bright witch

" i wasn't born to be soft and quiet; i was born to make the world shatter and shake at my fingertips. "

[clevcrgryffindxr]

wazlibwheezes‌:

It felt as though a deep pit had opened up in Ron’s stomach, clawing at his insides, and he knew it had very little to do with the fact it had been hours since he had last eaten. Instead, he recognised his own anxiety and inferiority begging to overwhelm him, as though they had sensed the fact he was opening himself up, ready to pour his feelings out in front of him. 

His changing relationship with Hermione had been a long time coming, they both knew that, Harry knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that he was so nervous he felt kind of nauseous about the whole thing. Hell, earlier that night hadn’t even been their first kiss and he’d still been completely and utterly blown away by the whole thing.

Sure, he’d thought he’d fucked his chances with the whole running away thing, but to know that she still felt the same way as him? That was something else entirely.

“I can do cheese, sometimes,” Ron says with a nervous laugh. He wasn’t sure why he was behaving this way really. It was Hermione. His Hermione. One of his very best friends in the world. But at the same time, Ron knew why. They’d crossed an invisible line into something new, and he could no longer pretend that he didn’t think she was drop-dead gorgeous and that he wanted to snog her face all the time. 

And snog her he did, relishing in the moment for a long few seconds before he reluctantly allows her to pull away. It probably wasn’t the time or place, and Ron needed to get back to his family as soon as he could, but for now, he was happy to be where he was; the girl of his dreams in his arms and every single one of his feelings being reciprocated. 

Satisfied that he had brushed the majority of tears from Hermione’s face, Ron can’t help but smile at her, his own bottom lip shaking slightly with the effort. “We all know I was a useless git. Still kinda am, to be honest,” he admits mournfully, hanging his head a little. “But I want to try. I don’t want to mess this-” he gestures between them, “-up like I messed up with Lavender-” yet another person whose fate was unknown, “-or like I’ve almost ruined our friendship before. You’re too important to me. I can’t wreck this.”

“Never said you can’t,” she assured him, hearing the nerves in his laugh and frowning slightly. What was there to be nervous about? They’d more or less been together since before going on the run, even if it was a weird limbo of a thing up until a few moments ago. Then again, she knew about Ron’s issues with self-confidence; maybe it applied here too. At least he was being open about it, Hermione noted as Ron smiled down at her. It was a start.

She wanted to be truthful, though. Realistic. Promising that they would be picture perfect wasn’t that. Hermione took his hand and held it between both of hers, straightening her posture and meeting his eyes. “I’m not going to lie and say that won’t every happen,” she started, worrying her bottom lip as she thought out her words carefully. “I won’t say we’ll never fight, or say something we don’t mean to one another, because honestly that’s who we are. After seven years, I think we both know that won’t change. People aren’t perfect, and relationships aren’t always fairy tale worthy where nothing goes wrong to the main couple.”

She stopped herself, realized she was focusing too much on the negatives, and switched her train of thought. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t work, or that our friendship would be ruined by this. I think after all we’ve been through together, we’ll never lose one another no matter where life takes us. The fact that you want to try, Ron... that alone means the world to me. Call me sentimental, but even through our worst bouts of fighting, I still loved you. We always come back together, don’t we?”

Hermione gave him a gentle smile and lifted his hand up, pressing a kiss to his palm. “You may be a git sometimes, and I may be a know-it-all, but we work. After Voldemort and the camping trip from hell, I’m almost inclined to say that you can’t wreck this. Not without trying very hard, or leaving like you did before.” She paused. “I promise to try and I won’t leave. All I want is for you to do the same.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

unchosenlion‌:

That was more like the Hermione he knew, and inwardly Harry felt a bit of relief to hear her voice ring out strong once more, like she was a heartbeat away from giving him an eyeroll and a lecture. Not that he would ever begrudge her having a moment of weakness - he doubted anyone had more right to it after all she’d sacrificed - but he’d spent years looking to Hermione to know everything was okay. 

Those were the roles they played with each other. As much as he was trying, his arms holding her tightly, Harry knew it was as much, maybe more, for his comfort than her own. And Hermione’s - not arrogance, but surety was the one thing he had needed to feel peace of mind returning to him. 

“Yeah, sorry, I can’t get past you saying I’m right. Twice.” Harry snorted in Hermione’s ear. “Can’t believe Ron’s missing this.” But he skated past that quickly, because to mention Ron now was to remember what Ron was most likely doing - helping his parents take care of Fred’s body. Anytime he thought of that, it was like ice had cut his heart into two. He remembered Percy’s despair, Ron’s fury. Heard Mrs Weasley’s grief in her confrontation with Bellatrix all over again. 

What if Hermione’s family had been shattered as well? He was glad she couldn’t see his face anymore, because Harry suspected there was fear in his eyes. He tried to bury it, his voice determined.  “We will find them. That’s a promise.” As he was saying it, it felt like simply the next mission, a strangely relaxing thought. Better than the emptiness of not knowing what to do or where to go next. At least some things never changed, Hermione’s amused disbelief at what he’d admitted was too familiar “It’s alright for you, you practically brought the Hogwarts library with us!” Harry teased, warmed by the smile he could see pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I could use someone to play against as well though - what d’you say?” 

She giggled--there was no other word for it--and rolled her eyes, not bothering to pull away. Of course Harry would latch onto that. Then again, she didn’t really expect much less. “Yes, well, don’t get used to it,” Hermione chided, bite lacking behind her words. “You’re smarter than you think, Harry, but you can also be a complete idiot. You balance yourself out.” The mention of Ron both sobered her and made her heart skip in her chest, which was an odd combination considering the circumstances. 

He wasn’t there with them for a reason, though, and that took priority over any sort of relationship she had with him. Hermione still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Fred was gone, that George would be existing without his twin at his side. She was still desperately hoping this was some messed up joke that the two of them were playing on everyone and she’d hear Molly screaming at the twins yet again because of it, but George’s reaction when he saw Fred squashed that hope immediately. She choked up a bit again but swallowed any more tears back; Hermione was tired of crying, at least for the moment. “I’m sure you’ll never let this go, so he’ll hear about it sooner rather than later.”

Knowing she’d have Harry (and presumably Ron) at her side while she tracked her parents down was a comforting thought, and Hermione squeezed him tighter for a moment in lieu of a vocal thanks. Harry would know what she meant. He always did. Rather than focus on anything else that could be upsetting, Hermione latched onto his teasing and huffed, the smile she was trying to hold back betraying her and showing more obviously. “I didn’t go and bring the entire library, thank you,” she insisted. “I brought only what was important. We couldn’t exactly play Quidditch while on the run.” The suggestion of her playing, though? “Oh no. Absolutely not. You know I hate flying, let alone playing sports on a broomstick.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

@wazlibwheezes​

It was a truth universally acknowledged that a woman, no matter her fortune, must be in want of a husband. 

Specifically, a woman should wish to marry up above her station to be sure she’s taken care of and has the luxuries only the most privileged could afford, and if she was already fortunate enough to be wealthy, staying in that class was the best choice. Hermione Granger knew this quite well, having been raised from birth with the mantra of marrying up in her head, but when her family came into a small fortune of their own by chance, it changed to make sure she stayed right there. Personally, Hermione had been perfectly content at their modest income, but it would break her mother’s heart if she married below her station, so to many balls she went. 

It was at one of these balls that she made the acquaintance of Mr. Harry Potter, whom became a brother of sorts to her much to the dissatisfaction of her mother (father didn’t care much, so long as she was happy). Rather than going off and becoming Mrs. Harry Potter, the two of them forged a close friendship, and when they ended up at the same dances she spent a good amount of time speaking with him rather than bothering with the other pompous men that were in their station. This time, however, the ball was being held by Harry himself at his new estate, and Hermione made her way to Godric’s Hollow before even receiving an invite. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be invited.

Of course, tonight Harry seemed to be tripping over himself over one Miss Weasley, the youngest and only female of the Weasley family. She hadn’t heard much of the family, but it didn’t take long for her to distinguish them easily by their bright red hair. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in attendance with two of their children, and though she wouldn’t admit it, Hermione found her eyes being drawn to the youngest son in between her attempts to get Harry to speak with Miss Weasley already. 

Eventually, she got tired of playing chaperone and made her way toward Mr. Weasley without fully intending to do so, being at a slight loss for words when she ended up in front of him before finally saying, “You must be Mr. Weasley. If Miss Weasley isn’t interested in Mr. Potter’s advancements, let me know and I’ll dissuade him at once.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

wazlibwheezes‌:

The silence between himself and Hermione was not uncomfortable, which Ron appreciates. It was almost like the comfortable silences of summers before Harry arrived, in the days before their feelings for one another had complicated things. Ron didn’t regret those years or those moments, although he certainly regretted some of his actions, knowing with the benefit of retrospect that they had likely led to the closeness he and Hermione now felt.

Adding to that, of course, was the knowledge they had just survived a battle that had seemed unsurvivable, and now had a long, sprawling future ahead of them.

(Assuming that she wanted him in said future. Assuming that her words, her confession said everything currently unsaid).

The kiss between them feels as natural as breathing, and was, as Ron was pleased to note, not nearly as wet and unpleasurable as he had once started to believe all kissing was. Kissing Hermione - one hand cupping her face while the other pressed against the crumbled staircase, holding him up - felt more right than anything Ron knew. It wasn’t the same rushed and heady kiss from earlier, but something slower. Not a “let’s do this before we die”, but a “hey, I want forever with you”.

Pulling away with a significant amount of reluctance, Ron smiles sheepishly at Hermione, their foreheads pressed together as he rubs at the smear against her face, unable to stop the low chuckle in his throat. “V’always got you,” he says, moving back so that she can pull away. His next words feel just as natural as kissing her did, as if Ron Weasley was made for one thing and one thing only, and that was loving Hermione Granger.

(It was not just that, he knew, but at that moment, it felt like nothing else). 

Ron’s heart lurches at the sight of Hermione’s watery eyes, a brief panic of “maybe she meant she loved him as a friend” slicing through him before it settles, and he breathes a shaky sigh of relief as she kisses him once more, knowing - hoping - that kissing was not a “just-friends” type action. Her next words cause his heart to lurch once again, this time in a far more surprised and pleasurable manner, and the smile begins to crawl across Ron’s face without his permission.

“I mean…I should think about it…” he teases gently for a brief moment, before wrapping his long arms warmly around her. “I think I’ve been yours from the moment you yelled at me about my pronunciation, and I know I’ve definitely been yours since you saved us from that troll. S’no one else, ‘Mione. S’always been just you. It’d be an honour to be your boyfriend, just…be easy on me, yeah? I don’t think I’m that great at being one…”

V’always got you, Ron said, and Hermione’s heart pounded rapidly in her chest, because she absolutely believed him. Even through the years of fights and disagreements and just general ‘being a teenager’-ness, he was there when it mattered the most, and she had no reason to believe differently now. Not when they’d matured perhaps more over the past year due to their experiences than even the last few years, both as people and, unofficially, as a couple (because really, they acted like an old married couple far before either of them got their heads out of their asses and admitted their feelings to themselves). Ron had left, and that time he spent away still hurt greatly, but he came back. 

I heard your voice, Hermione.

If that wasn’t a declaration, then what was? Hermione smiled softly when he pulled back, humor behind her eyes as she said, “That was perhaps the cheesiest thing I’ve heard, Ronald Weasley.” A pause. “But I believe you.”

She saw the panic behind his eyes briefly before she kissed him again, but any uncertainty between them seemed to be swayed when he returned the kiss (granted, tearing eyes likely didn’t instill confidence during an emotionally vulnerable moment). Could she be blamed for her reactions, though? The past day--hell, the past year--was full of emotional whiplash left and right, and she figured a few tears were warranted now that she could finally sit down and process it all. Hermione huffed at Ron’s teasing but let him pull her into his arms gladly, enveloped and safe and alive, most importantly. The hug only seemed to emphasize that last part in her mind.

“Could’ve fooled me for years,” she teased, burying her face into his neck and inhaling deeply. Then she pulled away slightly to look in Ron’s eyes, a serious expression on her face. “I’m not expecting you to be one, Ron. I’m not promising I’ll be a perfect girlfriend either--I mean, you know how I can get.” She averted her eyes for a moment before meeting his again. “I’m going to try and be the best I can possibly be for you. So long as you do the same for me, that’s all that matters. Okay?”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

wazlibwheezes‌:

unchosenlion‌:

They both looked shattered. He’d put them through hell, he knew. It had been one of the most painful parts, knowing that it would hurt them. Harry took the hand Hermione offered out, squeezing tightly as he returned Ron’s smile - Harry’s tinged with his remorse. He started walking, unthinking of where he was going. He just wanted to be away from the endless staring, and the professions of undeserved gratitude, and the bodies.  

He only later realised he was heading for the third floor corridor, stopping when they reached the old room with the trapdoor that had been the site of their very first adventure. With his back turned to Ron and Hermione, he could imagine exactly what they had looked like as first years, and nostalgia overwhelmed him at the thought of how thoughtlessly, foolishly daring they had been. Or rather, Harry and Ron at least. Hermione had been a great deal smarter. Still was. 

He stared at the place above the trapdoor where Fluffy’s jaws had once nearly snapped them in half, these two friends of his who had followed him into anything, that he knew would have followed him to death.  “I wasn’t going to give myself up. I’m not that stupid and I wouldn’t have done that to you,” Harry began firmly. Not after everything they had done for him, since they had been small and practically helpless themselves, but nonetheless been the truest shelter Harry had ever known. He took another breath, figuring the best way was to say it outright. “I was the seventh horcrux. I didn’t know. Voldemort didn’t even know. Dumbledore-” Dumbledore knew. Harry broke off, not wanting to say it, hit by the lingering pain that still came alongside the knowledge. “Dumbledore told Snape. Not everything, just that if Voldemort ever started keeping Nagini close, it meant I had to die.” 

He could say it so easily now, but it had been horrible, more horrible than anything in his life to hear, selfish as that might be. So he knew it wouldn’t be much easier for Ron and Hermione, giving them a moment to let it sink in. He didn’t think he had to say the next bit. So I went to the forest. They knew him. They knew what he would have done. 

It was a different explanation that he owed to them, and he forced it out, pressing down on the emotion that threatened to seep into his voice. “I didn’t come to you because I never would have been able to leave you. But I wasn’t alone.” He hoped it would comfort them to know that, as it had for him and even now Harry felt the warmth of his parents’ smiles, like they were still here with him. “I found the stone. In the snitch. I open at the close,” he quoted, shaking his head in a still dazed kind of disbelief at how neatly it had all fallen into place. The last mystery explained.  

Shaking his head with as much good-naturedness as he could stomach at that moment, Ron tightens his grip on Hermione’s hand, blue-eyes watches as she takes Harry’s in her other. The sense of jealousy that he had gotten so used to lurking within him does not emerge at the sight. Instead, Ron finds himself overwhelmed with complete and utter love for the pair beside him, as well as a sickening sense of relief that he had not lost them.

Others were not as lucky.

The rest of his family, was not as lucky.

As Harry leads them away from the crowd, or perhaps it was Hermione who was leading, unknowingly dragging them along behind her, Ron takes up the rear, trailing that little bit behind; always glad to follow them anywhere they might lead him. His harsh words in the heat of an argument spring to mind and his stomach twists with guilt at what he had said. Were Ron honest at that moment, and not spurred on by the hateful words of the Horcrux, he might have admitted the truth: he had never regretted following Harry, and had felt honoured that the other boy was so willing to always have Ron beside him.

As if hearing his thoughts, or at least knowing the gist of them all, Harry’s footsteps stop heavily outside the third-floor corridor, and Ron bites back a smile and a laugh. Of course, he thinks to himself, stopping right outside the scene of their first crime. 

They had been so young then, so desperate to do what they thought was right. Did they ever think that this was where they would end up? Back at this trapdoor, the trapdoor where Harry had almost been killed by Voldemort the second time, only this time they were hours after the boy in question had in fact killed Voldemort instead.

“You better not have,” Ron blurts, breaking through Harry’s reverie, “Young man. I’d have dragged you back by the ear if I’d had to.” His mouth gapes stupidly open at Harry’s next words, and Ron’s fingers clench that little bit tighter around Hermione’s at the connotations of what this meant. “How? I don’t mean to sound daft and all, but how do you just…accidentally make a Horcrux?”

It seems the only thing left to ask as this new information soaks its way into Ron’s head, pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit into place. Harry was stupid sometimes, and especially stupidly heroic with a savoir complex bigger than the Weasley family tree, but Ron knew his friend wouldn’t die for no reason. That had to be how he got rid of the Horcrux, hadn’t it?

Ron moves to speak once more before he is halted by Harry’s words: But I wasn’t alone. I found the stone. 

“Your parents,” he says, less of a question and more of the most obvious thing he could say. Seeing his parents had once been the thing Harry had desired most. It made sense that they would be there in his final moments. That’s what Ron would have wanted for himself as well. Such a thought causes his heart to hammer, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“Fred,” he blurts. “Was…was Fred there too?”

Hermione could feel the eyes of bystanders on her neck as Harry began to lead them away from the courtyard, away from Voldemort’s body (what a novel thing to be able to say) and those who would try to steal Harry’s time if given half a chance, and into the castle that was their home for the past six years. Through the destroyed corridors they went, and for once Hermione didn’t bother questioning where they were going, or the reason behind their journey, simply focusing on Harry’s and Ron’s hands in her own and the fact that they were both alive.

They came to a stop where their first adventure happened, and Hermione could still see Fluffy over the trap door like the philosopher’s stone puzzle had been yesterday. Thinking back on it, she couldn’t quite believe how foolish they’d been to go after something so dangerous at eleven years old (twelve for her), but there wasn’t an ounce of regret in her. She would do it all again if she had to, and she was certain Ron and Harry would say the same. 

Her lips twitched up when Ron said exactly what she was thinking--she would’ve helped drag Harry back by the ear if needed--but the fact that he’d been a Horcrux gave her pause. Ron’s confusion echoed her own thoughts, but rather than ask what she wasn’t sure even Harry knew, Hermione thought it through. “You became the Horcrux when his curse bounced back as a baby,” she said slowly, looking between the two boys. “His soul was so fragmented at that point that part of him must have gone into you, leaving that scar behind, and since he was supposedly killed that night, he wouldn’t have known it happened. Not when he had six other Horcruxes out there.” Her eyes narrowed as everything pieced together in her head, and she shook her head furiously. “And Dumbledore knew, didn’t he? He--and he didn’t bother telling you? He told Snape of all people?”

He must have known that Harry had to die to be rid of the Horcrux as well. How could he have known that Harry would be able to return to life, though? “Both of those men are lucky they’re already dead, or I’d be killing them myself.”

At least Harry wasn’t alone. His parents were there thanks to the stone, which brought Hermione a little bit of comfort, but she hated that it needed to happen at all. She gently pried her hands from both of them and walked closer to the trap door, heart aching when Ron asked about Fred. The stone only brought back what the bearer most desired, and Hermione doubted that was Fred. She didn’t have the heart to tell Ron that though, not when he likely knew that on his own deep down. Instead, Hermione knelt down and lifted the trap door open, staring down into the dusty room below and glancing back at the boys behind her. Her boys.

“Come on,” she said, throwing caution to the wind with a smile at Harry and Ron before dropping down into the chamber, the fall not nearly as far now that she was grown. She cast a buffering spell anyway to cushion her fall, just to be safe, and glanced back up through the hole. “Don’t leave me down here alone.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

unchosenlion‌:

It was always hard to see Hermione upset. Seeing her eyes glistening now took him back to the days in the tent when it had just been the two of them, and he’d been so hurt himself he hadn’t even reached out to her, left her alone in her pain. Harry wouldn’t do that again. “We managed to find the hidden fragments of Voldemort’s soul off almost nothing, I reckon we can find two people,” he started, trying to at least make her smile again, but it was true. He had faith that the three of them could do anything.  

He got the feeling that wasn’t the part that really worried Hermione, though, that it was the fear of hurting her parents once they’d found them that was really on her mind. “First of all, you’re the most brilliant person I know. You can do this,” Harry nodded his head, almost violently with the force of his conviction, not a single doubt in his mind. “Secondly, I know I don’t know your parents that well.” Somehow, there had never really been time for that. “But they’re your parents. It’s not selfish. They’d risk anything to be with you again.” The honesty in his voice was raw, and Harry blinked, his eyes feeling sore himself all of a sudden. 

There was probably no belief more personal, more closely cherished for him than that. Hadn’t it been confirmed time and time again by his own parents, who hadn’t even let death stop them from coming to him? Hermione’s would feel the same, he was sure of it. Both of them had emotions running high now, and he dropped his hand out of hers, turning so that he could give Hermione a full embrace, rather than the half-hug they’d been standing in. His arms closed tightly around her back and he let his head fall down to rest on her shoulder.

“Bit of rest doesn’t sound too bad, actually.” His whole body practically relaxed at the thought of not having to fight a war anymore. “You know what I’ve missed this year?” His mouth curved into a smile, knowing Hermione would be amused and exasperated by his answer. “Quidditch.” 

He had a point there. They’d worked for over a year to try and find fragments of Voldemort’s soul, and they’d succeeded. Not only that, but they’d won--what said she wouldn’t be able to find her parents as well? Especially with Harry and Ron at her side. “I suppose you’re right,” Hermione said, looking up at Harry with a small smile. “Just have to search all of Australia. A simple feat, of course.”

Who said she couldn’t be sarcastic even when she knew they’d be alright?

Hermione listened to Harry intently while he spoke, taking a long, shaky breath and nodding at him. He was right, of course; her parents loved her dearly, had done so since the moment she was born, and to believe they wouldn’t want to remember her was absurd. That didn’t mean the prospect of returning their memories wasn’t terrifying, though. Mind magic was a dangerous thing to mess with--just look at Gilderoy Lockhart--and if one thing went wrong her parents could just as easily end up in the mental ward, or worse. Her mind flashed to Alice and Frank Longbottom, to Neville while he visited them, and Hermione closed her eyes. Maybe if she managed to figure this out, to heal her parents’ memories, she could help his parents as well.

“You’re right,” she murmured, letting Harry fold her into his hug, face pressed against his chest as she willed her emotions to calm the hell down. “We’ll find them. They’ll be okay.” She felt Harry relax against her, and she couldn’t blame him; Hermione could feel seven years of stress melting away as well. They needed rest for sure. She hummed when Harry spoke again, waited a beat, then snorted when he brought up Quidditch of all things. The laughter was nice, and Hermione shook her head against him, pulling back and giving him a fond yet incredulous look. “Harry Potter, you’re such a jock. I’m sure we could find somewhere for you to play Quidditch now.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

unchosenlion‌:

Might give us something to focus on. It was only now Harry realised he hadn’t even considered that the two of them might not stay together, that he’d just assumed wherever he was going, Hermione would be there as well.  To hear her confirm that - equally as if it wasn’t even a question - was more relieving than he could say. And in fact, for a few seconds, he couldn’t say anything at all, just rested his arm around her shoulders and clung on, as Harry felt he had been doing since the day they had run from Fleur and Bill’s wedding.

“If you need help, with your parents, I’ll be there,” he vowed forcefully. He was sure Hermione already knew that, but he wanted to make it clear - his loyalty was just as fierce. Whatever the future was going to bring, though it was nearly impossible to think about that now, Hogwarts in ruins, the people inside it broken. But they would heal, and he supposed the castle could be put back together. They might need to add a chapter on it to Hogwarts: A History (he’d let Hermione give him the quick summary), but in time this wreckage would be otherwise forgotten. That was almost comforting. 

Or it would be, if not for the people they had lost. He knew only too well that while those empty places inside might heal eventually, it could never be forgotten. He could hear that pain in Hermione’s voice, and to hear her sound like that was its own kind of torture. “Yeah, we do. I’m going to need you to help me with that, you know,” he said, nearly choking on the words as his throat seized up. “I don’t … you know I’ve never really been that good at coming up with my own plans.” His smile was weak, but it was there, and Harry even managed to laugh, his hand still tightly wrapped around Hermione. 

It was a testament to how well Harry knew her when he said he’d help with her parents, because of course that would be the next long-term plan she had. Hermione couldn’t let her parents just live a fake life in Australia, could she? Part of her wondered even now as to whether or not remembering would bring more harm than good, and she swallowed thickly, a hand sliding up so she could cover her mouth and keep some semblance of control. “What if they can’t be found, Harry?’ she asked quietly when she thought she was able. “Or... what if their memories can’t come back? If the obliviate was too large? I don’t--I can’t be selfish and potentially hurt them, can I?”

She wasn’t sure what Harry’s answer would be, but either way she was incredibly grateful that he said he’d be by her out loud. Hermione knew he would be, of course, had never doubted that he wouldn’t be by her side, but it was nice to hear it said rather than simply known. It was a comfort she didn’t know she needed. They all needed comfort after the day’s events, frankly, and when Harry choked on his words Hermione held him tighter, because she refused to let Harry think for a second that he was alone. She could only imagine the roller coaster of emotions he was going through now that Voldemort was no longer a concern. 

She knew her best friend, though. These deaths would weigh heaviest on his shoulders, just like every death up until this point had weighed on him. Harry was brave, but he felt responsible for everyone who fell. They couldn’t brush aside those sacrifices, but Hermione wouldn’t let him drown under the guilt they brought either. “You know I’ll always be here to help,” she murmured, squeezing his hand and looking up to meet his eyes, expression saying, as if I’d be anywhere else. 

“Just leave the planning to me, Harry. Let me take the lead for a bit--you deserve rest more than anyone.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

wazlibwheezes‌:

Laughing softly at Hermione’s words, Ron nudges her shoulder gently with his own, relishing in the familiar warmth. They had sat together before, give or take the hand-holding, and he delights at just how well they seemed to fit together. They had had their fights and their clashes in the past before, and Ron knew he owed her a thousand and one apologies for being an ass, but there was no one else he wanted to be with at this moment.

“Am I at tablespoon status yet?” he asks, voice tinged with amusement. His eyes lock firmly on Hermione’s face and Ron can almost see the rapid ticking of every thought rushing through her mind. Part of him almost expects her to run off and raid the library as if there was a book in there that would give her a step-by-step guide on how to do this (the book still stashed in Ron’s room at the Burrow aside).

But rather than interrupt, Ron is content to wait, to keep his gaze on her face and let Hermione sort herself out before he tramples over everything with his own overemotional ramblings.

“Okay,” Ron repeats as Hermione starts to speak and he rubs his thumb in small, hopefully-soothing circles on the back of her hand. A blush starts to bloom in his cheeks at her mention of what had happened earlier that day, but Ron remains quiet, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. Surely she could hear it, couldn’t she? Within moments, both the blush and his heart rate only seem to intensify at the sound of her words as they all but echo in his ears: “but rather how I couldn’t not love you?”

Without thinking about it, or really even questioning the action, Ron finds himself leaning in, pressing his lips warmly to Hermione’s once more. He is fairly certain that he could happily spend the rest of his life like this, even if it meant setting up house on the steps of a destroyed castle, and he pulls away with an audible huff of reluctance.

Brushing his free thumb against a smear of dust or ash against her face, Ron grins toothily at her, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ve got dirt on your nose,” he teases, harkening back to that inevitable first meeting before he takes in a long, slow breath. 

“You’ve got to stop beating me to these dramatic announcements and proclamations, you’re making me look bad,” he says, “But I love you too. Probably always have, even if I was a bit dense about it. You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met and I’m a right prat for not seeing it or acknowledging it earlier. Guess I just…never thought I could measure up. Could be good enough, y’know? But I know better now…or at least I think I do. And I know there’s no one else for me. Just you.” 

“I think you’re about there,” she said with a chuckle, nudging Ron back gratefully. He always knew what to say when it mattered, and right now he said nothing, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. Hermione was grateful for it, grateful that he let her get everything out into the open before speaking himself, and she relaxed as she talked when his thumb started rubbing circles onto her hand soothingly. She kept her focus on that when she said love, almost desperately focusing on it while she waited for Ron to respond (was it too soon to say love?), and then--

He kissed her.

It was different than their kiss earlier in the day. With that kiss, it was rushed, impulsive, and completely driven not only by the fact that she couldn’t hold back from expressing her feelings for him any longer, but also by the fact that something could happen to either of them in an instant. Hermione didn’t want to die without at least showing Ron how she felt. Now, though, they had all the time in the world, so when Ron’s lips touched hers, Hermione melted, her free hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder and give a light squeeze. This kiss was warmer, slower, but still left her as breathless as their first one did, so when Ron pulled away she took a moment to recenter herself, humming as he pressed his forehead to hers and brushed a thumb against her face.

You’ve got dirt on your nose. Hermione grinned widely at that, remembering their first interaction, and squeezed his hand again. “I’ll trust you got it for me,” she murmured in response, pulling back only slightly so she could watch Ron while he spoke, heart hammering in her chest as he said what she wanted to hear:

I love you too. 

Could she be blamed if her eyes watered a little? Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of the day, but it was still there, and she didn’t bother trying to pat her eyes dry, knowing she wouldn’t be judged. Hermione was quiet for a moment, because what exactly came now? Maybe they were doing things a bit out of order--love was supposed to come after being in a relationship for a while, wasn’t it?--but between the two of them and Harry, when were they ever conventional? Hermione pressed another kiss to his lips, just happy she no longer had to hold herself back, and then asked, “Will you be my boyfriend, Ron Weasley? I suppose this kind of implies that, but... officially, I guess. Be mine?”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

wazlibwheezes‌:

Since the moment they had become friends (and then not friends, and then friends again, and then not friends and then friends again), Ron had spent countless minutes alone with Hermione. It wasn’t hard when their shared friend was Harry Potter, who seemed to have been on a never-ending mission from the second his parents had been killed. When Harry was off in secret meetings, or at his aunt and uncle’s, or in detention, it was Hermione who was Ron’s almost-consistent companion and there was no pretending that he didn’t find being with her one of the most comfortable things in the world.

He was never quite sure when he would pinpoint his feelings as having changed; when she had gone from being his frizzy-haired friend to one of the most gorgeous people he had ever seen. All he had known, or at least thought he had known, was that while he pined, Hermione was indifferent. The horcrux’s words still linger in the back of Ron’s mind after weeks of hearing little else: who would prefer lowly Ron Weasley when it came to the likes of people like Harry Potter and Viktor Krum?

No matter the fact Harry was clearly besotted with Ron’s own sister, no matter the caught glances and the bumbling almost-confessions: there was little that could compete with the size of Ron’s insecurities.

Except perhaps snogging in the middle of a battle, much to Harry’s chagrin.

The memory causes a small smile to play at the corner of Ron’s mouth, and he tries to stifle the churn of guilt in his stomach. It felt wrong for him to be so happy when Fred was no longer there, to try and move on with their lives, their post-war lives, when Fred no longer had a life to speak of.

Ron is broken from his reverie by the sound of Hermione’s voice and he focuses back in on the feel of her hand in his, her eyes on his, and his lips curl upwards in a gentle smile.

“So,” he repeats, squeezing her fingers, “Reckon we need to be mature adults for a moment and talk?”

His smile is enough to calm her, ground her thoughts before they could run rampant, and she chuckled in surprise when she registered what Ron said. “Look at that, you’ve matured,” she teased, squeezing his fingers right back and taking a deep breath. It was just talking. They’d been talking nearly every day since Halloween their first year. What made this any different?

It would just change their relationship as it currently stood for either the better or the worst, no big deal. What could go wrong with that?

Where to even start? Give Hermione a pile of textbooks, and she would not only read through every one of them (except for divination), but she’d know almost every answer she could find within those books for most questions thrown her way. Facts just worked for her in a way that being spontaneous didn’t, and for years that was what she clung to--when in doubt, go to the library, because more often than not it wouldn’t fail her. 

Emotions though? That was a whole other ballgame.

“Okay,” Hermione started slowly, ignoring the way her heart beat nervously in her chest. This was something she wanted since sixth year. She could just tell him, couldn’t she? It was just stating facts. Rely on those facts. “I mean, as if it wasn’t obvious from our k-kiss earlier--” and there she blushed, feeling completely and utterly ridiculous, far too much like Lavender and Parvati when they’d giggle about their crushes late at night, “--but I suppose I’ll just say it anyway. Ron, you... you’re one of my best friends, have been for years. I can’t imagine you not in my life at all, can’t imagine not having our talks while Harry was busy or when I got to your house earlier than he did over the summer. When you left us earlier this year, I was... so heartbroken, because I wasn’t sure you’d come back this time, and I just.” She took a deep breath to calm herself down. “You’re one of the kindest people I know, Ron Weasley, even if you are a bit thick sometimes. I guess it’s not a question as to whether I do or not, but rather how I couldn’t love you?”

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly when the word love slipped out, but she stuck by it, because it was true, wasn’t it? She’d stuck to the facts she knew to be true as she spoke, and that felt like the realest fact of them all. She exhaled shakily and met his eyes, drawing on the Gryffindor courage they both supposedly had so she wouldn’t look away. “Your turn.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

wazlibwheezes‌:

unchosenlion‌:

Everyone had wanted to talk to him, but there were only two people Harry wanted to see - and there they were, together, Ron following along after Hermione, his vision of the two soon shielded by Hermione’s curls in his face as she threw her arms around him. Harry held on tightly in return, only looking up so he could reach out over Hermione’s shoulder to grip Ron’s arm and pull him in. He needed to reassure himself they both were here and he clung on to their circle of three with a growing fierce happiness. 

“I had to,” Harry said plainly as they stepped apart, in defense of what he’d done, but beneath that was his apology pleading for their understanding, forgiveness. There was so much he had to tell them, so much they deserved to know, but this was first. For now he just wanted to drink in the fact that Ron and Hermione were alive, and that he was alive. It couldn’t have been more than an hour, two at the most since that slow, steady walk to his own death. 

There hadn’t been time for fear again, once he was back, when the job was still to be done, but now he felt shaky, especially as he remembered their screams and saw the echo of that despair in Hermione’s tears. “I won’t, Hermione. I promise.” 

He rubbed his arm, his expression softening at he looked at them both. “Wouldn’t work twice anyway. It’s gone. He’s gone.” Harry marveled at it, that he at once felt no different but also as if everything had changed. The horcrux that had been lying somewhere within him. Gone. The lingering revulsion he felt over knowing it had been part of him gave way for overwhelming relief. Neither can live while the other survives. His shoulders felt lighter than they had in years and Harry smiled at last. Over. It was really over. “I guess I’ve got a lot to tell you.” 

The adrenaline continues to pulse through Ron’s veins and it’s through a thick haze that he finally begins to register just how bloody exhausted and hurt he is. Not physically, although there are cuts and scrapes and burns littered over his limbs, but internally his entire chest aches, as though every single breath was too big for his body. As though every single breath was a breath that Fred could no longer have.

The reality that he no longer had a brother alive on the same planet as him had not yet set in for Ron, and as he hears the joyful shouts and cheers around them, he almost anticipates Fred’s triumphant return after the greatest and yet worst prank he had ever pulled (and that included the spider incident). 

That’s why it is easier to let Hermione drag him across the room; her hand warm and firm and grounding inside his. They had to talk, he knew they did: dramatic mid-battle kisses were not an appropriate conversation, no matter how fun they were, but for now, Ron was happy to stay silent.

He allows Harry to pull him in close; looping his long arms around both of his best friends and relishing in the heat of their bodies, in the closeness, in the knowledge they were all here, they were all okay. “Understatement, mate,” Ron says, his voice thick as he shoots his friend a wavering smile, “I hate to sound like my mother, but you’d better explain yourself.” 

Wouldn’t work twice anyway. What did that mean? Hermione frowned slightly, but it didn’t stay on her face long as she saw Harry trembling slightly. Merlin knew they’d be crowded by people sooner rather than later, everyone wanting a word with the boy (man, really--they’d all grown up quite a bit) who killed the darkest wizard in history since Grindlewald--maybe even surpassing Grindlewald--not once, but twice. Hermione wanted nothing more than to hear every answer right then and there, but she could feel the eyes on them; the middle of the courtyard wasn’t the place. 

“You’ve got so much to tell us,” she echoed, looking at Ron as he spoke and smiling fondly. Frankly, if any Weasley child was most like Molly Weasley, it would be Ron, whether he liked it or not. “I almost expect you to follow up with the words young man when you speak like that, Ron,” she teased, a bit surprised that she could actually tease and not feel like she was wasting precious time. With the death of Voldemort seemed to come the true realization that they could just... be normal now, or as normal as the three of them could be. They never got to simply be kids, never got to simply be in general. It was surreal. 

“Lead the way Harry,” she said, tightening her grip on Ron’s hand and reaching out with her other to take Harry’s. The last thing she wanted to do was let go of either of her boys at the moment. “Then I’m serious: everything, no details left out.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

unchosenlion‌:

Ron was with the rest of the Weasleys. Harry wanted to go over to them, but he wasn’t ready for it. Not yet. 

He couldn’t describe the feeling inside of him, whether it was elation that it was all over, or despair, because of the cost. He felt when Hermione came up alongside him, knew it was her from the sound of her footsteps. He didn’t turn to face her, afraid that the same sadness would be in her eyes too, but Harry felt less alone, warmer now she was here, as he continued to stare out at the damage. “Leave,” he repeated, momentarily lost at the thought. Where would he go? Where would she go? Her parents were still in Australia. “I suppose we could go back to Grimmauld, see what state it’s in.” 

Harry’s reluctance was evident. He cared about Grimmauld Place but it didn’t feel like home. The Burrow was the closest thing he had to home, but with no Fred … Harry felt cold, still unable to face Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He could see Hermione’s arm moving out of the corner of his eye and felt a rush of gratitude that she was still here. Still by his side. “I’m …. I don’t know how to feel. Glad it’s over, but-” Harry floundered, at last turning to meet Hermione’s eyes.  She would understand the weight pressing down on his chest, the grief, the way he kept thinking about what could have happened if he had gone to the forest earlier. The people who might not have died. 

She knew he was floundering, because Hermione was too. For years all of this weighed on her, always a concern in the back of her mind that Voldemort would come back and finish what he started, whatever that might be in the given situation. For Harry it was longer than that--it cost him his parents. Her heart ached at the thought of Lily and James, then for Sirius when Harry brought up Grimmauld Place. She opened her mouth, almost offering her own home for Harry to stay at if the Burrow wasn’t an option, but then it hit her again that for all her parents knew, she didn’t exist. She didn’t have a home.

Neither of them did, really. There was always the Burrow, but with the loss of Fred, the last thing Hermione wanted to do was encroach on their hospitality, no matter how often Mr. and Mrs. Weasley insisted that they were just as much family as their own kids.

“Might give us something to focus on,” she said, almost not wanting to think of the state Grimmauld Place might be in. It was better than sitting on the question What now? and having no answer. Hermione waited for Harry to gather his thoughts, meeting his eyes when he finally looked at her and taking a shaky breath. “I know,” she whispered, stepping close and wrapping her arms tightly around him. They won, but at what cost? She couldn’t get the image of Fred’s last smile out of her head, or how Tonks and Remus still seemed to hold hands even in death, or how small little Colin Creevey looked--sixteen years old, but forever the small boy who admired Harry in her mind. “I know, Harry. We... we just have to keep going, for them if nothing else.” 

[clevcrgryffindxr]

@wazlibwheezes​

Hermione, for once in her life, felt the need to say absolutely nothing--or, in the very least, not say anything at the moment. She and Ron needed to talk, needed to address what they wanted with one another, but wasn’t she allowed to be selfish every now and again? 

Words had power, Hermione knew that better than anybody else. They could make or break something just as much as an action could, but she didn’t want this to be broken. Years of pining after Ron, of small glances thrown his way and swearing they were being returned, accumulated to a kiss in the middle of battle that frustrated the hell out of Harry, and it was hard for Hermione to take her hand away from Ron’s or drift too far from him since. She knew, logically, that she was being ridiculous, but if she was relishing the two of them sitting on a dust-covered step with their hands entwined and bodies angled toward one another, who could blame her?

But they had to talk. Assumptions could let this crash and burn as easily as words could, and Hermione didn’t want it to crash and burn. How did a conversation like that start, though? Her last boyfriend had been three years ago for a brief period of time, and she’d hardly call that proper experience. Instead, Hermione just moved a little closer to Ron, knee brushing against his, and took a deep breath to prepare herself. “So.”

Very smooth, Granger. 

[clevcrgryffindxr]

@unchosenlion​

Things were finally starting to calm down.

 Everything was so hectic that Hermione was surprised she got a moment alone with Harry at all, yet here they both were with no one needing to pull them this way or that. It felt strange to be able to just... take a step back and take a breather. When was the last time any of them were able to truly do that? She waited a moment, letting Harry be by himself a second longer before walking over to his side and leaning against a piece of destroyed railing, the destroyed silhouette of Hogwarts’ courtyard (along with everything else) their view. She sighed softly and glanced over at Harry before speaking.

“I think everything is starting to settle. We’ll probably be able to leave soon, if they don’t need us for anything more.” That wasn’t what she wanted to say, not even close, but it was a start. Her eyes closed, and Hermione rubbed at her arm before trying again. “I can’t believe it’s over,” she whispered, the quiet somehow making it easier to speak. “How are you feeling? It... it’s been a lot all at once.”

[clevcrgryffindxr]

Where: Hogwarts Courtyard When: Immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts Who: @unchosenlion​, @wazlibwheezes​

It was finally over. 

Hermione couldn’t quite believe it, not after seven years of fighting against the man and all his evil (though she supposed third year was a small break... sort of), but there Lord Voldemort was now, on the ground dead as any mortal man may have fallen over, and so utterly unremarkable that it was hard not to burst out into a slightly hysterical laugh. Dead, and there Harry was across from where he had once stood, back from the dead and just so fully alive that Hermione couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled from her chest. Everyone around them seemed uncertain of what to do, but then aurors broke from the crowd and began to arrest those Death Eaters that didn’t die during the fight, and Hermione tightened her grip on Ron’s hand, dragging him across the courtyard toward their best friend.

(And that was something the two of them would have to talk about later, wasn’t it? That could absolutely wait until later, because right now she was elated to have her hand in Ron’s and her best friend alive and she wouldn’t ruin that elation with a petty argument.)

She dragged Ron without paying attention as to whether or not he was saying anything, her mind zeroed in on one thing only, and they’d barely gotten to Harry before Hermione finally let go of Ron’s hand for the first time since they saw Harry’s body and threw her arms around Harry’s neck, holding on tightly and blinking rapidly to hold any and all tears at bay. “Thank god you’re safe,” she said against him, then pulled back enough to whack at his arm and wipe at her eyes. “Don’t you ever go off to die and leave us behind again, do you hear me? That--never again, Harry.”

[sharkbomb]

I saw a thing where Hermoine is black and Harry’d be Indian and hell yeah, more diversity. Why not?

[cinnamart]

discuss: Tiny Hermione

[stilesstays]

them cool kidz