cheesyficwriter
cheesyficwriter
Josie | Lover of all things cheese and HP verse | Fanfic Writer | HP Romione Team
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STOP this was so adorable! I love when they can relax around each other. Pure fluff ❤
Whiskey on Rounds
Fic Title: Whiskey on Rounds
Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange
Selected Trope: OOTP Missing Moment
Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione skive off prefect rounds.
Word Count: 1661
Rating: General
—
The sound of Hermione’s footsteps stumbling down the stairs functioned as an alarm for Ron, who was deep into his astronomy textbook. It was a relatively uneventful Wednesday night for the fifth years. Hermione had, of course, finished her schoolwork early, while Harry sat brooding on one of the armchairs pretending to study. As usual, Ron was on his own again, and burying himself into his homework was better than getting his head bitten off by their easily-angered best friend.
Without a second thought, Ron slammed his textbook closed when Hermione appeared at his table.
“Ready for rounds?”
“Yes,” he said, then added under his breath, “Thank Merlin.”
“I heard that,” grumbled Harry from his chair.
“Sorry mate,” said Ron apologetically. “I’ll see you later.”
As predicted, Harry didn’t answer. The pair had just gotten into an argument about nothing in particular, which was extra frustrating because it couldn’t be fixed. Ron was either not angry enough about something, or too optimistic about something else. Honestly, he didn’t actually know. He just needed a break. Ron turned toward Hermione who shrugged, and the pair turned and left through the portrait hole.
“He’s being such an arse right now,” said Ron, as soon as the portrait door closed behind them.
“Ron. Don’t swear.”
“You know I’m not wrong, though.”
Hermione didn’t protest, as Ron had expected. The pair had talked about this before. Ever since Voldemort had returned at the end of their fourth year, and Harry had that dreadful experience in the graveyard, things had just been off with him. They complained about it in private, but Ron knew they were both just worried for him. Honestly, this year it felt like they were his parents, constantly fretting about keeping him safe, happy, and out of trouble. Not that any of their efforts mattered.
The pair trotted through the corridors toward the east wing, where they usually began rounds, but before they reached their destination, Hermione darted down an unfamiliar corridor.
“Hermione, where are you going?”
“Follow me,” she said, reaching for his arm and tugging him alongside her.
“We usually start rounds in the—”
“Shhh.”
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I'm SO excited to see where this one goes ❤
When You Wish Upon a Star
Title: When You Wish Upon A Star
Author: adenei
Trope: Soulmates
Summary:
Three years after graduating, Hermione finds herself at the annual Hogwarts Alumni Quidditch Tournament, still single, living alone with Crookshanks, and no closer to finding love than when she was a student here. But sitting there on the sidelines, she can’t help wishing for something more, and finds herself weighing her options as the party rages on, mourning the lost chances of ever being anything more than Ron’s best friend.
She doesn’t have to wallow for very long though, because as fate would have it, her prospects for love suddenly take a turn…but is it for the better?
WC: 2360 (Multichap)
Rating: M
TW: none
**********
Music blares at an overwhelming decibel level, but the crowd of people somehow manage to shout and cheer above it. There’s a strong smell of Firewhiskey in the air, and if the colors red and gold could throw up everywhere, it’d still be tamer than the sight in front of her. This isn’t Hermione’s scene at all, yet here she stands in the stuffy common room, packed to the brim with more people than it should probably be allowed to hold.
It’s crazier than any victory party Hermione’s ever attended, and for once she’s more than happy to not have any Prefect or Head Girl duties falling on her shoulders. If things get out of hand, that’s on Minerva. She’s the one who let them all in for the celebration, knowing full well what would probably happen.
After all, how else would you expect a large group of former students to act whilst reliving their glory days? It doesn’t even matter that the Annual Hogwarts Alumni Quidditch Tournament was specifically designed to be an inter-house event, or that participants were required to write their names down to be magically sorted into teams. Gryffindor is always over-represented, which meant there’d be major celebrations regardless of which team won.
Still, Hermione appreciates the camaraderie it builds. There have been many efforts to rebuild the magical world following Voldemort’s defeat, and the recently instituted alumni event is one of those things that people have looked forward to over the last few summers.
This year, though, proves to be a little more chaotic. Not that Hermione would actually know. It’s her first time attending one of these things—if only as a spectator. But based on the stories she’s heard about the past couple years, she has a hard time believing it’s ever gotten this out of hand.
But maybe that’s because of the way the teams shook out—notably with Harry and Ron being chosen for the same team. They’d also somehow managed to get Ginny, George, and Demelza. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh when she’d found out. Regardless of her limited Quidditch knowledge, even she knew they were an unstoppable group, and there was no hope for her to skip sitting in the stands this year. Especially not when Ron had flooed straight to Hermione’s flat when lists were delivered, begging her to come and watch. Of course she’d said yes.
She’s glad she came though. It’s been nice to see everyone, and things were made a little sweeter when Ron and Harry won the Alumni Cup. After all, there’d been moments—both during the feast and the current after-party—where Hermione almost felt as though she were a student again. Almost.
But she’s not. Three years have passed since she graduated, and while nothing about Hogwarts has changed since the last time she roamed its ancient halls, everything about her has. Or maybe it hasn’t, depending on the way she looks at it.
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It feels SO good to be back!! Hopefully more coming soon ❤
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.
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#romione#romione fanficion#romione trope fest 2024#only one bed#ron weasley#hermione granger#ron x hermione#ron weasley x hermione granger
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A moment that fills in a gap that we needed ❤ loved this one!!
The Perfect Pair
Title: The Perfect Pair
Author: adenei
Trope: OOTP MM
Summary: OOTP Missing Moment following the aftermath of Hermione’s epic fail when finding out Ron’s prefect, not Harry.
WC: 1,139
Rating: G
TW: none
***********
Hermione’s probably going to wear a hole right through the floor if she keeps the constant pacing up, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop. Constant moving is the only thing that briefly wipes the look on Ron’s face out of her mind.
She knows she messed up. Big time. She should have never assumed anything. But why on earth was Harry holding Ron’s Prefect badge? What else was she supposed to think?
In her defense, she did look to Ron first for confirmation, but his back was to her and his head angled down. It’s not like the recipient’s name was plastered on it.
Realistically speaking, Hermione figured it would be one of them. She supposed it could have been Neville too, but definitely not Seamus or Dean. The possibility had been going through her mind all summer as she weighed the pros and cons of why Dumbledore might pick Harry over Ron or Ron over Harry. She only threw Neville’s name in there because of how he’d tried to stop them from sneaking out after curfew first year.
But it’s fine. It’s all fine because Ron had been named Prefect—exactly what she’d been hoping for. Not that she would have minded the extra time spent with Harry, but after nearly the entire summer with Ron…she can’t explain it. She doesn’t think she prefers Ron’s company over Harry’s, but maybe she does. Because even though she was so worried and desperate for Harry to finally join them, an odd sensation settled in the pit of her stomach when he finally did arrive. Maybe it’s because of his moodiness. Yes, that has to be it.
Even still, she misses the time she and Ron got to spend alone together in the evenings. Come to think of it, they haven’t been alone since the morning of Harry’s trial, and even that was brief. Ginny joined them shortly after breakfast, pondering what might happen if Fudge found a way to expel Harry from Hogwarts.
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Another amazing AU off to a great start from @voldemorts-tap-shoes ❤
Something to Believe In
Fic Title: Something to Believe In
Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl
Selected Trope: Soulmates
Brief Summary: An unusual witness sparks a disagreement between Ron and Hermione about the existence of soulmates.
Word Count: 5286
Rating: M
Any Trigger Warnings: non graphic discussions of death and murder, mentions of suicide
***
Hermione hunches over the desk, her eyes skimming the familiar words for what feels like the thousandth time. Victim: Brendan Hughes. Found alone in his flat. Avada Kedavra. Nothing peculiar about the scene. No witnesses.
She can’t remember the last time she was this frustrated by a case. They’ve been working on this one for over a week with absolutely no forward progress. Any leads they had were exhausted as dead ends within forty-eight hours, so she’s sent Dean and Seamus out to do yet another canvas of the victim’s neighborhood, hoping to find something, anything they might have missed. Meanwhile, she’s back at the DMLE poring over the paltry case file, looking for any insignificant detail that may offer a clue as to what happened.
Ron returns from his coffee run and flops into his usual chair beside her. He sets two paper coffee cups on her desk, the smell of the hot beverages warring with his woodsy cologne over which is the more intoxicating scent. “Anything?”
Forgoing her usual no-caffeine-after-four-pm rule, Hermione takes a large sip of the coffee. If nothing else, letting the nutty aroma hit her nostrils might help distract her from her partner-in-crime-fighting.
“No, nothing,” Hermione replies with a sigh. She flips the case file shut and hands it to him. “Maybe you can work your magic on it. See if there’s a story in there somewhere.”
The pages flutter as Ron gives a perfunctory rifle through them. “I’ve tried. But this is seriously the most boring case ever. Even the bloke’s life was boring. Maybe he Avada’d himself just for something to do.” His blue eyes flicker up at Hermione, pursing her lips in thought, and he laughs. “You’re not really going to check his own wand, are you?”
“Well, it’s about the only thing we haven’t checked,” Hermione says defensively. “You never know.”
“Hopefully Dean and Seamus will turn something up.” Ron sets the file down and Hermione reaches for it again immediately, even though it won’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know. She scans the words again, willing them to make sense in her head. Ron, now idly twirling a quill around his fingers, seems to have abandoned all effort to do any work on the case—not that he actually works here in the first place. He’s generally more helpful than this, but they also generally have more to go on.
Hermione is about to surrender for the day as well, when the sound of heavy, booted footsteps alerts her to someone approaching her desk. “Detective Granger?”
She looks up to find one of the junior Aurors approaching her desk and does a quick glance at the shiny badge pinned to the younger man’s uniform. “Yes, Auror Casey? How can I help you?”
Casey motions to the far side of the room, where a witch about her age is waiting. She’s bundled up in a heavy coat and several scarves, though the weather is mild today, and dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a handkerchief. “I think you’ll need to talk to this woman.”
“Auror Casey,” Hermione starts, trying to temper the irritation in her tone. It’s not his fault that she isn’t making any progress on her case, but the interruption isn’t going to help. “They’re still teaching you how to take witness statements in the Academy, I presume?”
“Of course.” The young Auror straightens his spine as if to prove his merit. “But she, uh…she says she witnessed that murder you’re working on.”
Ron, who had been tipped back in his chair staring at the ceiling, sits up abruptly, and the legs of the desk chair make a resounding clatter against the tile floor. “That’s great news!” he exclaims. “I mean, not for her, of course, but you know.”
Hermione shoots him a brief but withering look before she turns back to Casey and lowers her voice. “None of our evidence suggests that there were any witnesses to the crime. Are you sure she’s credible?”
She’s never one to turn up her nose at a lead, but Hermione also has no patience for wasting DMLE resources on false claims. For a witness to suddenly come out of the woodwork, she can’t help but be suspicious.
“We haven’t released any details to the press,” Casey replies. “So if nothing else, she knew our victim.”
Hermione sighs but shifts her gaze back to the woman and offers a reassuring smile. It’s not like she has any other work to do on this case, anyway. “Could you set up Ms…?”
“Davis,” Casey supplies. “Lizzie Davis.”
“Set her up in interrogation, please. We’ll be there in a minute.”
While Auror Casey escorts their new witness into one of the interrogation rooms, Hermione gathers up her notes and some fresh parchment to prepare for questioning. When she turns to Ron to ask if he’s ready to go, the amused look on his face stops her short. “What?”
“This is the least excited I’ve ever seen you about a lead,” he teases. “What’s wrong?”
Ron knows her entirely too well. It’s a wonder she’s able to hide anything from him anymore. “I suppose this case has just brought out my inner pessimist.”
“Inner?” he snorts, and Hermione narrows her eyes at him..
“The whole thing has been one giant dead-end,” she huffs. “My gut is just telling me this will be more of the same.” Hermione shrugs and gets to her feet. “But let’s go find out.”
***
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Loved this from start to finish ❤ perfectly encaptures the Weasleys + Romione's relationship. Gave me all the feels this morning!
Six Weasley Weddings
Fic Title: Six Weasley Weddings
Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange
Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings
Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione attend six different Weasley weddings
Word Count: 7290
Rating: M
Any Trigger Warnings: NA
—
Bill + Fleur, August 1997
The Burrow grounds had never looked so tidy. From his seat in a golden chair next to Hermione and a polyjuice-disguised Harry, Ron admired the detailed and glamorous decorations that the family spent hours setting up. Gold balloons lined the rows of seats, and a large arch of twinkling lights highlighted the altar, where his brother, Bill Weasley stood awaiting his bride.
The hard work of wedding preparations had paid off; Ron could tell by the sea of smiling faces in the crowd as everyone stood and turned to face the back of the tent in anticipation of Fleur’s grand entrance. Ron followed suit and rose to his feet as he squinted through the lights to catch a glimpse of the bride.
But when the tent flap opened and Fleur emerged, his eyes went elsewhere — to his brother standing at the altar. Hermione once told him that she always looked back at the groom at weddings, because he could never hide the emotion on his face when seeing his bride for the first time. She was right. Bill’s eyes had glazed over with tears and his face burned as red as the Gryffindor crest.
There was a time when Ron and his brothers would make fun of each other for crying, but that time had long since passed. These days it was a relief to see his eldest sibling shamelessly showing emotion. But Bill had always been like that, not oblivious to what his younger brothers thought, just unbothered. Ron remembered when Fred and George would pick on him for his fear of spiders, and Bill would look at them with pity, as if he knew something they didn’t.
And honestly, he probably did, not that it mattered. He was the one standing at the altar awaiting his half-veela bride, and although his face was murky with emotion, nothing suggested he felt undeserving. At the end of the aisle stood a confident man who was more than ready for his future.
As Fleur progressed down the aisle, Ron looked beside him. Hermione’s eyes welled with tears as she watched the bride. She looked like a Veela herself in that dress, or at least she had the same effect. He recalled his fourth year antics when he completely lost his cool around Veelas, and the overwhelming feeling that he’d never get a girl like that. He still felt that way now, looking at Hermione. And he did get a girl like that. Well, almost.
He still had work to do for that task, and the only way forward was to squash that lingering insecurity.
TIme to take a lesson from Bill, who’d never felt insecure a day in his life. Ron reached for Hermione’s hand and slipped his fingers through hers. She responded with a squeeze.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered to her, feeling the heat rise to his ears.
Hermione glanced at Fleur then back at Ron with an eyebrow raised. “Really?”
“Yes,” said Ron. “Gorgeous.”
Hermione smiled and tugged him closer. He shuffled closer to her and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you. You clean up nice too.”
Ron’s ears remained on fire, but the rest of him relaxed a little. And for some reason, it didn’t feel remotely uncomfortable to stand this close to his best friend. Not one bit.
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#ron weasley#hermione granger#romione#romione fanfiction#harry potter#romionetropefest#romione trope fest 2024
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This was brilliant!! Love the callback to Bill/Fleur's wedding ❤
Finish
Fic Title: Finish
Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl
Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings
Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione find time on the horcrux hunt to finish what they started at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.
Word Count: 1859
Rating: T
Any Trigger Warnings: none
***
It feels like she has packed and repacked this bag a hundred times since the start of the summer. Even with magically infinite space to bring whatever they need, Hermione has second and third and fourth guessed this book and that potion and everything in between. Sometimes she worries that the beaded bag and its contents are all she’s contributing on this mission, and she wants to get it right.
As she reaches in again, her fingers snatch onto floaty fabric that she recognizes by touch alone and after a moment’s hesitation, Hermione pulls out her dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding, letting the chiffon unfurl toward the dark and dingy floorboards. What a perfect day that might have been if not for—well, everything. Spending the reception dancing with Ron was a bright spot in an otherwise mostly dreary day, from the Minister’s visit that morning to the uninvited guests that crashed the post-wedding party. But even that…
She thought she knew how Ron felt about her, thought that they were making strides toward something more than friendship. But even though he had snagged her away from Viktor to dance, showcasing a jealousy that reminded her of fourth year and the only other time he had seen her so dressed up, there had been nothing more. He hadn’t kissed her, he hadn’t told her how he felt. Of course, she hadn’t done those things either. There’s a war coming—it’s here, really—and what the hell are they waiting for?
Hermione tosses the dress over the back of the sofa and reaches back in for Ron’s dress robes. She’s not sure why they’re still in the bag anyway, why she hasn’t hung them up in a closet somewhere under a preservation charm to keep the dust off. Of all the things that they might or might not need hunting horcruxes, she thinks it’s fairly safe to assume that her dress and his dress robes are a do not need. But they’re also the only things they have with them that remind her of a happier time. Everything else in the bag is so…tactical.
“Hey.” Ron’s voice jolts her out of her thoughts, and he raises a quizzical eyebrow at her as he enters the room. “What are you doing?”
“Packing. Unpacking. I don’t know.” She motions to the pile of clothing draped over the sofa she’s been sleeping on every night, her fingers entwined with Ron’s. That means something, doesn’t it? “I don’t suppose we have any need for these anymore.”
“Probably not.” Ron trails his fingers down the sleeve of his robes. “It’s a shame that we didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”
Hermione shrugs. “It was a lovely ceremony. Fleur looked beautiful, and at least we made it past the cake and everything before the Death Eaters showed up.”
“Oh, er…I meant us,” Ron says, and Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. “We didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”
What is he saying? Did he have plans for them that evening? Was that going to be the night, before everything fell to pieces and they were running for their lives?
He smiles at her, that lopsided grin that’s been melting her heart since she was fourteen, and suggests with a laugh, “We could always get dressed up again, and have our own little celebration here.”
Hermione chuckles too. As much as she would love to do that—to know what exactly they didn’t finish the night of his brother’s wedding—they have more important things to focus on. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh. Yeah, alright.”
“I just meant with the mission—”
“No, no, you’re right.” Ron gives her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m gonna go see what I can round up for dinner.”
He leaves her alone in the drawing room without another word, and Hermione sighs, wondering how she always manages to say the wrong thing to him.
She gathers up the clothing, but rather than put the pieces in a closet, she folds them carefully and places them back into her beaded bag.
Maybe one day we can finish what we started.
***
Ron’s feet are heavy as he trades places with Harry, who’s about to finish out the night watch. The winter air outside is nothing compared to the frostiness inside the tent. Not that he’s surprised. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. But he and Hermione are both as stubborn as they come, and her resolve is stronger than his.
She’s barely said five words to him since he returned to the hunt, so the sight that greets him behind the tent flap hits him harder than a stunning spell: Hermione, wearing that tantalizing lilac dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding.
Obviously, she’s gone completely round the twist.
Ron takes a step forward into what he now realizes is a suffocating heating charm on the tent, mimicking that same stuffy August evening. Before he can raise any questions, Hermione thrusts a bundle of fabric into his arms. “Put these on,” she instructs, her tone clipped as her lips set into a thin line.
“My dress robes?” Ron asks as he examines them. “Hermione, are you feeling alright?”
“Peachy,” she snaps, the only response he’s apparently going to get. After a loaded moment without further instructions, Ron takes a step toward the loo.
“Uh…okay. Be right back.”
Hermione’s request makes absolutely no sense, but he’s not really in a position right now to deny anything she asks of him. If putting on his dress robes will get her to talk to him, it seems a very minor sacrifice to make.
He puts the robes on as quickly as he can and then heads back out to the main area of the tent, where Hermione is waiting. They’re a pale echo now of themselves from that night—clothes hanging loose from months without proper nutrition, both a bit scraggly and in need of a haircut, and a shave in Ron’s case—but she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Her expression is one of grim determination, but her brown eyes are wide and bright as she looks up at him.
“You said we never got to finish the wedding,” Hermione says softly.
“You want to now?” Ron asks incredulously, shock winning the battle against common sense. He had suggested this, only sort of joking, back at Grimmauld Place and she had shut him down. The conditions now are even less ideal, and he’s flabbergasted that she’s bringing it up.
“I need to know if I’m crazy,” she answers, and though Ron has some thoughts on that at the moment, he wisely keeps them to himself, “or imagining things. I need to know what we didn’t finish that night.”
“Hermione—” She holds a hand up, silencing him instantly.
“Show me.”
Stubbornness grips them both again as they stand frozen, eyeing each other across the room, neither willing to look away. She doesn’t know what she’s asking. She doesn’t know that he had every intent of pulling her out to the back garden to tell her how he felt, to maybe finally steal a kiss, but a combination of having fun dancing and debilitating nerves at the idea of taking that step had kept him putting it off for one more song. One more glass of champagne. Until there was no more music and no more champagne, only fear and chaos, and their focus had been forcibly shifted to other things.
She doesn’t know any of that, so what does Hermione think they’re finishing?
Sod it. She’s the brightest witch of their age. Maybe she does know.
Ron crosses the room to the wireless and gives it a couple of taps with his wand until it’s playing the soft, slow song that had been the last one they heard at the wedding. He turns back to Hermione, who holds her hand out in invitation. “Come and dance?” she whispers his own words back at him, her voice shaky as her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her waist, pulling her in close, and Hermione’s head settles against his chest as they barely sway to the music. Even before he left, they haven’t been this close since the wedding, and Ron never wants to let go again.
“Do you really want to finish this the way I wanted to at the wedding?” Ron asks softly as the song ends and then starts over. “You’re hardly even speaking to me, let alone—” He cuts himself off with a sigh. Despite Hermione being the one to initiate this, kissing her feels like a boundary he shouldn’t cross.
Hermione pulls away to look up at him, but holds onto his hand. “When you left, it made me question everything I thought I knew about you. About—us.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “So yes, I want to know. I need to know. Unless—”
She stops, and Ron braces for her rejection. Maybe he should’ve just kissed her and not second-guessed himself. Hermione bites her lip anxiously and drops his hand, and his fingers dangle uselessly between them, still half-reaching for her. “Unless what you want has changed since the wedding because in that case there’s no point in pretending that—”
Whatever else she’d intended to say gets swallowed up by Ron’s lips. What he wants hasn’t changed at all, only gotten stronger, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer to show her.
Hermione melts against him, her hands finding their way into his hair, and kissing her feels like coming home. Every brush of her lips against his is a taste of forgiveness, and he drinks it in like he’s dying of thirst.
He doesn’t stop kissing her until he tastes salt, and he pulls away to find tears streaming down Hermione’s cheeks. She leaves her hands tangled in his hair to keep him close, though, and presses her forehead to his to whisper in anguish, “Why did you leave, then? If that’s what you wanted, Ron, why did you leave?”
Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He never expected it to be. Ron sighs. “That’s a story for a different night, I think,” he replies, and at that Hermione does let him go with a hollow laugh.
“Of course you’re not going to tell me,” she scoffs. “Why would this change a damn thing between us?”
Ron reaches for her again, tugging at the chiffon that hugged her body like a glove four months ago but is now loose enough for him to grab an entire handful. “I just meant—not this night.” He motions to their outfits, to the purple dress and the navy robes that aren’t yet tainted with thoughts of the locket. “Let’s get changed, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Hermione trails her fingers down his lapel as she looks up at him. “Promise?”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily. All he’s wanted to do since he got back is tell her the truth; he’s just been waiting for her to want to hear it. “I promise.”
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This was the sweetest ❤
Speak Now
Title: Speak Now
Author: adenei
Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings
Summary: In the midst of trying to navigate what life looks like following the defeat of Voldemort, and the loss of so many, there’s one thing glaringly missing. The irony of it all is it takes someone else’s wedding to give Ron the kick in the pants he needs to go after what—or rather *who*—he wants.
Word Count: 1988
Rating: G
TW: mentions of character death (all canon)
“Ron, I need to ask you for a favor.” Ron’s hand stops on the doorknob, the floorboards creaking under his feet.
The thick piece of wood is the only thing separating him from a much needed afternoon nap. Sleep has been evading him. Nightmares torturing his mind as he tosses and turns on the lumpy old mattress that’s been his for as long as he can remember.
He shoots his brother a withering look, letting go of the handle as he turns to face him. “Right now?”
It’s been two weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts. Two weeks since Fred died. Two weeks since Harry defeated Voldemort. And two weeks since he and Hermione kissed.
Every waking moment has been filled with funerals or meetings, and helping around the Burrow to ease the load on his mum, who’s completely overwhelmed with grief. And if he’s not doing his part to ensure the household is running smoothly, he’s taking a shift with George, making sure he doesn’t do anything rash or stupid as he navigates a world without his twin.
Because of all that, he’s barely seen Hermione, let alone had a chance to sit down with her. Every time they cross paths at the Burrow, he feels like he’s not making enough of an effort to make her a priority, yet how can he when everything else is just as important right now? She always smiles and nods in understanding when he’s pulled here or there, but sometimes he wishes she’d speak up and be selfish, asking him to come with her for once instead.
“Yes, right now.”
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The swooniest Muggle AU 😍 loved this one!
Capture My Heart
Title: Capture My Heart
Author: adenei
Trope: Muggle AU
Brief Summary: Work meets play at a work picnic/team bonding event. Hermione gets a little more than she bargained for when a certain redhead is held captive during a healthy team bonding game of Capture the Flag.
WC: 2,541
TW: n/a unless you count excessive forearm mentions
*************
What am I, twelve?
Hermione paces back and forth in front of the currently unoccupied ‘jail cell.’ Really, it’s a piece of rope tied around a few trees just off the beaten path of the trail that is her team’s home base. Swiping through her phone, she’d rather be anywhere else than playing this stupid game at the stupid company picnic.
Don’t they realize she still has a ton of work to get done? Cases never end for a public defender, especially not when certain detectives seem to be a little too good at their job, putting deadbeats who can’t afford their own lawyer behind bars.
It’s not his fault. She should be grateful that there’s someone who actually does their job and takes it seriously, but her workload is screaming otherwise. And since her department refuses to hire an additional person, Hermione will continue to aim all of her resentment at him.
Now, if only the other side would just capture her team’s flag so they can be done with this God forsaken children’s game. Then she can get back to the office. Yeah, that’d be great.
Bored out of her mind, Hermione goes back to scrolling the newest set of case files that were emailed to her that morning. It’s the only thing she can do considering she was given the most boring position on her team. Like a group of lawyers and paralegals are going to catch and apprehend a bunch of detectives. And even if they did, what was she going to do? Hold them in contempt? Honestly.
A rustling from nearby catches her attention, and she locks her phone before shoving it into the back pocket of her jeans. At least the fall weather and smattering of dead leaves on the ground prevents anyone from sneaking around too stealthily.
“Oi, Hermione, where are you?” Ernie MacMillan, her desk partner, calls from down the path.
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RW x T Swift is the collab I didn't know I needed! Great start ❤
Title: Enchanted to Meet You?
Author: tumblr- Nena-96, Ao3- Nena96
Selected Trope: Muggle AU
Brief Summary: The Eras Tour, is not something that Ron imagined ever attending in his life, but his daughter Rose has him wrapped around her little freckled finger and it was a losing battle. Oh, and meeting the most insufferable single mum was also not in his agenda for today.
Rating: T
Word Count:
Any relevant trigger warnings: None
Ron couldn’t believe it, in reality he wished he was still back at his little flat and relaxing. Instead, he’s here walking through the line, while keeping a hold of his precious little redheaded dem- angel, he meant angel. They were moving slowly but at least the line was moving. He's glad they made it away from the news cameras and the annoying reporter, Lavender Brown. She just wouldn’t stop getting into his personal space and accidentally brushing up beside him.
The reporter had the audacity to touch the bracelets that he was wearing, and ask him if he would give her one or if she would have to take it off of him herself. To be fair, all day he had women come up to him and use the same line, but something about this reporter just made him uneasy.
That wasn’t even the worst part, when she asked him what song he was looking forward to hearing, Ron had to bite the inside of his cheek when the reporter called him Won-Won, like what the fuck?
His name is Ron, it’s not a difficult name to pronounce, it’s literally just one syllable, and only three letters! Alright, technically his name is Ronald, but only his mum calls him that and his aunt Muriel…but that's besides the point. He absolutely hated when people purposely get his name wrong, it reminds him of when he was in just a ickle little first year at Hogwarts Academy. It would always annoy him how his professors would call him everything but Ronald Weasley.
Thankfully, he managed to escape the reporter when a boy named Colin Creevey came over dressed as a mirrorball and was taking photographs of people in wacky costumes. It was times
like these when he enjoyed not being the center of attention, the distraction had helped him tremendously, he managed to not only escape from the clingy reporter but also make it further ahead the line. He never thought that one day he would be saved by a boy in a mirrorball costume but it happened, which was still quite odd.
Shaking his head, he held onto his daughter’s hand and walked forward, the entrance was so close yet it felt miles away. Ron still couldn’t believe how many people were there outside the
stadium, he knew that the American singer is fairly popular but he didn’t expect to see a vast amount of fans. Hell, some people even brought their own chairs as they waited in line. He wished to be home but no, he was persuaded into buying tickets which were by far the most expensive purchase he’s made in the last year.
Two bloody tickets for a concert had definitely made his pockets cry, let's not even talk about the memorabilia that he pre-ordered. To say he was shocked at the prices was the understatement of the fucking century, he just hopes that this concert is worth all the hype.
Truthfully, he doesn’t believe any artist or sports game is worth the expensive price, not to sound uptight but come on, there’s literally so many other things he could do with the money. Plus, it would be ten times more beneficial than being sentenced to sit through eight plus hours in a crowded stadium while people scream to pop music.
Sometimes he wondered if he should put his foot down, and be more assertive. Dammit, he’s just been made head strategist in his department. Yet, there was no strategic plan that could
persuade his daughter, Rose, to change her mind. She’s been talking his ear off non-stop about coming to the concert, plus they stayed up all night yesterday making friendship bracelets. It was roughly five hundred bracelets, not ten not fifty it was five fucking hundred little colorful bracelets.
Each one had to be different, because his demon- oops sorry his sweet angel sent from above, the apple of his eyes the joy of his life, had decided each one had to have a unique acronym. Based upon different lyrics and inside jokes, which he didn’t have a clue at all so when he made up a fake acronym, ERISED…well lets just say Rose wanted to know exactly where that came from. Meaning, she told Alexa to play the entire discography of a certain pop star’s collection of music.
It’s safe to say he learned his lesson, how could he forget that his daughter was just as stubborn as he was… alright he still is stubborn but he was never this bad. He sure is going to get a run for his money when his daughter gets older. Oh well, nothing to do now, but live through this agonizing torture that’s called the-
“Oh my fucking God! I can’t believe we’re at the fucking Eras tour!” A group of girls screamed, causing Ron to cover his daughter’s ears.
Damn if that’s how loud people get now he can’t imagine when they step foot into the stadium. Hopefully he can buy some noise canceling headphones not just for Rose, but for him as well.
“Hell yes! Becs, you think she’s going to sing Story of Us?” A girl dressed in…was she wearing a bedsheet and sunglasses? Ron was momentarily confused, how could that even be comfortable to breathe, he glanced down at his daughter and saw her cover her mouth and giggle as if everything was totally normal.
“Shut up, I would fucking throw up if she does sing it!” Ron heard the girl he presumes is named Becs, yell out, which caused him to grimace and shiver at the thought of people actually
vomiting. Hell, hopefully he wasn’t going to sit anywhere near them when they got inside the building. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, hoping that he doesn’t become nauseous, he had to remind himself that no matter what he’s doing this because Rose is here. If it wasn’t for his daughter he would be at home watching the game, but that wasn’t the case and he has to stay strong.
“Addy, what about the surprise song?!” Another girl wearing a flashy bejeweled dress asked.
“I would die, if she sings-”
“Dad, I’m so happy we’re here!” he heard his daughter yell in excitement, momentarily pulling him away from the conversation nearby, which caused another round of screams from Swifers
near them.
Wait… were they called Swifers or Swifty’s? He muttered to himself.
Ugh, he should know this by now given that his daughter would not stop playing the pop singer’s music every single day. Hell, even all throughout the three hour car ride to the stadium. Even though she had a little cat nap in the car, she had told him before she slept that he couldn’t switch the song because Crookshanks, her plushie, was watching him. Oh, how he hated that plushie, it was a gag gift from his best mate Harry, last year. It was meant to be thrown into the
rubbish bin, immediately, but once Rose saw the orange cat she had fallen in love and wanted to keep it.
Ron always had a feeling that the beady eyes of the toy were looking through his soul. He was so close to throwing it out the window while driving, but he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his daughter’s tantrum- Ron heard someone cough and mutter from behind him, turning around he saw a petite brunette who was doing a really bad job at pretending to read on her phone. Which he noticed wasn’t even turned on, if he wasn’t paying attention he would’ve missed the faint blush on her cheeks.
Shaking his head, Ron crossed his arms, while trying to ignore the annoying sound of the bracelets that he was wearing on both of his arms clink together.
“Excuse me, did you say something?” He asked the woman who was still staring at the black screen of her phone.
The woman looked up and quickly put her phone in her back pocket,
“Hmm, I didn’t say anything at all,” she replied smoothly.
He tried not to laugh at the blatant lie she fed him, “Oh, come on, I heard you say something,” Ron tried again, this time he raised a
brow and looked into her brown eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean. I never said anything, I was simply looking over my tickets on my phone,” the woman said in a posh manner as she raised her chin slightly upwards. Shaking his
head, Ron realized that this woman was not someone who would easily back down, and honestly it was kinda hot.
“Look, let's not do the whole lying thing, I heard you cough and-” he started to say but was interrupted when the brunette began laughing.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I needed permission to cough. My sincerest apologies, Mr….” she trailed off, a glimmer of something shone in her brown eyes, yet Ron didn’t want to think much of it.
“It’s Weasley, but please call me Ron, and you are?” He gestured for her hand and pretended to bow for her to continue.
“It’s Hermione Granger,” she replied before shaking his hand. He tried his best to ignore the surge of electricity that shot through his hand the moment she touched him. He nodded before
letting go of her hand, the warmth that he once felt was now long gone.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Hermione,” he smiled before adding, “Now, since we’ve established our names, and formed a lifelong friendship,” Ron heard snigger before continuing, “could you tell me what you said so I won’t end up tossing and turning at night and unable to sleep. Thus causing me to lose focus at work and perform ever so poorly and end up losing my job and having to move back
with my dear old mummy.”
“I highly doubt my comment would cause all of that to transpire,” Hermione shook her head, causing a few curls to come on from her updo and pushing it away from her face.
“Ahh, so you do acknowledge that you made a comment, it's great to know that I'm not losing my mind. Isn’t that right, Rose,” Ron joked as he looked down at his daughter who was too busy staring at the other girls who were taking pictures with their mothers and holding toy guitars. He didn’t need to imagine what she was thinking because he knew all too well the pain she held in her heart.
“Rose,” he tried again and tried gently to bring her attention away from the fans who seemed like they were having the time of their lives. It was moments like these in which he wished he could give his daughter something better than a ticket to a concert, but he knew
money couldn’t buy everything.
Ron cleared his throat and reached down for his daughter's shoulder, slowly turning her around, “Rosie, are you alright, love?”
Instead of answering him, Rose had only nodded and gave a small smile, Ron hoped that Hermione didn’t notice the way his daughter’s smile didn't reach her eyes. If she did notice, hopefully she wouldn’t ask about it. He chanced a sideways glance at Hermione, and was
grateful that she wasn’t looking at him with pity.
Good, he didn’t want to have the awkward as hell conversation about where the mother of his daughter was at, that was never easy to talk about. Besides, not to be rude or anything but why did that always have to turn into someone’s business? It wasn’t like single parents aren’t capable of pushing through the challenges of parenthood. To be honest, it felt ten times as tough having to raise a child alone, regardless of the fact that Ron had no regrets whatsoever in
raising his daughter on his own. So if Hermione decides to voice out the same opinion the rest of the world had towards single parents, well then it was just too damn bad.
He was just about to turn towards the brunette beside him, when suddenly he heard the distant shouting of a boy calling for his mum. The shouting kept getting closer and closer, causing Ron to turn around and see a little boy with brown curls that was running excitedly waving a magazine and a baton wildly in his hand, “Mum, Mum! I got the magazine and they gave me this baton for free!”
Ron smiled before risking a glance at Hermione, who was waving her hands across herself as she pleaded, “Hugo, please don’t run!”
The way she looked so worried was adorable, he noted
that she had only one bracelet on the wrist of her left hand, also the fact she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Ron could faintly see four letters on the multi-colored bracelet, he tried to squint
but could only guess it was spen, spem… no wait it's…spew?
Huh, what does spew even mean?
Ron glanced down at both of his forearms and skimmed through the various friendship bracelets that his daughter helped him make, on his left were bracelets that had album names. While the
bracelets on his right forearm had inside jokes, like one that consisted of three numbers and letters. Ron remembers asking Rose yesterday what that one acronym meant.
Rose ended up blushing so hard he thought she was going to burst. However, after a few minutes of silence she calmly shrugged her shoulders and said, “Oh, umm, it’s silly…it’s for the song Delicate, it means, 1,2,3 Let’s Go Beautiful.” was aware how nervous she was, it was probably because she thought he didn’t care but he was glad to know, which is why he made a deal with her. If she let him listen to one song of his choosing then he would shout 123lgb, with
her when the song came up. The smile on her face was priceless, he loved seeing her happy, plus he got a break from listening to the song Me! Which in his opinion was by fucking far the most annoying song he’s ever heard in his life.
He shook his head and looked at the other bracelets, yet none of them had the word spew. Running a hand through his hair in annoyance he wondered if spew was a lyric from one of the
vault tracks that Rose was talking about? Unless it has a hidden meaning, ohh, maybe it's dedicated to one of the pop stars ex-boyfriends. That’s got to be it, yeah he broke the puzzle,
dad of the year goes to Ronald Billius Weasley. All the other dads out there might as well just saddle on their little white horse and leave while they can.
But wait, it still didn’t make sense. What the fuck is spew?
Was it because they tend to spew nonsense after breaking her heart and she wanted to get her own karma? Since karma is apparently her boyfriend or whatever that line went. But, wait wouldn’t that mean she was the spew and not the guy? Like, come on, isn’t the American singer known for her reputation with her former lovers? So wouldn’t her fans be called the SPEW’s rather than Swifers or Swifty’s, whatever the bloody hell they were called-
“Hugo! Stop, you'll get hurt-” Hermione had shouted beside him, breaking him from his thoughts.
He turned, but it was too late because the next moment Ron let go of his daughter's hand and doubled over in excruciating pain. Yep, he just hit with a baton directly at his mirrorballs. If he wasn’t in such pain he’d write his own version of that song.
“Fucking Hell!”
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So excited to read more!! I laughed out loud so many times ❤
Magic Matches
Fic title: Magic Matches
Author: KateNotEight
Selected trope: Muggle AU, soulmates
Brief summary: An innocent lunch turns into a night to remember - follow how Harry and Ginny take Ron’s love life into their own hands and turn it upside-down. It’s some speedy business hosted by the most charming douche in existence. Ladies and gents, are you ready to find your Magic Match?
Word count: 3979
Rating: M (language)
PART 1 - Humbugs, glitter, tosser… what?!
The cobblestone street was bathed in a kaleidoscope of warm hues as the setting sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow upon the facades of quaint shops and inviting cafes. The sound of muffled laughter and clinking glasses mingled in the air, creating a lively atmosphere as patrons celebrated the end of the workweek. Two redheads engaged in enthusiastic banter descended the stairs of one such charming cafe. They were momentarily interrupted by the abrupt closing of the door behind them, prompting a sheepish wave from the black-haired man who held the doorknob. He sighed in frustration, but as soon as the taller redhead tousled his hair, his smile resurfaced and they stepped onto the pavement together.
Harry threw one arm around Ginny’s shoulders, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, catching the fading sunlight with a glint. He then extended his other arm around Ron, his other favorite redhead.
“Need some love, Potter?” Ron chuckled, stumbling slightly at the odd angle his much shorter mate forced upon him, playfully jabbing him in the ribs.
“Always,” Harry winced, then bobbed his head against Ron’s before releasing him to envelop Ginny in a tight hug.
“Oi!” Ginny intervened, her eyes darting between the two.
“You know I love him better,” Ron jabbed, wiggling his eyebrows at his irked sister.
“Idiot,” Ginny laughed, shaking her head, and pulling her sleeve up to check the time.
“So, where to next?” Ron clapped his hands with enthusiasm, surveying the buzzing street in search of a suitable pub. “Lunch was fantastic. Drinks on me?”
Ginny and Harry exchanged glances. Harry opened his mouth to respond but let out a sigh instead, scratching his head. The trio stopped at the red lights of the pedestrian crossing, cars rushing past them, mirroring the vibrant pace of the weekend.
“Since you brought up the topic of love -” Harry’s eyes sought Ginny’s for help, but she only pursed her lips in reply, urging him to continue.
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This is BEAUTIFUL 😭❤
Title: Put your thawing mind to rest
Author: @my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass
Selected Trope: Only one bed
Brief summary: Stranded in the tent during a freezing winter night, Ron and Hermione grapple with the harsh realities of their fractured relationship. Ron, set on finally breaking through Hermione’s icy defenses, seizes an unexpected opportunity as a black long-legged intruder becomes an unwitting ally in his quest for reconciliation.
Rating: G
Word count: 8,032 words
Trigger warnings: -
Put your thawing mind to rest
The wind howled outside the thin fabric of the tent, carrying with it reams of snow that painted the landscape in a frosty white. Inside the tent, that stood lonely and hidden in the pristine landscape, the atmosphere mirrored the frigid conditions, not only because of being snowed in by the raging blizzard outside but also because the tension between two occupants was even more frozen than the winter air.
Hermione huddled near the flickering light of a group of bluebell flames, her teeth chattering, her gloved hands trying to rub warmth into her legs. A soft snore came from the upper bunk near the bathroom. Harry had fallen asleep an hour ago after finally accepting the fact that keeping watch outside during a merciless blizzard was neither necessary nor smart.
Hermione stole a furtive glance at the infuriating red-headed boy, seated on a chair near the kitchen, wrapped in a maroon jumper and a thick dark-blue jacket. She noticed how his eyes were fixed on the frozen walls of the tent which moved restlessly with the raging storm outside. He coughed softly and sniffled a few times. Hermione had suspected since the morning that he was coming down with a cold. That was the last thing she needed – him spreading his viruses and infecting the entire tent. The silence between the two of them was heavy, the ache of their severely fractured relationship pressing down on them.
With chattering teeth Hermione rubbed her chapped lips together and tried to cast another warming charm over her feet, but her trembling hand prevented her from executing the correct hand movement. Briefly, she thought of escaping the icy cold by going to bed, she could practically feel the temptation of the additional warmth from the sleeping bag. If only it wasn’t for him.
No, she wouldn’t grant him that satisfaction. Going to bed now would inadvertently signal a false sense of trust, a triumph she couldn’t afford to grant him. She refused to let him assume that she could fearlessly drift into slumber while he stood guard. No, she preferred him to believe that she no longer placed her life in his hands. She would maintain the facade, waiting for his snores before indulging in the luxury of sleep, just as she had done in the past two nights.
What Hermione couldn’t understand was why Ron hadn’t gone to bed yet. It was late, he was obviously not feeling well and there was nothing to do. Besides, he was well aware that she would maintain her steadfast silence, regardless of how long he decided to linger around. She refused to grant him the favor. He would have to earnestly beg for forgiveness, and yet she doubted even such a plea would offer him reprieve.
In a desperate attempt to stave off the biting cold, she made another effort with a warming charm. Despite her hands trembling and the absence of the familiar surge of magic through her wand, a gentle warmth enveloped her feet. Bewildered, she took a moment to grasp that the spell hadn’t emanated from her wand but from Ron’s, who now cast a furtive glance in her direction. Hermione could feel seething anger rising up at the fact that he apparently cared so much about her that he had not only observed her struggle against the cold but also keenly noticed her futile attempts to alleviate it.
The old chair creaked under Ron‘s weight as he stood, embarking on a noisy search for something in the small kitchen. Irritated, Hermione averted her gaze and focused on warming up her hands by rubbing them together.
The audible clatter of cups hinted at his attempt to find warmth and comfort in a cup of tea. Ironically the steaming brew would inevitably transform into iced tea within minutes in the biting cold air. With an ample supply of sugar for the sugar rim awaiting him in the kitchen, crushed ice readily available outside, the only sacrifice he would have to make was skipping the orange slice for the decorative touch.
A particularly loud clatter resonated, and Hermione was certain Ron was putting on quite a show. What did he hope to achieve with all that commotion? The loud deliberate noises were a futile effort, a complete waste of time; he would not draw her attention. Ironically, he had held her full focus for three days now, yet she would not let him feel that. He could set the entire kitchen ablaze, and she wouldn’t care. He could perform a ballet dance in a tutu or attempt to juggle with kitchen utensils completely starkers, and she wouldn’t care.
He didn’t deserve her attention. Not in the slightest.
Once again, a brief clatter of tea cups and a few coughs could be heard, but the sounds were instantly drowned out by a particularly loud wailing of the snowstorm. The tent walls and its sturdy frame shuddered in response, and for a brief moment, Hermione feared that their stabilization and protective enchantments might not withstand the extreme weather conditions. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Ron, too, looked around with concern.
With each relentless gust, the wind carried more arctic air that further plunged the tent into an even more unforgiving cold. Despite her trembling hands, Hermione finally managed to cast a warming charm herself in a desperate attempt to combat the numbing temperatures, but the biting cold that seeped through the thin fabric walls almost instantly smothered the spell. It was hopeless. She could probably ignite a fiendfyre, and it wouldn’t be enough to contend with the icy temperatures. This extremely rare and aberrant weather condition pushed the boundaries of even the most advanced magic, making it an almost futile measure against nature’s relentless onslaught.
Despite Ron’s warming charm her feet were still cold, and her lips, cracked from the biting air, ironically felt like they were on fire. With trembling hands, she sought refuge in her notebook, attempting to distract herself from the captivating red-head still rummaging around in the kitchen by reviewing her notes on Horcruxes. Just as her numb fingers managed to turn to the right page and she began reading the first two sentences of her notes, Ron‘s hoarse voice shattered her fragile cocoon of concentration.
“Here. Drink this. Might help a bit.”
He suppressed a cough into his elbow, the sound muffled by the thick fabric of his jacket, before offering her a steaming cup of herbal tea. Hermione couldn’t ignore the fact that he had poured it into her favorite mug. For a fleeting moment, she contemplated leaving him just as foolishly standing there as he had left her on that fateful night when she had called out to him with all her might; to ignore him exactly the way he had ignored her desperate pleas.
Another surge of anger welled within her. Why did he bother approaching her? The longing to unleash her fury intensified almost immediately - a profound urge to yell at him, shake him, and unequivocally demand that he cease caring about her. It didn’t mean anything to her, he didn’t mean anything to her, not anymore. Not in the slightest. He had left, he had ignored her pleading cries. He was accountable, responsible for it all.
Internally cursing herself, she acknowledged the tempting warmth radiating from the steaming cup. Silently, she seized the red-handled mug from his hand, turning away without a word of thanks - another concession she refused to grant him. Accepting the cup should be gratitude enough.
Anyway, what was that cup of tea even supposed to symbolize? A ridiculous peace offering? He could stick that wherever he pleased. What did he hope to accomplish? That she’d forgive him just because he had offered her a cup of tea? Did he genuinely believe that serving her a stupid cup of her favorite tea would magically mend everything?
It wouldn’t. Not in the slightest.
She should theatrically spill the broth right at his feet, accentuating her frustration and defiance. But that would draw too much attention to him again, and he didn’t deserve that. So, she took a cautious sip from the steaming brew and tried to wrap her twill coat even closer around herself. The warming charm had provided relief for just a minute and the cold had become so intense by now that Hermione couldn’t feel her feet anymore.
Ron coughed once more. Stealing a glance at him, now seated on a wooden chair near the kitchen, grappling with the discomfort of his impending cold, brought a brief but unexpected surge of empathy over her. Yet, almost at the same time, Hermione felt a sharp pang of reproach directed at herself. Why should she feel sorry for him when he hadn’t spared a moment’s compassion for her that night, where she had been standing right in front of him, begging him to stay? He didn’t deserve any of her empathy, especially not after the pain he had caused her and the still bleeding wounds he had left within her heart.
A sudden surge in the storm’s intensity made Hermione jump as the canvas walls began shaking even more relentlessly. A powerful gust tore through the fabric with a sharp howl, a loud pop echoing through the air as one of the panels ripped from its fastening to the forest soil. Reams of icy air rushed into the tent, causing the temperature inside to plummet further, intensifying the bitter cold that clawed at everything within. In an instant, both Ron and Hermione reacted, directing their wands at the torn canvas, securing it back to the forest soil.
At that moment, it was as if nothing stood between them. They worked together seamlessly, using their wands with practiced precision to secure the tent wall, showcasing a surprising synchronicity and teamwork that defied the underlying tension. After everything was back in place, Hermione caught herself almost forgetting that they were no longer on speaking terms. Just in time, she realized that she was still angry with him. She turned away, attempting to combat the biting cold, which had intensified after the incident. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to distract herself by delving back into her notes.
With another fit of coughs escaping him, Ron eased back into his chair with a sigh. Watching him caused Hermione‘s broken heart to do something she immediately reproached herself for. It yearned for his strong warm arms around her, for him to shield her from the aching cold that pervaded her too thin body. Unable to endure the biting cold any longer, she reluctantly reached for the threadbare blanket that she had wrapped around her feet to shield them from the frozen floor. As she struggled to wrap it around herself with her quivering hands, she felt Ron’s vigilant eyes on her.
In the muted light, she could see them soften imperceptibly, revealing an obvious trace of concern. Without a word, Ron rose from his chair, and before she could even process what he was doing Ron had gently taken the blanket from her trembling hands and wrapped it securely around herself. Furious at herself that she had let her guard down, she forcefully wrested the remaining piece of the blanket from his grasp. She didn’t need nor want his assistance. Yet, his gesture stirred something inside of her, just like the stupid cup of tea did. Hermione was infuriated as Ron, through small, thoughtful gestures, appeared to effortlessly breach the meticulously constructed walls she had erected around her heart to protect herself from being hurt again. She did not want him anywhere near her, yet ironically at the same time she craved the warmth and care he offered and found it challenging to resist him.
“Better?” Ron croaked with a hoarse voice, while still standing close. Too close, yet so far.
A shiver ran down her spine when she heard his words - not solely from the cold, but from the sheer proximity of his presence. His gesture stirred another internal turmoil which she so desperately tried to suppress. She fought against the vulnerability that threatened to surface, determined not to let him see the impact he still had on her.
As she wrapped the blanket more firmly around herself and turned away from him, Ron momentarily disappeared into the shadows of the tent. He fumbled through his things, while attempting to stifle more coughs. When he returned, he held an extra layer of clothing in his hands - an old maroon Weasley jumper and his blue jacket.
“Here, put these on,” he implied softly, extending both pieces of clothing toward her.
Torn between the chill of her pride and the warmth of Ron‘s offering, she hesitated. She couldn’t deny the sweetness and care he displayed, a clear effort to repair what was profoundly damaged. Ron’s sincerity was apparent, yet she wasn’t ready to yield. Not yet. He had to try harder. He had to prove himself further. She wasn’t ready to let go of the hurt and betrayal. She needed time. Forgiveness wasn’t a gift she was prepared to offer just yet.
Yet, his obvious attempts to get back into her good graces tugged at her conflicted heart, prompting her to, very slowly, accept the clothing. Their fingers brushed briefly, the fleeting connection sending an electrifying bolt straight to her heart.
Draping the worn garment over her shoulders and slipping into his oversized jacket, Hermione couldn’t deny the comforting familiarity of his overpowering scent. As the fabric enveloped her, it triggered another storm within, a conflict between the thick walls she had erected around her heart and the sincere effort he was making. She could still feel Ron’s lingering gaze, and dared to meet his eyes for a fleeting moment. That silent exchange stirred another thousand emotions to swirl within her and she felt her face flushing, probably already showing signs of an unspoken promise of forgiveness.
However, their moment was interrupted as Ron had to suppress another cough. He failed miserably, trying to clear his throat which caused his body to be wracked by a loud fit of coughs, the sound echoing through the tense atmosphere of the tent. Her anger at Ron was still burning. She couldn’t stand hearing him cough all the time, drawing her entire attention and provoking emotions that she wasn’t ready to address. Unable to bear the incessant coughing any longer, Hermione jumped up from her spot, retrieved her beaded bag, and pointed her wand inside with a silent Lumos. Ripping out a vial of orange Pepper-up potion and a vial of greenish Cough potion, she slammed them both into Ron’s hand without a further comment. A flicker of a smile indicated he had caught on but she still jumped a little when he spoke with a raspy voice again, not having expected any actual words to follow her move.
“Thanks,“ he said softly, his ears tinged pink. “But I don’t need potions. It’s not that bad. We should save them in case someone needs them more.”
But Hermione turned away, ignoring his comment, leaving the vials in his hands, unable to prevent her eyes from rolling. Inwardly, she reproached herself for even having interacted with him and for having shown concern for his well-being. The conflicting emotions within her raged on, torn between her anger and the unmistakable love for him that refused to diminish. Ron tried to stifle another cough by clearing his throat, but his attempts to suppress the sounds only seemed to intensify the irritation in his throat causing a series of loud dry coughs to wrack his body a moment later.
Hermione turned back around, her gaze piercing through him, silently challenging him not to mess with her. She pointedly looked at the potions in his hand, making it clear that if she even bothered showing concern for his well-being, he should better listen and not argue. Ron raised his eyebrows at her, a questioning glance, while stifling another cough. She held his gaze and if looks could kill, he would have dropped dead right then and there. Eventually, he decided to open the vials, downing the Pepper-Up Potion and Cough Potion without further argument.
Hermione was furious at herself for letting her guard down. Just because he was looking out for her didn’t mean she had to reciprocate. That she had handed him the medicine was most definitely not out of concern for his well-being. No, it was purely driven by irritation and a desperate desire for the ceaseless coughing to stop, to bring silence back into the tent. Caring about his health was the last thing on her mind. He had abandoned them, left her standing alone in the cold without a second thought for her well-being. So she would most definitely not care about him. Not in the slightest. He could shove his attempts to win her over with his caring gestures wherever he pleased – those would remain futile attempts to erase the memory of his betrayal. He wouldn’t achieve anything with it. Forgiveness wasn’t on the horizon.
The whirlwind of conflicting emotions and thoughts, entwined with the biting cold, caused Hermione’s mind to spin uncontrollably. It felt like being caught in a straitjacket with no way out. The tangled and confused emotions made her shudder, the internal storm mirroring the intensity of the blizzard outside.
“Go to bed, Hermione. It’s warmer in the sleeping bag,“ he said, his words cutting through the noises in her head.
How dare he? His words only intensified the seething anger within her. How dare he be so audacious? How dare he send her to bed? And how dare he, despite his cold and their three days of surviving on stolen dry bread and a handful of mushrooms, manage to look so forbiddenly handsome?
The rational part of her acknowledged that he was right, but she resisted accepting it, unwilling to cave in and take a step closer to forgiveness. She wasn’t ready yet.
“Come on, go to bed. I don’t want you to get sick as well.”
His insistent words stirred another wave of fury. How dare he strip away all the arguments she had carefully constructed against him in her mind? The internal turmoil escalated, a relentless battle between her anger and the rational acknowledgment that he was correct. A moment later she found herself complying, and a wave of self-disgust washed over her for showing even a hint of consent and not simply defiantly remaining seated in the cold.
As the blizzard both outside and inside raged, and her feet hurt from the bone-chilling cold, still wearing his jumper and his jacket, Hermione shuffled to her bunk. She snuggled into her sleeping bag in a feeble attempt to escape the relentless cold, but found little relief. The biting chill radiating from the tent’s canvas directly beside her seemed to seep through every layer of her clothing, gnawing at her bones and leaving her shivering despite the makeshift cocoon she had created. The small space felt like a frigid cavern, and she couldn’t suppress the tears that started stinging in her eyes. It was all too much.
Her tears weren’t solely a reaction to the biting cold, but more a manifestation of the emotional storm raging within her. The struggle between her lingering anger and the profound love she felt for Ron tore at the fabric of her resolve. Her yearning for him echoed louder than the howling wind outside, and the physical discomfort was a reflection of the ache in her heart. The space beside her felt emptier with each passing moment, as she longed so much for his strong warm arms around her.
Her thoughts drifted back to that night, the first time they had shared a bed a few months ago. After their escape from the Ministry, with Ron lying in the lower bunk, pale from blood loss and trembling from the pain in his shoulder, Hermione hadn’t been able to suppress her guilt and self-reproach. On that night, she had nestled into bed with him, offering him comfort and seeking solace herself while keeping a watchful eye on his condition. As the weeks had passed, leading to that fateful night a few weeks ago, no night had gone by without them cuddling close in the lower bunk, facing the dark and ominous nights huddled up together. Overwhelmed, Hermione couldn’t contain the emotional dam any longer. More tears streamed down her face, and a wave of sobs escaped her, muffled against the fabric of the pillow.
“Are you crying?” Ron’s voice, now less hoarse than earlier, cut through the muffled sounds of her sobs, and Hermione realized he had stopped coughing since taking the potion. His footsteps came closer and she could feel his presence right in front of her bunk which only made her cry harder.
“Hermione?”
The physical and emotional toll of the situation mirrored the storm outside. Part of her yearned so desperately for his arms and the warmth and comfort he could provide. Yet, another part of her resisted vehemently, holding onto the pain and betrayal that had seeped into every layer of her being.
“Hermione, please, I know you don’t like me very much at the moment but is there anything I can do?”
You can climb into my bunk and hold me and never let go again. Ever.
No. Never in a million years would she give in and give him the satisfaction of winning this battle. Never.
“I know you’re angry, Hermione, and I do understand why. It’s okay, really. Stay angry as long as you’d like, I do deserve it. But, you know, if you really despised me that much, you wouldn’t be caring about my health, would you? That has to count for something, right? I know you want to stay mad, and, really, it’s fine. I really understand. I really don’t want to pressure you, but please tell me what I can do to help you.”
His words made her cry even harder, because they made her want to jump up and both slap and kiss him at the same time. A part of her couldn’t deny that his effort to acknowledge her feelings struck a chord, yet the walls she had built to protect herself seemed too formidable to crumble just yet.
“You’re freezing, aren’t you? I can give you my sleeping bag if it helps? I don’t need it.”
She had to practically fight an internal war to ignore his gentle inquiry. The emotional barricade she had erected was crumbling, she could feel it, but she tried desperately to cling to it, unwilling to let him breach the walls she had so carefully built to shield her wounded heart. He had to try harder. She would not let him win. Not yet.
“Fine. I get it. You don’t want to talk to me. Just let me know if you need anything.”
*******
Ron lingered in the shadows of her bunk, his gaze fixed on Hermione’s crying silhouette curled up in her sleeping bag, his blue jacket draped over her quivering shoulders. While aware of his own faults, he had a hard time understanding the complexity of her emotions. Was it solely his betrayal, the stain of their fractured relationship, and the merciless cold of the blizzard that she couldn’t shake? Or did her tears also mean she simply yearned for normalcy? That she was overwhelmed by the burden of the ongoing war?
Ron knew he had to keep trying, even if it meant facing his own uncomfortable failure in the process. He had messed up, he knew that. Every misstep, every wrong decision of the past weeks, played like a haunting melody in his mind. He was well aware that he couldn’t escape his mistakes. His guilt would forever be a relentless shadow lurking behind him, that much he knew.
The rift between them had formed an icy abyss that had seemed inconsolable until now. However, the last half an hour had revealed just how important it was that he kept up his efforts. Although she hadn’t uttered a single word to him, there had been a few moments when she hadn’t entirely ignored him, had even shown concern for his cough and offered him relief, providing him with a glimmer of hope that things would eventually be okay. He could see the first cracks appearing on the thick shell of ice that she had built around herself. Perhaps in a few days, if he continued trying while giving her the time and space she needed, she might finally begin to open up and talk to him.
Deciding there was nothing more to be done than to retire to his bunk as well, he quietly climbed up the ladder to his bed, only to freeze in horror as his eyes locked onto a massive black long-legged monster perched on his pillow. His heart started racing as he stood there on the upper rung of the latter, caught in a staring battle with the unwelcome invader. Desperation filled his mind as he envisioned all the worst-case scenarios involving the oversized spider. Panicked, he briefly contemplated casting a spell to make it vanish to another corner of the tent, only to realize that he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes, knowing it might be lurking somewhere, probably waiting to crawl into his mouth as soon as he fell asleep.
The blizzard made it impossible to banish the unwelcome guest outside, although freezing the repulsive monster into an ice cube seemed like the most appealing option. Regrettably, Ron couldn’t get close enough to the creature to cast any spells. The thing would attack him and murder him with his long legs wrapped around his throat the moment he came near it. Sweat formed on his forehead as he pondered creative ways to evict the monster without getting too close. There was none. No, the menacing intruder could have his bed tonight, it was okay. He wouldn’t dare touch it. Ensuring the creepy creature stayed put, Ron summoned a glass from the kitchen, placing it directly over the long-legged monster, immobilizing it to prevent it from moving and murdering him in his sleep. Come morning, he’d enlist Harry’s help to banish the thing.
With the spider now securely trapped under the glass, Ron let out a sigh of relief, grateful for the temporary peace of mind it provided. However, a second later the harsh reality of his sleeping arrangements struck him like a bludger. Glancing around the tent, he pondered his very limited options. The idea of spending the night in a stiff chair seemed very unappealing, and the icy floor held no promise of a good night’s sleep either. Also, he was pretty sure that sleeping on the freezing floor wouldn’t do any good for his budding cold. His headache and scratchy throat had disappeared since taking the potions, but that didn’t mean his body wasn’t currently fighting off the invading viruses.
Ron looked over to Harry; their friendship was strong, even after Ron had left, but sharing a bed felt like a line that shouldn’t be crossed. His eyes inevitably landed on Hermione - the only available bed was hers. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared it before.
However, he had sworn to himself that he would keep his distance; that he would give her the time and space she needed, that he would not pressure her, that he would let her take the first step toward reconciliation - aware that it would be a gradual process, but after today’s events finally confident the moment would eventually come.
He cast another glance at his occupied bunk, and when he came eye to eye with the repulsive intruder again, he threw caution to the wind and opted to go all-in, risking the possibility that she might hex him into the next millennium if he got anywhere near her. The fact that he sensed her immense internal struggle slowly losing strength, fueled his determination. He strongly suspected that she was secretly quite pleased and relieved by his return, even if she wasn’t ready to openly show or admit it just yet.
With a mix of nervousness and curiosity, he pondered her reaction if he were to simply crawl into her bunk without further explanation. Over the past few days, she had unmistakably conveyed that she didn’t want anything to do with him, refusing even the simplest interactions and steadfastly ignoring him. Yet, today, accepting the tea and his clothing as well as noticing his impending cold and, albeit gruffly, providing him with potions, hinted at a profound crack in her defenses.
What did he have to lose? Hermione couldn’t hate him more than she already did. Taking a deep breath, he climbed into her bunk without a word and maneuvered his body next to her, determined to offer them both warmth and solace. He could see Hermione was still perished, her body trembling, and it dawned on him that she was likely still wide awake, struggling to find warmth and rest in these harsh conditions.
Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that the spider had sought sanctuary from the snowstorm right on his bed. Maybe, just maybe, it held a deeper meaning. Fate seemed to finally be on his side. He was certain his moment had come, because under these circumstances, despite her ongoing disdain, she couldn’t turn down an offer of warmth. She would continue to hate him and give him the cold shoulder, he was sure of that, but he hoped that extending this small comfort might create another profound crack in the already crumbling ice of resistance. He was determined to wear down her defenses, and the fact that a despicable, long-legged spider was inadvertently helping his cause seemed like an oddly poetic twist of fate.
“What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?” Hermione muttered.
These were the first words she had spoken to him since finishing her rant upon his return three days ago. Although he could still sense the trembling tension radiating from her, Ron could feel his triumph coming. He smiled to himself because he realized that, in that moment, she had lost the internal battle against herself by breaking her silence and engaging in conversation with him.
“There’s a bloody spider in my bed.”
“Are you a wizard or not? Just vanish it.”
“I’d still know it was there.”
“How old are you?” was her sarcastic response, and Ron couldn’t help but see it as a surprisingly favorable turn of events that she had even bothered to answer. He almost interpreted it as a subtle acknowledgment of his presence because he had actually half-expected her to jump up in an instant, wielding her incredible charms skills to transform the spider into a cuddly cushion (though, he swore, he’d never use it for sleep under any circumstance). Yet, she remained still, her back turned, a deliberate act of trying to ignore him, in which she seemed to fail miserably.
“So, you deemed a spider a valid excuse to invade my personal space without even asking?”
Ron realized that her rhetorical question might be his best chance to test the waters. If he didn’t seize his chance now, another might not present itself in the near future. It was a risky move, but he reckoned taking a risk was his only path to redemption.
What was the saying? All’s fair in love and war? This situation seemed to be a bit of both. So he braced himself for her reaction, before boldly answering with a confidence he didn’t know he possessed.
“We’ve shared a bunk for weeks before. Figured I didn’t have to ask.”
As the words left his lips, Ron felt a flush spread across his cheeks. He was thankful that she was still turned away and couldn’t see his face because he wanted to maintain the facade of boldness and confidence. The air crackled as his audacious words hung in the space between them. Ron could almost sense her internal struggle, the battle of emotions playing out in her sharp intake of breath that followed. It was as if the cold air itself held its breath, waiting for her next move. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that his response had momentarily left her speechless.
As he lay next to her waiting for her to answer, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, he caught a whiff of her scent, a scent that he had missed more than he realized. He turned his head slightly and tried to breathe her in. She smelled like a delicate mix of jasmine and vanilla, the fragrance enveloping him like a soft comforting summer breeze. The familiarity of it struck him hard, and in that moment, he became acutely aware of how much he had missed her. Every cell of his body longed to reach out and hold her, to erase the weeks of distance that still lingered between them.
The oppressive silence seemed to stretch into eternity but Ron knew that he needed to be patient while moving on this very thin ice. She had to respond first before he could try to push her further to the brink of surrender. It took what felt like half an hour, but eventually, a hushed answer escaped her lips.
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
In that moment, a profound surge of winning feeling swelled in Ron‘s chest. He would break through her defenses, he was sure of it. If not today, then definitely by tomorrow.
“So, you’ve finally decided to talk to me again? I appreciate it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Ron suppressed a chuckle and shifted, making a conscious effort not to touch her. Hermione’s body stiffened involuntarily, yet she neither recoiled nor voiced discomfort. Silent tears continued to fall, but he opted not to dwell on them. In the subtle stiffness of her posture, he could sense a mix of anger, hurt, and relief - a silent reaction to the intimate intrusion she obviously both craved and resisted. There was a struggle going on inside of her. Her eyes betrayed her, even though she was avoiding his gaze - the ice of resentment was melting, and it was melting fast.
For a short moment Ron hesitated, but when she did not utter a single word of protest against his closeness, he shifted closer. He moved cautiously like on eggshells, as if navigating a delicate dance on the frozen surface of her emotions. As he inched closer, her flowery scent became even more pronounced, intensifying the longing to finally hold her in his arms again.
“Hermione,” he whispered, stopping his movements just short of touching her. Her breath hitched in the frigid air, but she did not shift away. “Come here, Hermione. I know you’re freezing.”
Hermione tensed but Ron could immediately tell that his gentle command tugged at the threads of her resistance.
“Come on, take the jacket off. Body heat doesn’t work with too many layers on,” he ordered gently.
She stiffened, but to his surprise, she turned around a moment later and shot him a glare.
“What do you know about body heat?” she spat, her tone cold, her attempt to maintain her facade contrasting with the weariness etched across her face. Her eyes met his for a fleeting moment before she averted her gaze, as if unwilling to let him see the vulnerability beneath her icy exterior.
Ignoring her question, Ron let out a soft sigh, his gaze flickering between her tired face, bluish lips, and overall frailty.
“Just take the jacket off, alright?”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, her posture becoming more rigid again. “I don’t want you near me.”
Despite her cold tone and the feeble attempts to hold up her icy resistance, Ron noticed her struggle and the obvious signs of her worsening state. The unhealthy bluish tinge of her lips and the intensified shivers revealed the biting cold’s increasing impact on her.
“Stop this, Hermione. I’m worried about you,” Ron interjected, attempting to lock eyes with her, but she evaded his gaze by turning away. “Your lips are blue. Let me help.”
She scoffed, “Oh, you think about helping now? I would have needed your help weeks ago, but guess what, you chose to abandon me!”
“I know I messed up. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help now. You clearly need me.”
“I don’t need you,” she responded lamely, her teeth chattering with each word. “I can manage just fine without you. I did manage just fine without you.”
Her harsh words struck him like a bludger, each accusation reverberating through his conscience. Even though he understood perfectly that she was capable of managing on her own, he recognized the very rare opportunity in this moment, where magic proved powerless against the unforgiving forces of nature. It was his only chance to break through her icy defenses and demonstrate that, despite her assertions, she did need him, if only for his body heat in this bone-chilling night.
“Hermione,” he warned gently. She still avoided his gaze, focusing on some distant point on the canvas walls as if trying to shield herself from the weight of his scrutiny. “Stop being so stubborn. I know you’re perished. This is unhealthy.”
“I’m not cold,” she lied with trembling lips. Her next attempt at defiance faltered again, her weakened voice betraying the toll the cold was taking on her.
Ron couldn’t help but let out a disbelieving chuckle at her absurd lie. “This is completely ridiculous! Can you hear yourself talking?”
Despite her stubborn insistence, Hermione pulled the sleeping bag tighter around herself. A visible shudder passed through her body, revealing the truth even as she tried to deny it. As she drew in a shivering breath through chapped, trembling lips, the sight of her suffering under the biting cold nearly broke Ron’s heart. He was freezing to the bone himself, but he could only vaguely imagine the intensity of her struggle, especially under the frailty of her too-thin frame. Recalling the days he had spent at Bill’s place, he appreciated how Fleur, despite his lack of appetite, had persistently ensured he regained a few of the pounds he had lost.
“Look, Hermione, I know you’re mad. It’s okay. You can hate me as much as you want, I deserve it, but I won’t let you freeze to death.”
“You don’t get to waltz back in and act like everything is normal.”
Ron’s eyebrows furrowed and he sighed. “I do not act like everything is normal.”
“You just crawled into my bed!” she snapped and shot him a death glare.
“Kick me out then!” he shot back, holding her gaze while he slightly shifted away from her trembling body to give her a bit of space. “You haven’t told me to leave! Tell me to leave and I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Hermione scoffed and turned away again, her shoulders shaking. “You don’t get the easy way out! You don’t!”
“You’re not exactly making it easy for me,” Ron admitted, a tinge of frustration evident in his voice. He sighed once more, feeling the weight of the situation press upon him. Deep down, he perfectly understood her need for resistance, recognizing the layers of hurt he had woven into their relationship. At the same time, he wished Hermione could see the remorse and genuine concern beneath his actions.
“You don’t deserve easy,” she mumbled with chattering teeth, wrapping herself even tighter in his jacket while drawing in a shuddering breath.
Her words stung like a deep wound, a painful reminder of the consequences he bore for his mistakes. Ron took a moment to calm his strained nerves, before he looked at her earnestly, and with a deep breath, admitted, “In fact, you’re making this bloody hard for me.”
“Good, you deserve it,” she hissed, meeting his gaze with a murderous look.
The raw honesty of her words drove a dagger straight into his already aching heart, but Ron refused to let a single mistake define him. He knew that he wasn’t a bad person. There was no evil dwelling within him. Yes, he had made a foolish mistake, one destined to cast a long shadow and haunt him indefinitely, but it wasn’t that he had committed a crime or something irredeemable. It had been the locket, cunningly managing to make him succumb to its influence, twisting his thoughts and insidiously talking him into believing things simply because he had been too weak. Ron was determined not to let that dark chapter define him.
“I’m trying, Hermione, can’t you see?” he implored, his eyes piercing her with intensity. “Will you please stop being so stubborn now and let me help you?”
“I don’t need you. I can handle it on my own,” she argued but Ron could see beyond her feeble defiance.
“Hermione,” he warned again, his voice taking on a stern edge, “stop this bullshit. Take the bloody jacket off now, and let me warm you up.”
She cast him another menacing glare, desperately trying to cling to her anger like a tattered shield. However, when suddenly a flicker of hesitant surrender unfolded in her eyes, and her once rigid posture softened remarkably, Ron realized he had prevailed. Even as the icy blizzard within her continued to rage, she couldn’t reject the warm physical comfort he offered her.
With a shuddering breath, she turned towards him. Her gaze remained averted, focusing instead on a loose thread protruding from the sleeping bag’s zipper. Her trembling hands fumbled with it, but Ron gently stopped them with his. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt her ice-cold hands in his, overwhelming him with the urge to pull her as close as humanly possible and absorb all her suffering. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her head, revealing unshed tears and profound vulnerability in her eyes instead of hatred and anger. Biting her quivering lower lip, she granted Ron silent permission to take the lead.
As he carefully helped her guide the zipper down, layers and layers of resentment and hurt seemed to peel away with each metallic click. Hermione shivered again, and Ron sensed it wasn’t solely due to the cold, but also from the raw vulnerability of the moment. Once the jacket came loose, he positioned it behind his head as a makeshift pillow. Lying down, he fixed his eyes on her brown ones with an intense, almost daring look. A surge of confidence coursed through him at that moment; he was on the verge of victory, having skillfully maneuvered her to the edge of capitulation. Only one stride remained, and he believed his body’s warmth would be the catalyst and dissolve the last vestiges of her icy defenses.
Cautiously, he extended his left arm, placing it on her pillow while maintaining eye contact. Her solemn expression met his gaze, her lips still tinged with a bluish hue as she shivered again. Ron nodded toward his arm almost imperceptibly, yet he was certain she had grasped his silent invitation with perfect clarity.
In the muted glow of the bluebell flames, she slowly lay down beside him, finding a resting place for her curly head on the upper part of his outstretched left arm. He gently encircled her with it, coaxing her to lean into the warmth he extended. When she nestled closer, interpreting her response as a silent approval, he dared to embrace her cold small frame more securely. She settled against him with a quivering intake of air, her hand hesitantly moving to his chest, and he reached down to draw the sleeping bag up around them. The frigid air still clung to them, but beneath his arm, he sensed her ease into the cocoon of comfort and warmth he offered, gradually ceasing to tremble. The shivers that had coursed through her body ebbed away as she nestled even closer to him, snuggling into the crook of his arm. He could feel her breath on his neck and dared to tighten his hold around her with both arms, prompting her to place her head on his chest and drape her leg over his thigh, lying half on top of him.
In that moment Ron felt a cascade of emotions surging within him. The sensation of her finally back in his arms was undeniably comforting, their cocoon causing the biting cold outside to lose its grip. In fact, ironically, despite the conditions not ideal at all, Ron couldn’t remember ever having felt that good in his entire life. As he held her tightly against him and felt the subtle rise and fall of her breath against his chest, the feelings for her were so overpowering that it made him turn his head and indulge the urge to breathe in the scent of her hair. Love, raw and undeniable, coursed through every single one of his veins, making his heart pound recklessly in his chest. The rhythmic thud against his ribcage seemed like an open declaration, and he was certain that, with her head so close to his heart, she could feel every accelerated beat, echoing the truth of his feelings.
At the same time Ron also became fully aware of the depths to which he had hurt the girl in his arms. How could he have hurt someone he cared for so deeply? He wished he could just turn back time and undo the mistakes that had led them to this point. However, since he didn’t have a bloody time-turner, he silently vowed to himself that he would do whatever it would take to make amends. He was determined to go to any lengths to restore the trust she once held in him, before he shattered it into a thousand pieces.
While he was busy wrestling with thoughts of his failure, he almost didn’t notice how she gently wrapped her arm around his ribcage. An overwhelming urge to confess his true feelings washed over him, almost compelling him to share every detail of the deceptive whispers the blasted locket had convinced him to believe. He wanted to kiss her and tell her that he would never leave her side ever again and that he would forever shield her from any kind of cold or harm she should be forced to endure. But the moment still felt too fragile for words, and he couldn’t shake the fear that she might get angry again and interpret it as a ploy to win back her favor. So Ron decided against taking the leap, acknowledging instead that, for today, what he had achieved exceeded even the highest expectations from just two hours ago.
As Hermione’s body relaxed and warmed up noticeably in his embrace, he realized that, remarkably, also he himself no longer felt the biting cold that had seeped into his bones. Neither spoke, as words seemed inadequate in the face of the fragile reconciliation occurring in the silence of that frozen night. As they lay there, clinging onto each other, breathing in unison, Ron nestled into her hair, her flowery scent reminding him of careless summers spent at the Burrow. After a while her breathing slowed and Ron suspected that she had managed to relax and warm up enough to be able to fall asleep in his arms. Just as he was on the verge of drifting into the first peaceful slumber for days himself, a faint whisper cut through the silence, momentarily ripping away the peace he felt.
“Don’t think this changes anything.”
A soft chuckle involuntarily escaped him in response to her statement. “I don’t. I know it doesn’t.”
“I’m still cross with you,” she mumbled against him, her dry lips grazing his skin in the process, causing goosebumps to creep up his arms.
“I know,” he whispered into her hair, inhaling her intoxicating jasmine scent again. He sighed, loosening his grip on her, expecting her to request space now that she had finally warmed up.
Surprisingly, instead of pulling away, Hermione tightened her arm around him, snuggling even deeper into his warmth. Her calm, regular breath against his collarbone reassured him, and a moment later, a soft, barely audible whisper delicately tickled his skin.
“Stay.”
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Another brilliant start for @adenei ❤ cannot wait to see where this one goes!
Shell Cottage
Title: Shell Cottage
Author: adenei
Trope: Only One Bed
Summary: What if Shell Cottage wasn’t Bill and Fleur’s home/safehouse during the war…because there was no Voldemort? What if the Weasley kids used it for something else entirely? A something that was bestowed upon each Weasley kid before they entered their seventh year. And what if Ron used that something to his advantage, finally giving him a shot at getting together with Hermione?
WC: 7,738 (in 3 parts. part 1 here)
TW: alcohol use, frivolity, bed sharing.
**********
Part 1
It’s an unusually warm summer day in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Ron welcomes the sun shining down on his face as he ventures outside. Summer’s always been his favorite season. When he was younger it was because his siblings would all be home from Hogwarts, so he had lots of options for playmates. And when he’d started school, it meant a nice long break from never-ending assignments and exams throughout the year.
This summer is different, though. It’s officially his last as a student, which means it could be the final time he’ll have minimal responsibilities before he’s expected to pursue a career—and it’s coming to an end far too quickly. In two short weeks, he’ll be entering his seventh and final year of Hogwarts, and then this time next year? Well, who knows exactly what his future holds.
Ron walks out to the garden, summoned by his brothers for a pick-up game of Quidditch, but no one’s there yet. It’s a rare afternoon when everyone stopped by to visit and hang out, much to Mrs. Weasley’s delight. They rarely spent time together aside from Sunday dinner, so the impromptu visit sent their mum into a tizzy.
They made some excuse about wanting to help Ron and Ginny train for tryouts in a few weeks, but Ron thinks they all secretly miss flying. Nevertheless, it still struck him as peculiar when he couldn’t see anyone around. Especially considering Fred and George already had their brooms when Bill asked him to come play. He figured they’d be flying around warming up already.
Weird.
Nevertheless, Ron keeps his pace toward the broomshed. Even if it’s all some stupid prank, he figures he can still charm some Quaffles and get a little solo practice in at the very least. It doesn’t matter that he’s held the Gryffindor Keeper position for two years now, he still wants to earn it.
Not that Harry would give it to anyone else, unless they totally outperformed him. But every season, every match, he’s gained more confidence and honed his skills. It’s not like he plans on going pro or anything, but still, he wants to maintain his position on the team.
Finally reaching the broomshed, he opens the door to retrieve his Cleansweep, but is met instead with a pair of arms pulling him into the small space.
“What the—”
“It’s about time, Ronniekins,” Fred chides.
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Ahhh LOVED this one ❤
In Your Arms
2024 Romione Trope Fest - Only One Bed
In Your Arms by Hpfanted
About 5400 Words
Rating Teen - No Archive Warnings Apply
Many, many thanks to KateNotEight for encouragement to dial up the angst and Johnna for proofreading
Any text in italics has been taken directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Starts in the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup. Somewhere enclosed, undercover, the first place Hermione thought of.
Enjoy :)
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It only took Hermione a second to regain her composure, scrambling to her knees amongst the fallen autumn leaves, wand raised. The brightly lit glade assaulted her eyes. But she forced herself to squint, desperate to assess the situation, to check for danger.
Yaxley wasn’t with them. Thank Merlin! So she had shaken him off at Grimmauld Place. That was…good…in a sense. Even though the tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly, they were, after all, out of immediate danger, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. They wouldn’t be going back there today, tomorrow, maybe not ever. Grimmauld Place could hardly be described as home, but it had been a sanctuary, a safe place for the last few weeks. Now they were exposed, bare.
Harry was lying on his back nearby, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose, the other holding his glasses. He looked confused but he was moving so Hermione knew he was going to be ok. She frantically sought out Ron, her eyes landing on his figure lying motionless a bit further away.
Hermione momentarily froze, stuck on all fours, a rush of heat ran up her spine and fizzled at the back of her head as panic set in. The only movement was from her heaving chest as she took deep ragged breaths. She wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline, fear, or anticipation as she willed him to sit up but it felt like she couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t sit up. She watched horrified as a dark crimson bloom appeared on the borrowed shirt, the fabric soaking from beneath. It started at his upper left arm. Within seconds it seemed his whole left side was covered in red. Her heart lurched as he let out an agonised groan. It seemed to break the spell holding her in place, and she frantically jumped to her feet.
Hermione raced to Ron’s side and fell hard onto her knees beside him. There was so much blood, it was pouring out of him, the blue flannel turning a dark purple as it rapidly threaded the soft cotton. She wondered how long it would be until he had no more blood to bleed. She took in his pale complexion. He was as white as a ghost. His eyes screwed shut and his mouth opened in a silent scream of pain.
Hermione reached for the place where the bleeding had started and pulled at the fabric. The shirt tore easily like she was ripping a piece of ink-soaked parchment. She’d expected it to be more difficult to pull the material apart, her strength surprising her.
Harry had now realised something was wrong, very wrong. He crawled across the forest floor to join them. He watched as Hermione pulled back the cotton and revealed the damage to Ron’s arm. They both winced at the sight of the bloody mangled mess. To their absolute horror, Hermione and Harry realised there were huge chunks of Ron’s arm missing from shoulder to bicep. She felt nauseous looking at the exposed sinewy tissue that expelled more vital fluid with every pulse.
“What’s happened to him?” Harry asked nervously.
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Marking this to read part 2! So intrigued 🧐
Fic Title: Mine
Author Name: flaming-brown-witch
Selected Trope: Only One Bed, Soulmates
Brief Summary: Could it be that Ron was kept intentionally in the dark about Hermione snogging Krum? Gryffindor girls are Gryffindors for a reason, after all. Chapter ½
Word Count: 3266
Rating: T for strong language and frank discussions of below-the-belt action, but nothing explicit.
Any Trigger Warnings: Ron being a sexist dumb-dumb
“Dean and I did it!”
Having not expected such a shrill declaration to greet her upon leaving the library, Hermione nearly dropped her loaned copy of The Companion to the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6. She straightened up to find Ginny beaming at her.
“No!” gasped Hermione after fully processing her dear friend’s words. Although Ginny and Dean had only been dating for less than six months, their relationship had been moving at quite a rapid rate. Still, Hermione never would have expected this.
“Last night,” confirmed Ginny, her mug smug.
“Well?” Hermione demanded as the two set off towards the centre of the castle. “How was it?”
Ginny’s smile faltered. “Well, it hurt. It wasn’t that great actually. But Tonks said that the first time is always like that, remember?” She adjusted the straps on her book bag and bit her bottom lip in giddy anticipation. “We’re trying again after practice tonight.”
Hermione tried to morph her features into happiness for her friend, but she had a nagging feeling that Ginny was making a huge mistake. Firstly, fifteen hardly seemed old enough to be having sex. Hermione had certainly been ill-prepared to even have that conversation when she was dating Viktor. Secondly, Hermione had a strong suspicion that Ginny’s decision to lose her virginity had less to do with her boyfriend than with one of his roommates. As Hermione’s uni-aged cousin, Patricia, often says: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
Ginny could sense Hermione’s internal struggles for her smile faltered again. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
Hermione forced a smile and extended a comforting arm. “I’m happy as long as you’re happy. I’m just a bit surprised. I’d sort of always thought you’d save yourself for…”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Unlike you, Hermione, I don’t have patience for a boy who will never see me as the goddess that I am.” She punctuated her words with a dramatic sweep of her hand over her body before waving it dismissively. “Or whatever rubbish they’re peddling in Witch Weekly these days.“
Ginny stared ahead as they walked, her face serious. “I like Dean a lot. Way more than Michael. I might even love him.”
Hermione observed Ginny’s forced determination with a pang, even more certain of her suspicions. But it was Ginny’s life after all. Hermione could provide all the advice in the world, but Ginny was ultimately responsible for her decisions. The most Hermione could do was be supportive.
“Speaking of boys failing to see goddesses,” said Hermione, “you’d better be careful that Ron doesn’t find out.”
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I love when @voldemorts-tap-shoes writes DH Era Romione ❤ this was perfection!
One Bed
Fic Title: One Bed
Author Name: smjl/voldemorts-tap-shoes
Selected Trope: only one bed
Brief Summary: The horrors that the three of them—two of them more so than the other, though that’s neither here nor there at the moment—have faced so far on the horcrux hunt have been beyond Hermione’s wildest nightmares. The sight currently facing her is the worst yet.
One. Single. Bed.
Word Count: 2725
Rating: T
Any Trigger Warnings: none
***
The horrors that the three of them—two of them more so than the other, though that’s neither here nor there at the moment—have faced so far on the horcrux hunt have been beyond Hermione’s wildest nightmares. The sight currently facing her is the worst yet.
One. Single. Bed.
She’s only been in the loo for a few minutes. Just long enough to brush her teeth and change into pajamas. When she went in, there were three beds: a set of stacked bunks and a single, the same as they’ve had for months. Ron was outside, already on watch, and Harry was preparing to go out and relieve him. Already she was dreading the awkwardness of being alone in the tent with Ron. Not that he’s done hardly anything but look at her since he’s been back—damn him and that look, the look that says ‘I just poured my heart out to you in front of Harry and you haven’t even heard the half of it yet’—but one could cut the tension between them with a slicing charm.
And now this? Where are they supposed to sleep? Because that’s the only thing to do, really, since she’s certainly not ready to talk to him yet, and though she might be ready to do other things with him—in theory, anyway—her heart has put a firm Impedimenta on those thoughts too.
She finally notices Harry leaning against the kitchen island sipping on a mug of tea, his eyebrows raised in amusement over the rim of the cup. “What the hell is this?” Hermione demands, gesturing wildly at the space where their perfectly acceptable sleeping area used to be.
Harry continues to drink his tea with an infuriating degree of slowness, and Hermione thinks that she might just serve him up to Voldemort if he doesn’t explain himself soon. “This,” Harry says, setting the mug down with a dull thud, “is me getting the two of you to talk to each other.”
“You have no right to—”
“To what?” Harry interjects. “Make sure my best friends don’t kill each other? You haven’t left me much choice.”
Hermione stalks across the room, her hair crackling with fury. Harry circles the island, dodging her attempts to get her hands on him and wring his neck. “Harry James Potter, this is not funny!” she exclaims, finally surrendering to the fact that he’s faster than her. “You put it back right now!”
The tent flap rustles behind her, followed by Ron’s confused voice. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Hermione snaps without looking at him.
“Er…what happened to the bunks?”
“Nothing,” she says again, gritting her teeth as she fumbles for her wand.
Hexing Harry with it is tempting, but the more pressing matter is fixing the bed situation. Hermione brushes past Ron and points her wand at the offending furniture. “Finite.” Nothing happens. She takes a breath and tries again. “Finite incantatem.” Still nothing. She tries Geminio, Engorgio, everything she can think of, but the single tiny bunk remains resolutely unchanged, mocking her with its narrowness. She lets out a groan and turns back to Harry, ignoring Ron’s continued presence. “What did you do to this thing?”
Harry offers only a smirk in answer, clapping Ron on the shoulder as he passes him. “See you two in the morning.”
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So sweet! Absolutely love this trope ❤
Rouge Chapter 1: Queen-Sized Beds.
By hinnycanons
Trope: Only One Bed
Brief Summary: During a trip to Switzerland that Hermione Granger had planned thoroughly was going downward. Especially when she has to share a bed with her long-time crush, Ron Weasley.
Word Count: 2562
Rating: 13+
***
This trip couldn’t get any worse. Hermione had come on this trip with her friends and it was turning into a disaster. All of them had already booked their rooms and Hermione was the only one who hadn’t.
She was power walking, dragging her suitcase along the floor, trying her best to make it to the counter as quickly as she possibly could.
They were in Zurich, Switzerland, a place that they had wanted to go to for months and had been planning for as long. They had booked the tickets the moment they got the chance, but on different flights and Hermione had unfortunately been on a delayed one.
With Ron.
Once they found out that the train ride took ten hours, going on a plane was a no-brainer. Of course, some of them had never been on planes because they were used to Portkeys. Hermione had to repeatedly tell Ron that it was safe, but he was anxious the whole ride.
So now, they were both sprinting to the counter in Hotel Schweizerhof, in the hopes of finding a room with two queen-sized beds.
“Hermione don’t you think you should slow down a bit?” Ron said in a concerned tone.
“Nope,” she replied as she kept walking faster. “We’re already behind, I’m not wasting any more time.”
Once they reached the counter, they were completely out of breath, but there was no one sitting at the desk.
“Ugh, where are they?” Hermione groaned. She looked around but didn’t see a worker in sight.
“Just relax, we’re here now. Everyone’s still in their rooms,” Ron muttered to her. He always tried to calm her when she was in a spiral. His calming voice sounded in her ears and she tried to pay attention to it.
She sighed. “I know. We just need to get a room and then we’ll meet everyone there.”
Finally, a woman came up to the desk and seemed panicked. “So sorry about that, there was a problem on the third floor.”
Hermione, being more calm than before, smiled kindly at her. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
“We’re looking for two rooms. Or one room with two beds,” Ron told her. The woman then began doing something on the computer.
“Okay, we’re good, it’s all gonna be okay,” Hermione mumbled to herself and Ron smiled at her.
“So, all the other rooms are booked, and we only have one room,” the woman stated.
Hermione’s calm instantly went away. “Is there at least two beds?”
“I’m afraid there’s only one bed.”
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