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#Shell Cottage
captainsophiestark · 3 months
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Slow Dancing In A Burning Room
Bill Weasley x Reader
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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic every Friday, all year long :)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Bill Weasley and his new wife have their wedding reception interrupted by Death Eaters and news of the Ministry falling. Things look bleak when they escape to Shell Cottage, but they find a way to keep each other going.
Word Count: 1,015
Category: Angst, Fluff
Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.
Weddings were supposed to be happy. They were supposed to be joyful celebrations, with all the people who mattered most. Even in the midst of a brewing war, I thought Bill and I would get that. One night of a break before returning our attention to all the terrible things going on in the world.
I guess I should've known better.
One minute, I was twirling across the dancefloor in the arms of my new husband, sharing a smile as the rest of the world faded away. In that moment, despite everything going on outside of our wedding, the world felt perfect.
The next minute, a glowing lynx had burst through the ceiling and into the middle of the dancefloor, announcing the fall of the Ministry of Magic and the death of the Minister along with it. The reception descended into chaos, people screaming and running as the protective enchantments around the giant tent fell one by one. It had been absolute chaos, and I barley remembered Bill grabbing my hand and getting us both out of there as the Death Eaters arrived.
Now, I sat on the sofa in Shell Cottage, where we were supposed to start our honeymoon. The place had glowed with warmth and coziness the first time we'd visited, but now it seemed all too dark, cold, and deserted.
"I just let my dad know we're alright," Bill said, coming back into the living room. He'd stepped outside to send a Patronus to his dad, to make sure the family wouldn't worry about us. "Hopefully we'll hear back from him soon."
I nodded, a little numbly, as my new husband crossed the room and waved his wand to start a fire in the fireplace. Once he'd finished, he came to sit next to me on the couch. We both stayed there for a few long moments, shoulder to shoulder and staring into the flames. I have no idea how long we would've stayed there on our own, but another glowing Patronus shot into the room not much later, this one the familiar shape of a weasel.
Bill's dad's voice came from the Patronus to tell us the rest of the family was safe, and that they'd be in touch when they could. A bit of the weight lifted off my chest, but a lot of it still remained. As the light of the Patronus and Arthur's voice faded, the darkness crept back in, despite the fire.
"Y/N?" I looked up to see Bill's concerned face. "Love, you're crying."
I raised a hand to my cheek to find he was right. Tears were streaming down my face, and the second I was forced to recognize it, a dam broke inside me.
I fell forward into Bill's chest as I sobbed, and he wrapped his arms around me. He held me tight, rubbing one hand soothingly up and down my back.
"It's going to be alright," he muttered into my hair, his own voice miraculously calm. I just cried harder.
"How can you say that, Bill?" I wailed. "We almost got killed at our own wedding, and now the Ministry has completely fallen. How can you possibly say that we're going to make it through this alright?"
He took a deep, shaky breath, then gently pulled me back from him enough that he could look me in the eye. His eyes shone and his eyebrows were furrowed, mirroring the distress I felt. But there was a grim set to the line of his mouth that signaled a quiet, unbreakable determination.
"We will make it through this," he promised. He gripped my shoulders a little tighter, leaning in until we were almost nose to nose. "We will get to our happy ending, no matter what."
I laughed a little through the tears, Bill's absolute conviction so ridiculous it brought a smile to my face.
"How can you be so sure?" I asked. He grinned.
"Because it's us. We just got married. That means we're a team, for the rest of our lives, against anything else the world wants to throw at us. And I happen to know that we make a fantastic team. I personally pity anyone who bets against us."
I giggled again, leaning into Bill as he leaned into me. No one else in the world could've lifted my spirits in this moment, other than the man sitting beside me. Which, of course, was no small part of the reason I'd married him.
"Come on," Bill said after a minute, standing and holding out his hand to me. "I believe we were in the middle of something before those bastards crashed our wedding."
I shook my head, still smiling anyway as I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. Still in my wedding dress, and with Bill still in his suit, we came together in the middle of the living room in Shell Cottage to finish the slow dance that had been interrupted. His arms wrapped tightly around me and I rested my head on his chest while the last of the tears dried on my face.
"You're right," I mumbled, my voice barely loud enough for him to hear. "You're right, we will get through this. And I'll personally make sure anyone who tries to hurt us comes to regret it."
Bill huffed a laugh and tightened his arms around me.
"I have absolutely no doubts about that."
I pulled back to smile into the face of the man I loved, and after a moment, he leaned in and kissed me. We stayed like that for a long time, swaying in the middle of our living room, kissing occasionally, but mostly just enjoying the fact that we were still here, together and whole, after everything that had happened.
In the warm, flickering glow of the firelight, the darkness of the cottage started to regain its cozy feeling, and a tiny spark of joy for the thought of the future rekindled itself in my chest.
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Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989
Harry Potter Taglist: @valkyriepirate
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whinlatter · 11 months
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underrated hinny moments that make my heart hurt: shell cottage 🐚
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'They were all sitting in the living room when he entered the little hall, their attention focused upon Bill, who was talking. The room was light-coloured, pretty, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. Harry did not want to drop mud upon the carpet, so he stood in the doorway, listening...'
i just wanted to say a little bit about an underrated hinny moment from of my favourite chapters in deathly hallows, the wandmaker. i love this chapter (and the one after it, also at shell cottage) for so many reasons: the rich visual imagery of the survivors finding their way to the sea; the symbolism of harry preparing the grave by hand for dobby's burial, foreshadowing his own death '('deeper and deeper Harry sank into the grave...'); ron and dean silently joining harry in digging dobby's grave, three soldiers burying a comrade, and both dean and ron offering up items of clothes to dobby as a tribute for dobby's sacrifice... it's all just gorgeous.
but… the hinny moment tho. the hinny scene in this chapter is so tiny and quiet but it's also so sad and so good. ok let’s get into it.
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the chapter begins in the immediate aftermath of dobby's death. ginny hasn't been mentioned in the past seventy pages, since early january, with the trio's visit to the lovegood house (the group arrive at shell cottage in mid-march). the last time ginny was mentioned, harry was in devon, looking out to the burrow, realising how close they were to each other, thinking of her but being glad of her safety away from him. that day, he also saw her painted face alongside the others on luna's bedroom ceiling (friends.. friends... friends...) of course, it's at the lovegoods that harry learns the tale of the three brothers, and hears about the deathly hallows for the first time. this is a plot point that, with hindsight, we know foreshadows harry's mortal fate. (on ginny and the intertwined plotlines of hallows/horcruxes/harry's death, see here).
this chapter, then, begins with the little group, having just arrived, confronting terrible tragedy. the scene is reminiscent of the last time harry crash landed, panicking and grieving, in a place of safety: the burrow, after the seven plotters rescue, after hedwig’s death. of course, in that moment, harry is met by ginny: he wants to hold her and find comfort in her; ginny holds his hand and stays close. as we’ll see, there’s a trend in the later stages of the series: whenever harry is grieving, ginny is close by.
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harry’s not in devon, this time, but in the neighbouring county of cornwall (two parts of the U.K. with these important historic ties as the two counties out on england’s jagged south-westernly peninsula jutting into the same stretch of sea). as soon as the chapter opens, harry's mind makes a callback to the last time harry staggered from a loved one's body:
'It was like sinking into an old nightmare; for an instant Harry knelt again beside Dumbledore’s body at the foot of the tallest tower at Hogwarts, but in reality he was staring at a tiny body curled upon the grass, pierced by Bellatrix’s silver knife.'
of course, when dumbledore lay dead at the foot of the astronomy tower, it was ginny and ginny alone who was able to get through to harry, to reach him and guide him away. this time, things are different. harry has no comfort here, no ginny present to catch him and receive him in his immediate grief: he's distanced mentally from the others at shell cottage, both by the fact of his loss and by the thoughts of voldemort and his fate that plague him now:
'The sea was rushing against the rock somewhere nearby; Harry listened to it while the others talked, discussing matters in which he could take no interest, making decisions.'
once the grave is dug, the little group gather together to bury dobby. there's another callback to dumbledore's death here - this time, it's to the funeral:
'He forced himself not to break down as he remembered Dumbledore’s funeral, and the rows and rows of golden chairs, and the Minister of Magic in the front row, the recitation of Dumbledore’s achievements, the stateliness of the white marble tomb. He felt that Dobby deserved just as grand a funeral, and yet here the elf lay between bushes in a roughly dug hole.'
harry returns to the memory of the funeral to contrast dumbledore's grand send off with dobby's humble one. but also, on some level, he's mentally returning to moments that were defined both by loss but also by the presence of what was, by his own description, 'his greatest comfort'. last time he said goodbye to a loved one, ginny was at his side - until, of course, the funeral had ended, the goodbye had been said, and harry had acted on his decision to let ginny go and embrace the solitary path left for him ('I've got things to do alone now’).
harry, grieving dobby, turns to the same coping strategies as he showed at dumbledore's funeral. a death means distancing himself from others ('I've got things to do alone now'); it means forcing himself not to break down ('[he] could not bear to hear these things, nor did he think his resolution would hold if he remained sitting beside her'), and it means pushing aside thoughts of his own grief and concentrating on the task left to him ('Moving felt much more bearable than sitting still...').
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harry asks for the others for a moment alone, which they grant him. he then marks his friend's grave. the text is now heavy with foreshadowing. we are told, now, that harry has had a realisation as he dug the burial plot, though the details of this realisation is kept from the reader: we know it is somehow linked to the hallows and horcrux distinction. harry thinks about it now as he walks from the grave back to the house, hallows and horcruxes at the forefront of his mind.
'...his mind full of those things that had come to him in the grave, ideas that had taken shape in the darkness, ideas both fascinating and terrible...'
we will learn, in the next chapter, that the decision harry has made is not to race voldemort to the elder wand. he’s chosen to go after horcruxes, and not the hallows; not to become master of death, but to remain the chosen one. it’s such an important moment for harry: he’s choosing who he will be, setting things in motion, making a gamble that distinguishes himself both from voldemort and, he thinks, from dumbledore. he doesn’t know it yet, but this powerful - and shrewd - decision will cost him his life. and whenever harry takes a step closer to his own death...
cut to the next paragraph. immediately after this enormously significant line - of pivotal ideas taking shape in the darkness - we have this:
'They were all sitting in the living room when he entered the little hall, their attention focused upon Bill, who was talking. The room was light-coloured, pretty, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. Harry did not want to drop mud upon the carpet, so he stood in the doorway, listening.'
the setting here is important. it's domestic, homely, safe, similar to descriptions of the burrow, a kind of modest, warm, familial comfort. harry stands on the threshold of a room which is described as 'light-coloured' and 'pretty', with a bright fire lit. throughout the series, of course, signals for ginny throughout the text are always about light (especially natural light and sunlight), warmth and fire: obviously we have ginny's 'blazing look', but also her 'glowing like the setting sun' (CoS), her eyes 'reflecting the firelight' (OotP), her 'red hair flying like flames' (HBP), how looking at her is 'like gazing into a brilliant light' (DH). the mentioned prettiness of the room is also supposed to help usher in mention of a character that, in harry’s mind, is beautiful and lovely to behold. harry stands apart from the room and from the others: his fears about the mud are also supposed to reinforce how removed he is from the rest of the gathered group. still, these little descriptions give us little clues that a mention of ginny is coming.
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as bill addresses the people gathered in this firelit pretty little room, the part of his monologue that harry's ears prick to is the mention of ginny:
'... lucky that Ginny’s on holiday. If she’d been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she’s safe too.'
the mention of ginny here is significant for two reasons. first, news that ginny is safe is the first small piece of comfort harry gets after dobby dies. standing outside this warm, safe, sheltered little room, harry receives news that ginny is out of harm’s way, as are the other members of the weasley family, whom he loves. now both the reader and harry get this little bit of light in the darkness, confirmation that ginny is safe, but also allows her to resume her role in HBP, as some tiny comfort to harry in grief, even in absentia. (honestly i just love the image of harry in the doorway, grief-stricken, covered in mud, listening in the corridor to this one little tiny piece of good news about the girl he’s in love with).
secondly, though, i love how this brief mention allows ginny to enter the narrative of these scenes that are, at its core, about harry’s ultimate destiny in the voldemort/chosen one/horcrux v hallows arc. even when not physically present, ginny stands in as this one flickering little warm light - a little fire, burning still - that anchors harry even when he is making these huge choices that will take him into such deep forms of magic and down so solitary a path where no other character can really reach him. it deepens this connection in the reader’s mind between ginny and harry’s fate in ways that makes him thinking of her as he dies make such deep sense. ginny isn’t a subplot extraneous to the chosen one plot: she’s bound up in it, in this rich, complicated, sad way, not as someone who save this character from his fate, but is essential to sending him off at peace with it. so often when harry is closing in on the truth about the horcruxes and hallows, mentions of ginny are close by (see the kiss meta above). ginny is that important.
'[Bill] looked around and saw Harry standing there. “I’ve been getting them all out of the Burrow,” he explained. “Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eaters know Ron’s with you now, they’re bound to target the family—don’t apologise,” he added at the sight of Harry’s expression. “It was always a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood traitor family there is.” “How are they protected?” asked Harry.'
obviously, harry is harry-ing here - he wants to apologise for the risk and danger posed to the weasleys (especially because the reason for the trio's capture was his fault), and he demands information about how ginny and the rest of the weasleys will be kept safe going forward. he knows ginny is safe: he wants to make sure she stays that way.
what's also significant about this moment, though, is that it reinforces this dynamic that runs throughout DH as a book, which is that at all times the reader knows exactly where ginny is. ginny spends the majority book off stage, yet we're told when she's on the train to hogwarts, when she's back home for christmas, when she’s back for easter and moves to muriel's etc. when harry doesn't know where ginny is, during the battle - when she leaves the room of requirement at his instruction but then appears to vanish - it’s therefore deployed to detonate a deep sense of panic, where we see harry confront the worst possible reality, one he is unable to even bring himself to process, the prospect of ginny’s death ('and he wanted to find the other Weasleys, and above all make sure, make quite sure, that Ginny was not—but he could not permit that idea to form in his mind—'). when harry eventually goes to his death in the forest - the ultimate thing he will have to grieve: his own life — of course, it's ginny he comes across in the grounds, waiting to give him comfort one last time, to send him on his way. (see the forest meta again for a more thorough explanation of this).
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after this short conversation with bill, harry cleans himself of the dirt and mud of the grave at the kitchen sink. it seems so trivial but i'm just obsessed with the extremely slow pace of this scene. the tempo is so unusual for the series, and there's this extremely compelling domesticity to it, which continues this ongoing association with ginny and the burrow in the reader's mind. harry slowly and methodically washes and dries his hands as he thinks, again, of dumbledore and the hallows, in this setting that feels like the end of the earth:
'Dawn was breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold, as he washed, again following the train of thought that had come to him in the dark garden . . . Harry dried his hands, impervious to the beauty of the scene outside the window and to the murmuring of the others in the sitting room. He looked out over the ocean and felt closer, this dawn, than ever before, closer to the heart of it all.'
in the rest of the chapter, of course, harry will make some of the most important choices he’ll ever make. he'll choose to talk first to griphook over ollivander, a choice he recognises as making the ultimate decision to hunt horcruxes over hallows. the conversations with these characters will each inch him closer to the end of his quest, and of his life. and he’ll think about who he is — who dumbledore understood him to be — and throw back veils of understanding to see himself most clearly for the first time, the most significant epiphany scene bar the later discovery of his own death in dumbledore’s office.
'You gave Ron the Deluminator . . . You understood him. . . . You gave him a way back . . . And you understood Wormtail too. . . . You knew there was a bit of regret there, somewhere. . . . And if you knew them . . . What did you know about me, Dumbledore?'
i really love these lines on their own terms, but i just think this chapter, and harry’s time at shell cottage, are some of the most significant statements of harry’s essence as a character we get in the whole series. we’re seeing who harry has become and all that dumbledore knew that he was: the core elements of harry, the cumulative weight of the preceding years on his shoulders, and the person made and moulded by everything he has been through up to this point. he's seeing clearly now. in his grief over dobby, he finally masters the connection with his mind and voldemort’s, using his grief and his love as a barrier, and chooses who he will be.
so i just think it means so much that ginny is brought, quietly, into the frame at this extremely pivotal point. she’s a little driftwood fire in a warm little family home by the sea, a brief moment of pause and safety and sanctuary, before the end; not holding harry back from his fate, but giving him some strength, some comfort, as he embraces it.
(ps: the next time ginny is mentioned, in the next chapter, shell cottage, it happens during this sweet little dinnertime scene by the fireplace, with romantic undertones with fleur worrying about bill in his absence, right before remus bursts in to announce that his own wife has just given birth to their son, with harry surrounded by all this talk of little families... ok i'll stop i'll stop but honestly):
A strong wind gusted against the cottage windows as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and with barely enough room to move, they started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them. Fleur, Harry noticed, was merely playing with her food; she glanced at the window every few minutes; however, Bill returned before they had finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind. "Everything's fine," he told Fleur. "Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny sends you all her love...'
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uncannycerulean · 6 months
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Day 13: Shell cottage for the prompt "Rise"
I drew this with sort of overlapping memories of both @mallstars "Cut from the Sky" in mind as well as patriceavril's "August sipped away like a bottle of wine" so this whole drawing feels very bittersweet. (You should read both of these fics)
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voldemorts-tap-shoes · 10 months
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For era #2 (1989/evermore) of @cruelsummer-ficfest 💕
✨ Gold Rush ✨
My mind turns your life into folklore
I can't dare to dream about you anymore
~
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Anything you want.”
“You say that every day.”
“It’s true every day. I’m all yours. So what’s on the agenda?”
“You and Lavender.”
“Ugh. Pass.”
“Ron.”
“Why don’t I just throw myself off a bluff into the ocean instead?”
“Ron.”
“Okay, okay. What about me and Lavender?”
“Well, I suppose it’s more so about me and Lavender…”
“Were you snogging her, too?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake. I’m going to push you off a bluff into the ocean.”
“Honestly, Hermione, out with it, then. What about me and you and Lavender?”
“I never apologized to you.”
“You did, actually, about a hundred times.”
“For the birds, yes. Not for the rest of it.”
“I think the rest of it was more my doing, so…”
“I should’ve been more clear about my intentions for Slughorn’s Christmas party. And about my feelings for you in general.”
“You really don’t have to apologize for that.”
“I do. You’ve said plenty of sorry’s over the past few weeks, and I owe you some, too. Maybe if I had told you how I felt last year, we wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”
“If you’d told me how you felt, I probably would have snogged you right there in the greenhouse, and we’d have both wound up in detention. Besides, you could say that about a lot of things in the past year—hell, the past few years—but that doesn’t make it your fault that we missed out on that time.”
“I should’ve fought for you.”
“Fought for me? You make it sound like I’m the last of Mum’s Christmas biscuits around nine hungry Weasleys.”
“Well, that’s sort of how it felt last year, with everybody wondering what it would be like to love you.”
“Who’s everybody?”
“Okay, maybe not everyone. But Lavender and I, obviously. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones both thought you were quite fit. And I do believe Anthony Goldstein would have been interested if you were so inclined.”
“Huh. Always wondered why he wanted my help with homework instead of yours. Suppose Wingardium Leviosa wasn’t the only one of my charms that caught his eye.”
“You are so lame. Why do I love you, again?”
“You just said it, I’m good with my wand.”
“Anyway…I didn’t like the Ron Weasley gold rush that seemed to be taking place. Selfishly, I hated the idea that I was going to have to compete for your attention.”
“You had it already, you know.”
“Until I didn’t. I didn’t make it clear that my hat was in the ring, and when Lavender kissed you, I folded. You had every right to carry on with her, even though I hated every second of it. I always wondered what it must be like to grow up that beautiful, and then she had you, too…”
“Hermione—”
“I was jealous, and I acted foolishly, and I took you for granted. You had to nearly die for me to see how horrible I was to you. So I’m sorry.”
“Apology still not necessary, but accepted.”
“Thank you.”
“For what it’s worth? You wouldn’t have had to fight that hard, if you had. It’s always been you. No contest.”
“For me, too. No contest.”
“But…do you ever think maybe it’s a good thing I had that little detour with Lavender?”
“You know, the wind really is quite strong out here on the coast. I could make your death look like an accident.”
“I’m serious. We don’t know what would have happened if you and I got together sooner. I do know we’re here now. I wouldn’t trade the path we took, because I wouldn’t want to end up somewhere else.”
“That’s actually very sweet.”
“Always the—”
“—tone of surprise, yes, yes, I know. I should stop being surprised by you by now, but it keeps things exciting, doesn’t it?”
“Good save.”
“Speaking of surprises, do you think Harry realizes anything has changed between us?”
“Hermione, the man has got more important things to think about than if you and I have finally got our heads out of our arses. We’re trying to save the world here.”
“So definitely yes?”
“Definitely yes.”
“I suppose it’s not exactly subtle that you’ve been sleeping in my room every night.”
“We don’t sleep every night…”
“That’s beside the point.”
“I think that’s exactly the point, and—are you blushing?”
“We should get back, Fleur will have dinner on soon.”
“I can’t believe you’re blushing. Especially after last night…”
“Ronald!”
“Wow, two weeks together, and you’re already embarrassed of our relationship. That cliff is looking better and better every minute.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you love me.”
“Alas. Yes, I do. And you love me.”
“Yep. I reckon you’re stuck with me now.”
~
And the coastal town
We wandered 'round had never
Seen a love as pure as it
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domhnallgleesonhaven · 4 months
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Bill 🪄
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For the “I still prompts”,
I have two prompts that really stood out for me:
7. I still can’t get you out of my mind even though I’m probably long gone from yours
9. I still have our inside jokes kept somewhere in the back of my mind
For Romione (unless you want a different pairing) because angst is just so perfect 🥺😇
Thank you
Hello my dear 😊 Wow I have to admit that was really tough. I knew what I wanted to write but it took me ages to find the right words. I’m still not entirely convinced of it. But I hope you enjoy the angst I came up with 💔
So this is my take of @dumplingsjinson’s prompt list
I still can’t get you out of my mind even though I’m probably long gone from yours.
and
I still have our inside jokes kept somewhere in the back of my mind.
Continue reading below or over on AO3. Don’t forget to comment 😉
Vigil
Rain hammered against the thin window panes of the small cottage as he entered the small bedroom. He could hear seagulls laughing outside, likely on important hunting missions. Despite the haunting tragedy, the room, adorned with light green walls, emitted a strangely comforting atmosphere. He took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his tired face, as he approached her bed, the worn floorboards creaking beneath his weight.
Fleur had left a few moments ago, having tended to Hermione’s injuries with all of her might.
They could do nothing but wait now, hoping she’d wake on her own. Ron slowly sank into the chair beside her bed. He longed to hold her hand, but her bruised body made him hesitate, afraid he might cause her more pain if he touched her. Fleur had left the blanket around her hips so her upper body was only covered with a thin pale blue nightgown that subtly exposed part of her shoulders. He eventually found the courage to reach out and touch her forearm briefly to check her temperature, immediately noting the coldness as well as the blue and purple hues and the numerous cuts caused by the shattered chandelier. Though somewhat healed by dittany, the cuts were still visible. Carefully he dragged the blanket up and covered her chest with the white cotton before casting a warming charm over her body. Sitting down again he gazed at her still form, her unconsciousness weighing heavily on him.
He leaned in closer, speaking with a trembling voice, “Hermione, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m here.”
His hand hovered uncertainly over hers before finding a resting place on the edge of the bed. The rhythmic drumming of the rain persisted, creating a somber background music. He traced the outline of Hermione’s hand with his fingertips, his eyes fixed on her face as if searching for the slightest twitch or response.
“We need you, Hermione. I need you. Wake up, please.”
Ron sat motionless, his gaze fixed on her pale form, as if his sheer will could coax her back to consciousness.
“I’m terrified, Hermione.” He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. “You need to keep on fighting, alright?”
The sight of her broken body was so gut-wrenching, he could barely look at her. Her face was swollen, and her skin was either white as a sheet or marked with unsettling blue and purple patterns. Ron sat in the light of the only lamp still lighting the room. He shivered, longing for a roaring fire, just like the one in the Gryffindor common room.
“I have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to carry on if you don’t...” His voice cracked, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to rein in the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Finally, he mustered the courage to take her cold hand in his, gently brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
“It’s as if life has stopped, Hermione. Fleur suggested talking to you, touching you, letting you know I’m here. So I keep talking. She mentioned your subconscious might hear, that familiar voices could soothe your heartbeat and activate your brain. It feels weird, to be honest. I don’t know what I’m doing, I feel so helpless.”
As he spoke, he noticed a subtle flicker of her eyelids. Hope surged within him, and he tightened his grip on her hand, desperately wanting to believe that his touch and his words encouraged her.
“I have never told you how much you mean to me. I don’t really understand how it’s possible to care for someone so bloody much. It frightens me a little.”
As he poured his feelings into the quiet room, Hermione's body remained still, yet he unmistakably noticed another flutter of her eyelids. Another spark of hope flickered within him, prompting him to continue.
“Listen, Hermione, when you wake up, don’t let yourself get discouraged by what you see or feel. It’s going to be tough, and you’ll likely be frustrated when you realise how weak you’ll be at first. But I want you to know, I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’m never gonna leave you again.”
Their relationship situation, still tense due to his leaving, slowly crept back into his mind. He had been so soaked up in his fear for her that he had almost forgotten that they were still somehow on bad terms. What if her brain was damaged? The thought made him dizzy and he felt his insides twist, slightly scared that the insides of his stomach might make an unexpected reappearance.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione," he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to protect you. But that will change now, I promise.” Sniffling loudly, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted, his voice shaky. “I’m terrified that you’ll never know how much you mean to me.”
Glancing at her ghostly pale face, he wondered if she might have truly heard his confession and searched for any sign that she had. Yet, her expression remained frozen. Standing up, he gently traced his fingers along her cold cheek.
“Can you hear me, Hermione? I love you and I need you. I need you so much.” He whispered, attempting not to break down. However, he lost the battle almost immediately after that thought. Despite his emotional struggle, he found reassurance in the regular rise and fall of her chest, revealing that her heart was beating and she was breathing.
“You were amazing. I���m so proud of you.” He sucked in a deep breath of air so he could keep talking. “I can’t believe this happened. It still doesn’t feel real. There wouldn’t be a reason to live if I lost you. I need you. Do you understand? You need to wake up now.”
He continued to caress her cheek and hold her hand, his gaze fixed on her face, searching for any sign of response. The room remained silent except for the distant cries of the seagulls that could still be heard from outside. After a moment there was a subtle twitch in Hermione’s fingers. Ron’s heart skipped a beat as he held his breath, hoping it wasn't just his imagination.
“You can hear me, right? It’s time to wake up now, Hermione. I need to know whether you’re still in there. You’re still in there, aren’t you?“
He choked out a sob as he sat down again.
“Do you remember our dance at the wedding? I can see it right in front of me. You were so beautiful. I still can’t get you out of my mind, Hermione, even though I’m probably long gone from yours,” Ron confessed, his voice breaking.
“Do you remember last summer when we escaped mum and hid in the tree house talking all morning? I still have our inside jokes kept somewhere in the back of my mind. You were so cute. I can still hear your laughter very clearly,” he admitted, while his tears continued to fall freely.
“You do remember, don’t you? You have to remember. Please, Hermione, please wake up.”
The weight of the moment overwhelmed him completely, and he broke down into desperate sobs, his emotions pouring out unrestrained. He clung to the memories of their life, and sobbed even more when he realised that the thoughts weren’t able to distract him from his fear at all, but instead made it even worse. The rain continued to pound heavily against the windows. The feeling of panic and powerlessness overwhelmed him, and he felt like he needed to throw up. Struggling for air, he lowered his head to his arms, which lay on the bed beside her.
“Ron?” A soft voice and a hand on his shoulder startled him, and he turned around to see Bill standing behind him. “I’m sorry but...well...it’s been a long day. I want you to get some rest.”
Ron sat up and struggled to get his breathing back to normal.
“I’m sorry for interrupting.” Bill apologised and dug into his pocket to offer him a handkerchief. Accepting it, Ron blushed, unsure of how much his brother had overheard. Sensing Ron’s discomfort, Bill reassured him, saying, “No need to be embarrassed.”
“What if she doesn’t wake up? What if the pain was too much? What if it damaged her brain? What if she’s gone, Bill? I can’t live without her.”
“Give her time, Ron.” Bill gently squeezed his brother’s shoulder, as Ron sniffed noisily and wiped his tears away with his sleeve.
“Look at her. She’s a fighter. Considering how she was earlier, she’s doing remarkably well. She’s breathing, her pulse is strong - those are good signs. We just need to stay hopeful and be patient.”
“What if she doesn’t wake up?” He repeated. “What if she’s gone? I can’t...I...I don’t know if...” He choked on his words. “Bill, I can’t live without her.”
“You should try to get some sleep, mate. Save your strength.”
Bill put his hands on both of his shoulders and squeezed them again encouragingly. Outside, the raindrops continued to tap gently against the windows.
“Come on. Fleur has prepared the bed in the other guest room.”
Ron couldn’t believe his ears. He had just saved the unconscious girl beside him from the most evil wizards known to mankind, and now he wasn’t even allowed to stay by her side.
“No! I need to be here when she wakes up.”
“I’m gonna stay with her and watch her for you.”
“No, I’m not leaving this room.”
Bill hesitated, a sense of understanding softening the lines on his face. “I get it, Ron, really. But you’ve been through hell, too. I’ll stay with her, you have my word. I’m not gonna leave the room,” he assured. “I’m worried about you as well. Let Fleur check your injuries. Your eye is quite swollen, and there’s a cut on your bottom lip. I don’t think you’ve noticed. And I want you to wash up and change. There’s blood on your jacket.”
Ron absentmindedly attempted to open and close his right eye, realising it wouldn’t fully cooperate. Rubbing his chapped lips together, he suddenly felt a subtle throb in his underlip and could smell blood on his tongue. Slowly it dawned him that the adrenaline had temporarily served as a strong painkiller. But leaving her side, even for a minute to get his injuries looked at, wasn’t an option at all. So he looked at Bill with tears in his eyes, his voice breaking, “I can't leave her, Bill. I need to stay here. Please, you have to understand.”
Taking a deep breath, Bill nodded, and answered, “Fine, but will you please try to sleep?” He gestured to the armchair in the corner and dug into his back pocket to pull out a vial of dreamless sleep potion.
Ron vehemently shook his head, feeling anger rising up. “No fucking way!”
“Ron, you’re exhausted. You won’t be any good to her like this. You need to rest.”
“No! She’s probably gonna be scared, confused and disoriented when she wakes up. She’s gonna need someone to calm her.”
“Ron, we’re all here in case she wakes up. Don’t you get it? It’s important for both of you that you take care of yourself and get some rest now as she’s still asleep.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
The frustration grew evident on Bill’s face. “You’re being stubborn like a small child, mate. This isn’t helping anyone.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“You can stay here in this room. That’s not leaving. But I want you to drink this so you can get some sleep and get your strength back.”
“If I’m taking this shit, I will be knocked out for hours. That’s just as bad as leaving her.” Ron insisted, his voice tense.
Bill’s expression softened a bit, “Ron, you won’t be of much help to her if you collapse from exhaustion. Take a break while she’s asleep. You’ll be in a better position to look after her once she wakes up.”
Deep down, Ron wrestled with the conflicting emotions of wanting to keep vigil by Hermione’s side and the realisation that his fatigue might compromise his ability to care for her.
“I can try to catch some bloody sleep here right beside her bed, if you insist, but I’m not gonna touch that shit.” He snapped, gesturing to the threatening vial that Bill still held in his hand.
“Fine, call us if you need anything.”
Bill squeezed his shoulder again before silently waving his wand to close the curtains, leaving the room in subdued shadows.
After the door closed softly, Ron finally gave in, folding his arms and lying his head on his arms on the bed beside her. He attempted to distract himself with memories from the past. The image of her twirling in her gorgeous dress, smiling and looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, immediately filled his mind. The persistent rain against the windows provided a rhythm as soothing as a lullaby, and sleep claimed him gently.
After a while, he stirred, feeling a gentle touch on his head. Briefly, he thought he was dreaming, but then he felt it again. And then, a moment later, he heard it - a soft, hoarse voice whispering his name, gently pulling him back to the present.
“Ron.”
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gravelyordinary · 4 months
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moodboard for a lunarry fic i'm currently writing that's based off of the song 'Forget Her' by Jeff Buckley
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babsi-and-stella · 1 month
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Marianne Faithfull photographed by Ken Goff at her house, Shell Cottage, in Ireland, 1994.
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easterbonnet · 6 months
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Collecting Shells With Luna
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adenei · 10 months
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Babe
Second Submission for Era 3 of @cruelsummer-ficfest
Ship: Romione
Song: Babe (Red)
Read on Ao3
How to make a break-up song about cheating into a fic that's not even remotely about that? Challenge accepted.
Big mistake, you broke the sweetest promise that you never should have made.
He couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t protect her. 
He promised. And yet there she was, lifeless in his arms as he ran across the sand toward the cottage, desperate to help her. Desperate to save her. 
She can’t be dead. Please don’t let her be dead. Please.
Ron watches in the doorway of the small guest bedroom as Fleur performs diagnostic spells over Hermione’s body. Tremors cause her limp form to shake uncontrollably every now and then. It’s the only sign that she’s alive. 
Fleur gives nothing away as she continues to work. Bill’s eyes only knit with growing concern. At one point, Ron is vaguely aware of Fleur leaning over and whispering something to Bill. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Hermione. Not for one second. Because he’s afraid that if he does, the small yet rhythmic rise and fall of her chest will cease, and then he’ll never be able to forgive himself.
Then, Bill is by his side, gesturing to the hall behind him. 
No. He can’t leave her. He won’t leave her. He begs his older brother to let him stay. Yet, somehow, he’s being ushered down the stairs to wait. 
I’m here on the kitchen floor, you call but I won’t hear it.
“Ron. Ron!” Bill calls to him as he cradles his head in his hands, rocking back and forth, unable to get the sound of her screams out of his mind.
This is why he needs to be with her. Only the sight of her will calm the chaos in his head; only her touch can prevent him from reliving the scene over and over and over again.
“Ron,” Bill says again, now crouching down in front of him. 
The third time his name sounds, he snaps to attention. “What’s wrong? Is Hermione okay? Bill, tell me she’s okay. I can’t lose her. I can’t—”
Bill’s hands on his shoulders stop him. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you she’s fine, but she’s alive. Fleur thinks you got her here just in time. She’s done everything she can to combat the pain and the internal injuries, but we won’t know if her mind is still intact until she wakes up.”
“Fuck.” Ron presses the heel of his palms against his eyes, forcing the unshed tears to stay put.
He knows what the Cruciatus is capable of. He remembers seeing Neville’s parents. Pure, unadulterated terror sweeps through him, paralyzing his limbs and his thoughts as the thought of life without her takes hold.
No, he can’t think like that.
“You can go see her now if you want. She’s resting.”
Ron nods, his body feels like jelly as he tries to stand.
“Maybe you should—”
“No.” He needs to be with her.
You really blew this. We ain’t gettin’ through this one.
Twenty four hours pass and Hermione still hasn’t woken. Ron remains at her bedside, leaving only when absolutely necessary. He holds her hand, rests his head against her arm and runs through countless scenarios of how things could have been different.
If only he’d tried harder to stop Harry from saying the name. What if Bellatrix had taken him instead? How could they have concealed the sword better? The questions never end.
He pays little attention to the people who come in and out, checking on Hermione, asking him how he’s doing, bringing him something to eat. 
Until Luna brings in another meal he’ll barely touch.
When she’s on her way out the door, she turns back and offers a suggestion. “Have you tried talking to her?” Ron looks up at her, eyes blank as he shakes his head.
“It might help.” With a smile and a shrug, Luna bounces out of the room on her tiptoes.
It takes Ron a while to try Luna’s idea. He doesn’t know where to begin as the words continuously play on repeat in his mind. Finally, he’s able to stop them for a moment, if only to verbalize an apology.
“I’m so sorry,” he croaks out. “I couldn’t stop her from hurting you. I couldn’t get out of that damn cellar. I tried, Hermione. Believe me, I tried.”
He looks down at his hands, still raw, but scabbing over from clawing and punching at the wall. Reminders of how desperate he was to try and break free.
[His] lips on your neck, I can’t unsee it.
“Th-thank Merlin for Dobby. I don’t know how the elf knew, but he saved us. He saved all of us. But I’m so scared I got to you too late. Fleur says you’ll be okay, but she didn’t see you lying there. She didn’t see Greyback’s eyes when he looked at you. Fuck, no, I can’t unsee it. I can’t stop thinking about what he was going to do to you. Please, Hermione, please be okay. I can’t do this without you.”
He leans over and kisses her hand before squeezing it with his own. 
“Please,” he whispers. “There’s so much more I want to say to you, but I want you to be awake. I need you to be awake.” 
Ron looks at her face, and still nothing, though he’s not surprised. He’s ready to give up and call Luna’s plan mental, but then he decides to try one more time. Part of him knows it’s no use, so he takes a chance to say something he’s nowhere near ready to say to her face. Not until he knows she feels the same way.
“I—I always used to think it was gross when Mum and Dad would call each other by these ridiculous pet names. It was even so weird when I’d hear Fleur call Bill ‘darling.’ Not—not because I was jealous or anything. I wasn’t! But now, now I get it. And I just—I want that for us. Like babe or something, you know? Not that it—it doesn’t have to be that, but…nevermind. It’s not like you can hear me anyway. What a stupid idea.”
As he rambles, he stares at her hand, embarrassed for even saying it all out loud. He should have silenced the room first. He’ll never hear the end of it if someone overheard as they walked by.
Slumping back in the chair, Ron covers his face with his hands. He refuses to believe he’s losing her, but at the same time he can’t help but feel as though she’s slipping through his fingers. But then he hears the softest moan come from her bed. His head snaps up as his hands grasp the arms of the wooden chair, catching his weight before he falls over from the whiplash.
Her eyes flutter open as she grimaces in pain. It’s a fucking miracle.
“R-Ron?” Her voice is hoarse and  breathy, but he’s sure he hears it.
“I’m here. I’m right here.” His hands find hers. “We made it. We’re safe.”
“Where are we?” Each word is labored but she pushes through it anyway.
“Shell Cottage. Bill and Fleur’s place.”
“How…?”
Ron recounts the entire tale and Hermione listens with rapt attention. When he gets to the end, he pauses. His mind is once again fresh with the shrieks and cackles of Bellatrix as Hermione screams in pain.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
What about your promises, promises, promises, no.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is! I—I made a promise.”
Hermione’s face scrunches in confusion. “To who?”
“To you. Well, to me. I swore I’d do whatever it took to protect you and—and I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you from her and now you’re here.”
“Yes. I’m here. Ron, I should be dead. Worse, maybe because of Greyback.” She shakes her head. “But you saved me. You could have left me in the wreckage of that chandelier but you refused to leave without me.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Stop. Please,” she begs. “I know you’re trying to make up for—for leaving. Don’t. We’re past that. You’re here now. That’s what matters. You’re what matters.”
His eyes meet hers and both plead the other to understand. Ron feels as though he’s about to burst. They’ve had so many second chances over the years and with the war at its height, he can’t risk silence any longer. 
“Hermione, I—”
Though it looks as though it takes all her energy, she lifts her hand to touch his face. Tears are in her eyes when she cuts him off. “I know. Me too.”
Ron turns his head, nuzzling into her hand and kisses her palm before he loses his nerve. If she won’t let him tell her how he feels, he can at least try to show her. Though he doesn’t want to leave her, he promised Bill and Fleur he’d tell them as soon as she woke up.
“I should get Fleur so she can see how you’re doing.” He stands reluctantly and heads for the door.
But Hermione stops him before he leaves. “Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“I, um, I don’t mind ‘babe.’” Her cheeks are bright red as she tries to hide a tiny smile by tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Oh. Uh, noted.”
He scrambles out the door as his own face burns and his ears have no doubt turned pink. He hadn’t realized—he thought she’d been asleep. She hadn’t shown any signs of stirring. But maybe it was better now that that was in the open. Maybe she truly does understand how he feels now.
And he hopes upon hope that the end is near, that they can finally be free and happy, and that this is one of the last times the war will risk their lives.
So they can be happy. So they can finally have the chance to call each other ‘babe.’
This is the last time, this is the last time.
a/n: I'm still not over using 'babe' as a pet name for these two.
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delumineight · 5 months
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die yours
so remember when i told you all i love shell cottage? yeah well here’s my second published fic about it. i tried to stay realistic and close to canon with it.
RATED T, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, (brief, i mean very brief) MENTIONS OF RAPE/NON-CON
— summary :
Love may not have even been the word. It was so commonly used, but she felt as if what she had with Ron was something new. Something exclusive to them that nobody else had ever felt before, something deeper and more important.
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enigmaticemperor · 1 year
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#21 You stole my heart but I’ll let you keep it
I've always been a sucker for Hinny writing letters during the war, just never to send them.
Written for @hinnyfest
Dear Gin, 
I don’t know how to start this, and I know I don’t have the right, but I wish you were here. We have figured out the last piece of the puzzle, which is the mission Dumbledore left us, and it will all come to an end very soon. And I don’t believe it will end favourably for me, whatever the outcome.
I want you to know the days we spent together were some of the best of my life. It was like living someone else’s life. And I don’t mean just the blissful days after the Quidditch final. You talked to me about Sirius and helped me grieve the summer after the fifth. We would just sit together under our tree and talk about the Quidditch season, our quidditch games and everything else. I don’t remember a time when I laughed more than when you did that impression of Snape. And Trelawney. And Umbridge.
I remember brushing the hair out of my eyes and being awestruck at how your hair would shine a fiery red, orange, brown and gold all at the same in the sunlight. How your beautiful chocolate brown eyes would twinkle in mirth, and the corners of your lips would turn up ever so slightly. How your laugh would sound like nectar to my ears. 
I even remember how you kicked some sense into me when I was brooding and how you helped me talk to Sirius under Umbridge’s nose. I should’ve known it right there when you handed me that Easter egg. We could’ve had much more time together. Months, years, maybe. What I’m trying to say is that you stole my heart, Gin, but I’ll let you keep it.
 I hope you’ll find happiness and someone who treats you the way you deserve.
Yours, 
Harry.
PS: I’m so proud of you for trying to steal the Gryffindor’s sword and restarting the DA, but I really hope you wouldn’t put yourself in danger like that.
Harry smoothed his hand over the letter, reading it one more time, hoping that Ginny was alright at Muriel’s. He placed it in his mokeskin purse, safe in the knowledge that it would never reach her.
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The wind is biting my skin, yet it is burning with the trace of your last kiss.
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nena-96 · 8 months
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Back To December
@cruelsummer-ficfest Pairing- Romione Era #5 Speak Now
Hey, I meant to submit this earlier but life got a bit busy, but I managed to get this done. BTW this fic is about Ron at Shell Cottage, so I hope you like it!
A03
Turning the dial on the small radio, Ron tries to focus on the static noise rather than the coldness he feels in his heart. Truthfully, no matter how many times that Bill and Fleur offer him something to eat, he always thinks of Hermione, and Harry, but mostly in her. The mere thought of her searching for mushrooms and berries while Fleur practically forces him to eat at least one-fourth of a serving of warm soup, always gets him sick to his stomach. Which is why he’s toying with the radio, rather than going for breakfast. The rumbling in his stomach is gong louder each moment that passes, yet he ignores the sounds and focuses his attention on the radio.
Running a hand through his auburn hair as he turns one more dial and listens as the crackling of the station begins to mix with a a booming voice. Ron brings the radio closer to his chest as he closes his eyes and waits to hear the woman's voice again. After a few minutes of silence, and a bit more of tuning, the radio begins to work almost effortlessly. Which is strange since last night he tuned the radio to the exact same station and didn’t hear anything. Now the room is filled with the sound of a woman reporting about the violation of the rights of-
 “Ron”
The familiar sound made him jump and the radio fell from his hands and landed with a thud on the floor. That beautiful voice isn’t from that reporter at all, because that voice belongs to a girl that he’s known practically his entire life. A soft whisper brings his mind back to the dance he shared with her during his brother’s wedding. The way she laid her head on the crook of his neck as she whispered his name in the softest way imaginable. As her lips teased the pulse point on his neck, he didn't have to see her face to know the sweet smile gracing her face. That moment Ron knew he’d do everything in his power to take Hermione out to dance again if it meant having her this close to him.   
“Ron”   
Looking around, as his heart started to beat wildly, the soft whisper of his name sent a shiver throughout his body. Trying to calm his breathing down, in hopes to hear Hermione’s voice again. After a few minutes of torturous silence in the room, it seemed like the world was playing a cruel joke on him.  There was no way that he heard his name being called. Especially since the last time he heard her voice it was during the pouring rain, before he disapparated. That was the last time that he saw her, the tears that were pouring down her face. The image still burns in the back of his mind, there was not a single day that passed by in which he didn’t torture himself with hearing the way Hermione shouted for him to not leave them, to not leave everything that they built together.
“Ron” The soft whisper echoed in the room, yet this time it was no mistaking where it came from, the deluminator. Could it be his way back to her? Is this the chance he’s been waiting for ever since his departure. 
“Hermione?”, Ron whispered as tears welled in his eyes, this is it, he’s going back to her. He can’t change the fact that he left that night but he will be damn sure to make things right and never leave her again. Quickly picking up the radio and stuffing it inside his bag, hoping it won’t fall out. Since it’s overflowing with food and other basic necessities that he managed to pack a few days ago, in hopes that he can find his friends and give it to them. After effectively closing the bag, he realizes that he should leave a note for Bill and Fleur, except he doesn't have any parchment with him and he wasn;t going to waste anymore time searching for it. Who knows if he’d be able to get another chance like this again. Hopefully his brother and sister-in-law will understand, and not worry too much. 
Ron slings the bag over his shoulders as he clutches onto the deluminator in his hand as it begins to shake, sending a vibration through him. As he glances down and brings his thumb over the top and pressed down on the top, creating a soft “click”. Instead of the room being engulfed by darkness like it always does, the strangest thing happens. A ball of light shoots out of the deluminator and floats, casting a blue-ish glow throughout the room. Maybe this is wishful thinkin’ Probably mindless dreamin’, but if this ball of light helps him find his way back to Hermione then he’d swallow his pride and tell her that he’s sorry for that night. That no matter what happens, he will always be by her side, there’s no time turner for him to change the past but there’s still a chance to change the future, their future together. Hermione will know that his heart belongs to her, and even if he has to wear that horrid locket again, he will do everything in his power to fight twice as hard against the taunts if it means proving to her that he’s back for good. 
The ball of light swirls around him one last time before it stops, and floats directly in front of him, the light begins to glow much brighter than before. Then suddenly it floats directly into his chest, right over his heart, sending a soothing warming sensation all throughout his chest. Then in a matter of seconds Ron is transported from the small room at Shell Cottage, and onto a field of snow.
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terebelli · 27 days
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Shell Cottage Cullenstown, Ireland
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lipzlipzlipz · 2 years
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I Get Along Without You Very Well
Don’t get her hopes up. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t risk her heart. These weren’t the only lessons the tournament year taught her, but they were the hardest and Fleur Delacour learned them well. Until a girl with honey-brown eyes made her want to forget every one of them
A sequel to I Only Have Eyes For You
Another part to my Ballads series. Sad, contemplative Fleur in this one
Read ch 1 on ao3
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