoulder, hoping that this would wake her up.

“Hermione! Rosie needs you. She’s hungry, and really upset. Can you please wake up?”

This finally startled Hermione awake, and she attempted to sit up in bed with a wince. However, the lingering soreness from the arduous labor seemed to make the simple act of sitting up very challenging. Noticing her discomfort, Ron quickly stood up to place the heart-wrenchingly screaming and uncoordinatedly flailing newborn in the crib so he could help his wife sitting up.

“Let me help you.”

He carefully supported Hermione, helping her into a sitting position, and positioning a pillow behind her back. Ron then picked up the starving newborn, who was still screaming at the top of her tiny lungs, and held her close, trying to soothe her as Hermione tried to find a comfortable position for nursing. The tiny newborn was in complete distress, wailing and squirming, and Ron was taken aback by how rapidly she had gone from deep sleep to full-on hunger-induced frenzy.

Once he was satisfied that Hermione was in a reasonably comfortable position, he carefully handed the wiggling baby over to her. She cradled Rose to her chest, whispering words of comfort as she tried to get the wildly flailing and screaming newborn to latch on. The little girl had become so desperate that it took several attempts before her cries finally subsided and she began to nurse.

Ron couldn’t help but chuckle softly and remarked, “Well, someone was really angry there for a moment.”

“Seems like she takes after her parents. Strong-willed and not afraid to voice her opinion.”

He chuckled again before leaning in and pressing a tender kiss on his wife’s lips.

“I love you.”

“Love you more,” she repeated his words from earlier and smiled up at him with tired eyes.

After planting another kiss on her lips, Ron took a seat on the edge of the bed again, watching the tender and incredibly peaceful scene in front of him. While the newborn peacefully continued eating, Hermione closed her eyes and tilted her head back onto the pillow.

“I am so tired,” she mumbled and let out a wide yawn.

Her yawn seemed to be contagious because a second later, Ron found himself yawning too. He was so unbelievably exhausted and almost felt ashamed for it, considering how his wife must be feeling after what she had endured. In the fog of his fatigue, Ron suddenly came to a stark realization – this was their new normal. He had to get used to being bone-tired because as of now the red-haired bundle would dictate their sleep patterns and redefine their routines, no matter how worn out they already were.

“I guess this is it,” Ron murmured to himself with a lopsided grin.

Hermione, her eyes still closed, chuckled softly, “Welcome to parenthood, love.”

#submission #only one bed #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #romionetropefest

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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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O B S E S S E D with this one 😍

The Girl From The Bar

Title: The Girl From The Bar

Author: Be11atrixthestrange

Trope: Muggle AU

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

Word Count: 2015

Rating: M

—

-Four Years Ago-

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

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

“Another Gold Rush please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Interesting choice with the jalapeno.”

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

“Shit, didn’t see you there.”

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

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

“Ahh.”

“And she was completely smashed.”

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

Keep reading

#romione #muggle au #romione muggle au #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #romionetropefest

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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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Love a come and dance moment 😍 also, wizarding ballet YES PLEASE

@flaming-brown-witch absolutely crushing trope fest ❤️

Say Yes To Heaven

Fic Title: Say Yes To Heaven

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief Summary: Hermione and Ron dance during Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Word Count: 1467

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

If you dance, I’ll dance

And if you don’t, I’ll dance anyway

Give peace a chance

Let the fear you have fall away

- “Say Yes to Heaven,” Lana Del Rey

“Okay. Out with it, Ron.”

Ron, who had been resolutely avoiding Hermione’s eyes while they danced, finally looked down and sighed.

“Why are you acting so weird around Krum?” he demanded. Gritting his teeth and glaring in Viktor’s direction, he added, “Blushing every time he looks your way. You told me you weren’t interested in him anymore.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not.”

“Then what’s with the blushing?”

“Well,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, so it’s a bit of a shock, I suppose.”

“Shock doesn’t make people blush, Hermione.”

She grudgingly acknowledged to herself that Ron had a point. The last time she saw Viktor in person, he had given her quite the farewell snog in a cloistered corner of the Hogwarts entrance hall. Hermione had gained much from dating Viktor, and a part of her was sad to end the romance. It appeared that seeing Viktor again stacked uncomfortably on their last moment of bittersweet intimacy, even though she was quite sure those old emotions were long gone.

But there was no explaining this to Ron without ruining the night. And Hermione was determined to not ruin it, which had been surreally beautiful up until that point. She craved to soak up all the peace and joy she could with Ron before facing whatever was in store for them. So Hermione simply pursed her lips and said, “I think you’re reading into things.”

Ron stopped swaying to the music and let her go. “Oh, am I?”

Hermione felt herself edge towards anger, so she inhaled deeply. She moved her hands, which were resting on his shoulders, to clasp around his neck. “Look, I’m here because I want to dance with you. Not him.”

Her soft plea didn’t work. Ron stood stock still, arms firmly by his side, head turned as far as he could away from Hermione, and jaw tensing. Rejected and resigned, Hermione yanked away her hands and took several steps back.

“Fine then,” she snapped. “If you don’t want to dance, then maybe I should just dance with…”

Keep reading

#submission #romione #weasley weddings #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #romionetropefest

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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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If only! 😍

He's Gonna Know

Title: He’s Gonna Know

Author: adenei

Trope: Fake Not Dating & OOTP Missing Moment

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione sneaking around during 5th year because Harry’s miserable and they just like being in each other’s company. Don’t come at me there’s totally a universe where this COULD be canon (and it’d make 6th year hit so. much. harder.)

WC: 573

Rating: G

TW: None

******

“He’s gonna know.” Hermione paces the length of an empty classroom, head bent and brow furrowed as she shakes her head.

Ron shuts the door and turns to face her. “He’s not gonna know.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.

“Ron.”

“Hermione.”

Ron leans against one of the tables and crosses his arms, waiting for her to finish her mental spiral.

“But we never have rounds twice in one week. This was a stupid idea. We should have just said we were going to library or—”

“Right, and what would you have done if he said he was going to join us?” Midway through his retort Ron changes the tone of his face, making it higher-pitched as he teases, “Oh, did I say library? Sorry, Harry, that was just an excuse. Ron and I are actually just ditching you because you’ve been miserable lately. And we wanted to snog in private.”

“Oh, will you stop!” Hermione stomps over to him and smacks his arm.

He laughs jovially and grabs her by the waist, pulling her closer. “Aw, come on, you know rounds was the best option for an excuse.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she admits, hands settling on his shoulders as she lets out a long sigh. “You don’t feel bad for lying to him though?”

Ron shrugs. “I don’t consider it lying.”

Hermione’s eyes widen, and he knows she’s about to admonish him some more, so he decides to distract her instead. His head dips down and his lips brush hers. A thrilling rush crashes over him—it’s the best kind of adrenaline rush. Even better than flying or finding one of the remaining chocolate frog cards to complete his collection. This shift in their relationship is still so new, and he can’t help but make sure it’s okay to kiss her. Well, when they find time to be alone at least.

“How do you not consider that lying to him? We literally told him we had rounds tonight when we don’t,” she chastises.

“Okay, maybe that was a lie, but it’s not like we’re lying to him about us. We’re just…not offering all the details.”

Hermione attempts to bite back a laugh, but Ron smirks and breaks her resolve. “Fine, I suppose that’s fair. But what happens if he does find out?”

“He’s not going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sorry, have you met Harry? If it doesn’t directly pertain to him, he usually doesn’t notice.”

“Are you saying as his best friends we don’t pertain to him then?” She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“No, I—” Ron stops himself. As much as he loves sparring with her, he’d much rather spend this valuable time doing something else. “Do you really want to sit here and argue when we could be…” He trails off as his gaze falls to her kissable lips.

The gesture makes her blush, and Ron loves evoking that reaction from her. “Oh, well, I suppose you have a point.”

“Brilliant.” Ron grins. “So, can I—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, though, because Hermione wastes no time closing the distance between them. As soon as their lips meet, all thoughts of rounds and their other best friend disappears from his mind.

For all he cares at that moment, Harry can stay in the dark about them for as long as is necessary, so long as he gets to keep doing this with Hermione forever.

#submission #romione #fake not dating #ootp missing moments #ron weasley #hermione granger #romionetropefest

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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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Did Harry learn his cockblocking ways from Mrs Weasley?? 😂

Weasley weddings by @nena-96

A Wild Romania Wedding

Title: A Wild Romania Wedding

Author: tumblr- Nena-96, Ao3- Nena96

Selected Trope: Weasley Wedding

Brief Summary: After receiving a wedding invitation from Charlie Weasley, the Weasley's are headed to Romania to celebrate in the beautiful unity between Charlie Septimus Weasley and the love of his life Aria Ung Honatel.

Oh, and let’s just say this wedding is going to be wild.

Rating: T (rating may change )

Word Count: 2,689 (first chapter of 5ish part)

Any relevant trigger warnings: none

---

It was just another tiring day here at the Burrow, the occupants in the living room were all sprawled around attempting to take a break from a day filled with chores courtesy of their dear mum. Which was crazy because they were all adults and none of them lived at home, yet that didn’t stop Molly Weasley from assigning each and everyone of them a specific task to complete. Hermione rolled her eyes as she tried to drown out the twins as they complained about having so much chores to do, which was odd because last she checked the ones who had the most to do were, Ron, and herself.

All day today, Mrs. Weasley had kept her busy and separate from Ron, it was almost like she thought if they were in the same room together that nothing would be cleaned. If you asked her it was most definitely unfair, it wasn’t like they were irresponsible. Then again, Mrs. Weasley did end up catching them in a very, uhm…passionate embrace when they were supposed to finish de-gnoming the garden. It wasn’t her fault that her boyfriend, Ron, looked incredibly handsome, and well Mrs. Weasley could’ve very well sent a Patronus to call them instead for lemonade. There wasn’t a need to come all the way outside…and well interrupt a rather nice snog.

She had managed to keep her focus for a solid five minutes, and threw gnome after gnome as far as she could over the fence, which wasn’t very far because a few of them had ricocheted off from the top and beach into the garden.

If anything it was Ron’s fault, yes precisely it was her insufferable boyfriend that caused them to be caught locked in each other’s embrace. If it wasn’t for him laughing at her, she wouldn’t have turned around to scold him only to be met with him pulling his maroon jumper over his head, Yet, that wasn’t what caused her brain to chor-circuit, not at all, it was the fact that the Ron had accidentally lifted not only his jumper but also his t-shirt up. Thus, presenting her with the most beautiful view of his toned and hard body. It hadn’t been the first time that Hermione had seen the constellation of thousands of freckles that decorated his fair skin; she had managed to take off his shirt a few times in the past, thank you very much.

However, that was the first time she had ever seen his skin glistening with sweat, and let's just say that seeing a droplet of sweat trail down his stomach, and down the line of copper hair before disappearing into the front of his trousers. Well, it was a bit much for a girl to handle, don’t you think?

Besides, there was absolutely nothing wrong with staring at Ron’s body, well that was if you were named Hermione Jean Granger. Which coincidentally she was the only one with that particular name, which meant only she was allowed to gawk-erm politely gaze upon the freckles on the youngest Weasley boy. To be fair, Ron wasn't a boy, he was a hundred percent man and the thought that she was the only one that gets to see him in this way made her cheeks blaze. If she didn’t already have a memory stored into her mind when needed to cast her Patronus, the very sight of her boyfriend was enough of a happy memory to last her a lifetime.

Before Ron could even get his jumper unstuck, Hermione had decided that it was enough torture on her behalf and proceeded to crash into him, sending them both down onto the grass. It was a bit comical, since Ron hadn’t been able to get his jumper off, this had given Hermione full control on their passionate snog, not that she heard any complaints from him. Her hands had a mind of its own, as they trailed up and down his hard chest, all while her lips never once left his. The kiss felt amazing, as it always did, his lips were addictive, she could almost understand how Lavender would always be latched to Ron’s lips like a plunger.

Key word being almost.

The memory of her boyfriend’s ex, had fueled a fire within Hermione, causing her to sink her teeth a bit hard onto his lips. Which resulted in a deep moan that left Ron’s mouth, even though she loved this reaction, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing. At first she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, she was far too busy being lost with feeling his lips against hers, while feeling the way his hips pushed up against her. Even though she was in control of their kiss, somehow she was losing her control at the same time.

Which is why she had to force herself to move away from his addictive lips, as she tried to calm her breathing. It was in that precise moment she knew what felt different when they were kissing, honestly how could she forget something so important.

His face, most importantly his eyes were covered and Hermione didn’t have the pleasure of seeing the way Ron’s azure eyes would darken with lust. She couldn’t see that tale-tell Weasley blush that would grace his face after engaging in such a brilliant snog. That’s what has been missing, all this time. Nothing could compare to the feeling of his eyes on her, so without further ado, Hermione pulled the rest of his jumper off of him.

She smiled at the way he squinted his eyes, due to the brightness from the sun. It was rather adorable, if you asked her. It didn’t take long for Ron to send a lopsided smirk her way, and the way he narrowed his eyes a bit, which made her think of the times he would play chess in the common room. He was always so focused and the way he would clench his jaw would be a dead giveaway that he was about to call for a checkmate. It was a bit ironic that even though she was well aware of the little movements he made, there were times that she couldn’t figure out what he was about to do next.

When he placed his large calloused hands on her waist, she thought this was her cue to lean in for another passionate snog. She had no complaints there, except Hermione failed to notice the mischievous glint that showed in his eyes, as she slowly leaned down, her lips barely touched his, when she felt him tighten his grip on her waist and quickly roll them over onto the grass.

“It was about time I knocked you off your high hippogriff, isn’t that right, love?” Ron joked before she could come up with a witty retort of her own, his lips were on hers again.

Everything about this moment was amazing, the way that his hands rubbed and squeezed her hips. The way her hands trailed up and down his hard chest, before deciding to wrap her arms around his shoulders and bring him closer to her. Their bodies were so deliciously pressed against one another, that she felt his hardness press against her. It should be illegal to feel this good, being with Ron always felt amazing.

“Hermione,” he had whispered against her lips, before he began trailing kisses down her jaw. The feel of his lips on her was tortuous, and Hermione didn’t care in the slightest that they were laying on the grass, where anyone could easily spot the wicked ways that Ron was feasting upon her.

Hermione couldn’t help but lean her head slightly to the left in order to give him better access, it wasn’t shocking that Ron had successfully managed to make her lose all sense of caution. Time and time again, proves that with just one kiss and a touch of his callused hands will send her into a state of happiness.

“Ron, please,” she whispered. Hoping that he’d get the message, however as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. This was a prime example of that, because within seconds they were both soaked to the bone with water. Which had also her to choke on a lump of now wet curls that fell straight into her open mouth, as Ron shouted besides her as he tried to help her now gag on her hair.

“What in the Bloody Hell, what the fuck-?”

Before she could get a grip on what's going on, Hermione heard the shrill voice of the person she least expected to catch them.

It was Molly Weasley.

“Ronald Billius Weasley! You will not speak in such a crass tone to me young man. If I recall correctly, I asked you and Hermione to de-gnome, and this is clearly not a method in getting rid of any gnomes in the garden. Both of you get up and into the house, right this instant,” Mrs.Weasley ordered, as she stood in front of them with both hands on her hips. To say that both Ron and herself were embarrassed was an understatement, it was downright awful getting caught by his mother. Hermione had made a mental note to remind Ron to cast a charm around them the next time, if there was going to be a next time that is.

The memories of earlier this morning made her blush, and hope that she could persuade Ron to sneak out before bed tonight. You know, just for a goodnight kiss, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with kissing one’s boyfriend before slipping into bed. Into each other’s respected beds….not…not the same, well unless he wants to of course. Hermione shook her head, trying to get rid of thoughts that were heading into a very dangerous territory.

She snuck a glance at Ron who was sprawled on the opposite sofa across from her, and wondered if he was thinking of their time outside by the garden instead of listening to the twins complain about their day. Before she could look away, Ron turned and gazed back at her, almost as if he felt her eyes on him. Unspoken words passed between them, as they held onto each other’s gaze, before she knew what was happening Hermione saw Ron smirk before slowly rolling up the sleeves from his jumper. Causing her to momentarily be distracted with his freckled forearms, damn him and his forearms.

Couldn’t he understand what that does to her? It was as if he was teasing her, that bloody git!

Well two can very well play that game, she thought to herself, except she wasn’t going to fall for his little game now while his family were in the same room. Nope, like a true Gryffindor she’s going to wait for the perfect moment to make him squirm. Only time will tell, until then she’ll let him believe that he won this round. She shook her head at him, which made him chuckle before deciding to get up from his spot and head over to where she was on the sofa. Within seconds, she felt him sit besides her, as he wrapped his arms around her.

“What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, love?” Ron whispered just as he placed a kiss onto the side of her temple. Hermione turned a bit more, and placed a gentle yet promising kiss onto his lips, before pulling away and letting her lips hover over his lips, “Nothing, you need to worry about.” She replied, with a hint of mischief in her voice that didn’t go amiss to Ron, considering how his ears tinged pink. “Is that so-”

“....Bloody hell, if this was going to be how we spent our afternoon, we could’ve stayed at the joke shop and worked on the latest anti-jinxing quill.” Fred complained loudly, causing them to turn away from one another.

“Yeah, or even on that forget-me-not potion, honestly the things we do for that woman and then she doesn’t even offer us lemonade like little Ronniekins over here,” George replied with a sad shake of his head while pretending that his heart was just broken in millions of pieces.

“Oi, sod off. It’s not my fault that I actually did what mum said, besides you can make your own drinks but you're too blood lazy to get your arses up to make one,” Ron replied as he rolled his eyes.

Before Hermione could get a word in, she was cut off by Bill, who had just entered the room, a bit out of breath and holding a letter. “Guess what we got through owl?” The eldest of the Weasley boys asked with a huge smile on his face as he looked around the room.

“Let me guess, is it McGonagall? Requesting for my dashing presence to grace the halls of Hogwarts once again?” George said as he did a small little curtsy.

“No, it’s an owl from Charlie, here listen to it,” Bill placed the letter onto the center of the coffee table and waved his wand over it. Within seconds they were hearing the words spoken off the letter.

Dear, Mum….and family

I wanted to share with you the bloody fantastic news that I've had in my entire life. Hell, it’s loads better than becoming Prefect at Hogwarts and even better than my job here at the dragon reserve in Romania!

Yeah, yeah…I know you don’t believe it but it’s fucking true! I know you’re gonna give me an earful for my language, mum. I can practically see the way you have a scowl on your face and shaking your head. Almost like the time that me and Bill snuck into Hogsmead, boy those were the times.

However, that’s nothing compared to all the things that Ronniekins has done throughout his entire SIX years at Hogwarts! If anything you should ground him with not seeing Hermione for at least a week, oh and have him send me a firewhiskey…you know as a form of punishment for disobeying the rules of Hogwarts. HA!

Just, teasing Ronniekins, everyone and their gran knows that you wouldn’t last a day without the bushy-haired know-it-all that you always owled mum about during first year. Oi, and before any of you tosspots (again, sorry mum) dare take the mickey out of Ronniekins, remember neither of you are capable of being days without your birds, so might as well keep ya thoughts to yourselves.

Anyways, sorry for going off topic. Just can’t believe this is happening…. fucking hell!

Mum, I surely hope you don’t mind the next parcels that I managed to send your way…..I know it’s short notice but honestly when have we been one for schedules? Never!

Mum…… Dad…….family,

I’m getting MARRIED!

Yes, you read that right, and I hope that you join me in Romania to celebrate. It’ll be a wedding you’ll never forget.

Plus, mum…I wanted you to make the wedding dress, I know it’s such short notice but thank Merlin for magic, right? Plus, I’m sure the boys can help you if needed. You’ll receive a couple of parcels with the material for the wedding dress and don’t worry about the portkey, I already took care of that, honestly can’t wait until you all come here to Romania.

Especially want you to meet Aria, she’s so bloody perfect and I know you’ll love her.

-Your favorite son, Charlie Weasley

Once the letter was finished, everyone stood were shock on their faces.

“No fucking way!”

“Charlie’s getting married?”

“How many parcels is he sending over for a dress?”

“What does he mean by making mum separate me and Hermione!?”

Questions were being fired rapidly to Bill, however their voices were all drowned out by Mrs. Weasley’s teary voice, “Charlie, my baby is getting married!”

“Does this mean we’re going to Romania?”

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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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Can’t wait to read more of this only one bed from @cheesyficwriter !

Sleep Hexed

Title: Sleep Hexed

Author: cheesyficwriter

Selected Trope: Only One Bed

Brief Summary: A No Voldemort tale featuring two idiots in love who don’t quite know it yet. Post-Hogwarts years.

Rating: T

Word Count (if applicable): 3,738

Trigger Warnings: N/A

—

Chapter One

Sleep.

Interesting, isn’t it?

All humans need to have the energy to go about their daily lives. Although sleep is unavoidable, the task can become significantly compromised at any moment.

For Hermione? Sleep has always seemed so simple, yet it causes her much more grief than she cares to admit.

It’s midday during an impossible season of trials at the Ministry, and she can’t focus on the work that needs to be done simply because she tossed and turned all night long. Instead of her brain deciding that she needed proper rest before a full day of work, Hermione found herself laying awake for the fifth straight night in a row.

Why can’t she sleep when it feels like she’s tried everything in the books to help her? Hermione always maintains proper hygiene, avoids caffeine as much as possible, performs a nightly Atmospheric Charm to keep her bedroom at an ideal temperature, and even has a set bedtime—no matter how often she has to remind Ron and Harry that the use of her Floo after ten in the evening should only be for emergencies!

Although the cafeteria is bustling with energy during the busy Ministry lunch hour, Hermione’s only point of focus is to mentally strategize ways to get at least an hour of shut eye tonight. Yet she nudges the food around on her plate with her fork, lacking any appetite to eat.

Her legs are restless beneath the table as she fights the urge to bounce her knee in a jerky rhythm. Ron slides into the empty seat across from her, kinking an eyebrow in her direction as the table shakes from her incessant knee movement. He opens his mouth as if he wants to address it, but says nothing. Hermione bites her lip to hold back a yawn, her eyelids drooping of their own volition.

“Ron!” Harry plops into the open chair next to Hermione without warning, his eyes bright. She jumps as his lunch tray clatters onto the table. “Mate, that match last night—”

“Was fucking brilliant!”

The two boys fall into a natural conversation, allowing Hermione’s thoughts to drift to topics that don’t involve her. She takes a long sip of her water, hoping the sensation will keep her engaged long enough to excuse herself to the loo without appearing suspicious.

Harry and Ron discuss Quidditch stats for the next five minutes, but her red-headed best friend steals glances her way every so often. A throbbing headache beneath Hermione’s temples grows stronger and stronger with the excessive noise in the room. As she reaches for her glass of water again, her hand collides with the rim and tips the clear liquid onto the table.

“Bugger!” Hermione withdraws her wand and mutters a quick Scourgify, but nothing happens. She inwardly groans, agitated over her inability to even hold her wand with a steady enough hand.

Unfortunately, she isn’t the only one who notices. Ron frowns and stops speaking mid-sentence, studying her movements with sudden interest. “What was that?”

“What do you mean?“

"You. With your wand, just now.” He nods at the 10 and ¾ inch of vinewood dangling loosely between her fingers. “You fumbled a simple spell.”

Hermione scoffs at the critique. “Thanks, Ron.”

“No! It’s just—” He blunders, gesturing towards her face. “I mean it’s you. You’re brilliant. Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel a bit off today. That’s all.” The retort snaps out of her mouth all too quickly. “Maybe I’ll leave early to get some rest.”

“Leave early?” Ron snorts, leaning back in his chair. “You mean actually leave on time with the rest of us for once?”

Hermione rolls her eyes but clamps her mouth shut. It’s baffling how he manages to keep track of her work hours when he’s usually the one cutting out early. But she’s certainly not going to tell him that.

Ron sighs, propping his elbows on the table as he leans forward. A whiff of sandalwood hits Hermione’s nose, and she struggles to find a way to hold her own underneath the intensity of his gaze.

The growing lump in her throat is too difficult to swallow down, so instead she averts her eyes while mulling over a way to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Are you getting enough sleep, Hermione?”

He’s so dangerously close, it’s unnerving. Can he spot the dark circles around her eyes? She’s tried so hard to conceal them with magic this week. Hermione blinks as she fights off another yawn. In a curt tone, she responds, “I’m getting sleep, yes."

Hermione omits the max one hour a night part, but still.

Keep reading

#submission #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #romionetropefest

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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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Did someone say hockey romance?

🏒❤️⛸️

Have An Ice Day

Fic Title: Have An Ice Day

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

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

Word Count: 1580

Rating: G

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

Hermione Granger only dates hockey players.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—I wasn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#submission #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #romionetropefest #muggle au

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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 1 month

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Such a lovely moment on a special day 💕 romione wedding day by @my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass

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 #ron weasley #hermione granger

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