ron absolutely hates them, all they remind him of is that he wasn’t able to protect anyone, and that he was stupid enough to get confounded in the first place. bloody git who cant do anything to save anyone
the summer after fifth year, no matter how hot it is outside he wears long sleeves. if he doesn’t have any that are clean he wears a t shirt and stays curled in on himself on his favorite squashy chair and he’ll only get up to do his chores.
they give him the strangest dreams, memories that aren’t his. Some days he’ll wake up and not know where he is. There’s things he knows that he doesn’t remember learning and there’s also feelings that aren’t his own and he bloody hates it because it was hard enough before to figure out what he was thinking but now it was a bloody jumbled mess.
He’s constantly messing with them, picking at the edges of the scars along the hem of his neckline and wrists.
He shudders to think about what hermione and harry will think. hermione will think that they’re ugly and proof of his recklessness and stupidity. Harry will probably think that he’s finally happy to have scars of his own, and yea he wanted proof that he could be cool, without having to fight tooth and nail, but not these. He meant maybe a gnarly scar on his forearm and not these swirling red welt looking catastrophes that reach up his arms and around his neck and making him look like some sort of freak of nature, it doesn’t help that he’s got these freckles and long gangly limbs that grow way too fast for his pants and shirts, again causing the showing-the-scars-problem.
Also that gunk, dr ubbly’s oblivious unction, he would rather call it dt. gonkly’s gelatinous irritation, anyways it sticks his arms to his shirt and he’s always itching and oh my god everything smells like the bloody thing. smells like sterile rotten eggs, which doesn’t make sense but yeah.
The first time mione saw them she gasped and he hunched in on himself and waiting for some kind of insult or reprimand but all that came was an “oh ron” and he turned around to see hermione looking at him softly with sympathy.
The first time Harry saw them he went as pale as a sheet and started shaking. He should’ve known it would bring back memories of sirius and he felt awful but he didn’t know what to do so he helped harry to sit down on his bunk and waited until the weirdest thing happened. Harry looked frantically at ron and a slew of “ron you’re ok right? no lasting effects from that brain? i was there when you, ya know were attacked” he trails off. Ron doesn’t know what to do with this “yea mate i’m alright.”
Time passes by and soon ron learns to deal with them and he slowly starts to forget about them and by that time he’s with the love of his life and Voldy’s finally dead and it startles him, that he forgot how much he hates them. Then one day hermione and him are snuggling in bed and she starts to trace them. His bloody scars that had such a stupid origin story and had tried to use them a long time ago as a bargaining chip for her affections. and she’s, just.... tracing them?!? as if it means nothing and like trying to count his freckles that one time she got drunk. And she sleepily says “i know you don’t like them but they always remind me of the brave boy i fell in love with”
suddenly the insecurity and self-hatred surrounding the scars has lessened considerably. Not gone but definitely lighter.
Hermione was hunched over the desk, the maple wood hidden beneath a pile of books, yellowing parchment, and the leather-bound tome she was analysing. It was the type of quiet, dedicated work that she preferred to do in the Ministry where she could lock herself in her office, a simple spell turning away anyone that came to bother her – a little trick she’d picked up from Hogwarts: A History. But that wasn’t a luxury she could give herself at home, not with the kids.
The kids.
Hermione glanced at the silver watch Ron gifted her on her thirtieth birthday and realised she’d been unbothered for nearly two hours. With Ron away on a mission, Rose and Hugo should have already come to seek her. Where were they? Why hadn’t Hugo come running in, crying that Rose was not sharing her toy broomstick with him? Or why hadn’t Rose complained that Hugo wasn’t leaving her alone?
Listening for any sound of what they might be up to, Hermione only received silence. No arguments, no hushed whispers, nothing. She stood up and peered from the door of the study, her mouth dropping at the sight.
Cross-legged, Rose and Hugo both sat on the floor on either side of the glass coffee table where Ron’s marble chess board sat.
“What are you two doing?” Hermione asked, walking over to kneel beside them.
“Dad was teaching us to play before he left,” Rose answered.
“Was he now?” Memories fluttered into Hermione’s mind, and the corner of her lip tugged upwards. “What did he show you?”
Hugo waved his hand in the air as if in class. “That we need to protect the king!”
Ever the older sibling, Rose rolled her eyes at her brother’s enthusiasm and instead asked, “Mum, do you play chess?”
“A little, but I’m not very good. Your dad beats me every time.”
“He does?” Hugo’s voice carries the awe that reflects in his crystal-blue eyes.
“Yes, he once even won Griffindor fifty house points for playing the best game of chess Hogwarts had ever seen.”
This time, both children drew out a long “Woah.”
“I bet he uses the queen the most. She’s the most important piece,” Rose said with a haughty sort of tone, causing Hermione to smile as she recognised that part of herself in her daughter.
“She is a powerful piece,” Hermione agreed, “but,” she leaned in as if to share an intimate secret, causing Rose and Hugo to crane forward, eager to learn it, and Hermione whispered, “I think the knight is the best piece.”
Rose jumped back, a frown on her face. “The knight? No, it can’t do much. It only moves in the shape of an L.”
“That’s true,” Hermione nodded, “but the Knight protects with courage and honour. The Knight is not born with the responsibility to lead, he chooses it. It’s the Knight who doesn’t have to fight but does so because it’s the right thing. It’s the Knight who is willing to sacrifice himself to win. It’s also the only piece that can’t be blocked. Only the knight can jump over obstacles because of its unique move.”
Hugo gnawed on his lip, and his brows furrowed as he processed the information Hermione shared. Rose, on the other hand, shook her head and simply said, “No, it’s definitely the queen.”
Hermione shrugged. “Ask your dad when he’s back. I think the knight is a difficult piece to master, but that is actually how he beat Headmistress McGonagall’s chess set in our first year.”
“No way!”
“In your first year!” Hugo echoed, his jaw wide open.
“Yes, I promise.” Hermione laughed. “You keep on playing, so one day you can beat Dad. Merlin knows it’s time for someone to knock him off his high horse.”
“I still think it’s the queen,” Rose said.
Hermione stood back up and smiled. One day Rose would learn the power of the Knight.
- - - - - - - -
Submitted for Day 3: Traits & Trinkets @romioneweek
“So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted.... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul into her..."
tbh people mock harry for going back to rescue fleurs sister in the second triwizard task but harry knows dumbledore better than anyone else. he probably looked at the situation and thought “would dumbledore let an eight year old drown just because fleur couldnt do this bit? yes. yes he would.”
Quarantine had me seriously considering sitting outside in the rain just to feel again. I’d this reasonable or am I behaving like Edward at his worst? Is there a hobby I should try instead?
i know we all like to clown on our emo king Edward Cullen here but listen when he took his first and only love to this stupid highschool dance and she’s all like 🥺 “i’m too clumsy to dance” and he just lifted her up on his own feet and danced with her so she wouldn’t get hurt and it’s just so fucking soft he never had the chance to put all his 19th century moves on anyone and now he has this beautifully awkward girl he loves more than anything and he just wants to dance with her and no you know what nothing is a better love story than twilight
Bella gnawed her lip for a moment. “I can’t explain it right,” she finally said. “But he’s even more unbelievable behind the face.” She looked away from Jessica, her eyes slightly unfocused as if she was staring at something very far away.
The feeling I felt now was loosely similar to how it felt when Carlisle or Esme praised me beyond what I deserved. Similar, but more intense, more consuming.
prguitarman
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
