Summary: Ron is running out of time to find a good birthday present. But what do you get the girl he's in love with? He has to make sure he doesn't mess it up.
wc: 4.3k
N/A: I'm back with something quite long, I hope you like it. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors; I'm not fluent in English.
Would anyone be interested if I opened requests?
Likes and reblogs are appreciated.
Masterlist
“What do you get a girl for her birthday?”
The room fell silent after the question. Harry looked up from his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages to watch his friend fidgeting in his seat.
“Which girl?” he asked curiously. Ron’s cheeks burned bright red at the question. “Ah… I see… That kind of girl.”
“So?” Ron asked again anxiously. “What do you get them?”
“Well… I have no idea what she might like.” Harry hesitated for a moment. “Hermione likes books.”
“Yeah, but she’s not Hermione,” Ron complained as he rummaged through his trunk, looking for something that might give him an idea. Time was running out, and if he couldn’t find anything to get you, he’d look like a complete loser. “Well, I don’t know, Ron. Maybe you should ask her what she wants.”
“Yeah, right, and that’ll prove I’m such a fool that I don’t even know what to get her for her birthday. Good idea, Potter. Brilliant.” He slammed the trunk lid shut in frustration. “Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
Harry watched him with a mixture of pity and amusement. “If you don’t want to ask her directly… You could ask Hermione, she always has good ideas,” he said, shrugging.
Ron’s eyes lit up with hope. It was true, Hermione always had good ideas that ended up saving their skins, and besides, SHE WAS ALSO A WOMAN, a perfect combination. She would have the answer.
Without wasting any more time, he dashed out of the dormitory, nearly tripping Neville, who was coming down the stairs. The common room was almost empty, except for Hermione. She was right where he expected to find her, curled up in the armchair closest to the fire with her hideous cat in her lap and her nose buried in an advanced magic book.
“Hermione,” he called, approaching, trying to hide the short dash he'd made just seconds before.
She didn't even look up from her book. “What's wrong, Ron? Another Potions assignment you didn't understand?”
“No, it's not that,” Ron denied immediately, although the truth was he did have a Potions assignment he needed help with. “This is much more important.” Hermione watched him intently over the edge of the old book. “I'm listening.”
Ron swallowed hard. “What do you get a girl for her birthday?”
Surprised by the question, Hermione dropped the book on Crookshanks, who meowed in annoyance but didn't move.
“Well, it depends on the girl,” she finally said.
“Yeah, well, a girl, a girl… Normal?” “Oh, is this a present for your sister?” she asked innocently, enjoying seeing him flustered.
“For Ginny? No!” Ron replied irritably. “Merlin, why would I want to get her something?”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who it’s for,” she insisted.
“That doesn’t matter,” Ron replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though he knew his cheeks were starting to betray him.
“Well, if you’re looking for a present for who I think it is…” Hermione continued, suppressing a smile, “I know she lost her scarf last week, maybe that would do.”
“I can’t give her a scarf. I’m not my mother,” Ron protested again, frustrated. “Besides, I want it to be something special… And I don’t have much money.” He let his head fall into his hands with a sigh; this task was proving more difficult than he’d expected. Hermione ran her hand down his back, trying to comfort him. It was no secret to anyone who Ron was in love with, even though he didn't want to talk about it. Hermione had noticed how her friend's eyes always wandered in your direction whenever you passed by, how he tried to maintain physical contact as much as possible, and how he'd even given you the last of his Chocolate Frogs just last week. Without a doubt, Ron was completely smitten.
"You don't need to spend a fortune to give a special gift," she said kindly, setting aside the jokes. "A thoughtful gesture can mean so much more than an expensive present, you know?"
"A thoughtful gesture? What exactly does that mean?" Ron felt even more lost than before.
"Something with sentimental value, Ronald," Hermione explained, losing patience. "For example, what do you notice when you're around her?"
"Um... Well, she has a really nice laugh," he murmured after thinking for a few seconds.
"Uh-huh. What else?"
"She also has really beautiful eyes."
"Okay, we're making progress... And what things does she like?" “Well, I have no idea,” Ron muttered, somewhat lost. “She’s always drawing something in a notebook she carries around… She always wears her hair tied back with a red ribbon and she likes to look out the window when it rains.”
“Okay, I think you’ve got it.”
“I’ve got it? Are you kidding me?” He huffed in annoyance. “You still haven’t told me what to get her.”
“I’m not going to tell you,” Hermione replied, going back to her reading. “Otherwise it would be a present from me, and I already have to get her something.”
“So what are you going to get her?”
“Forget it, Ron, you’ll have to figure this out yourself,” Hermione said. She buried her nose in her book again. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy right now.”
“So what?” But he didn’t get a response. Annoyed, he continued, “You’ll have to figure this out yourself.” He mimicked her in a low voice with an exaggerated grimace, but Hermione just carefully turned the page. “I’m Hermione Granger, and I’m a know-it-all, only I’m not going to help you because it’s more interesting to read my book on…” She glanced quickly at the cover of the book. “Evolution and Reproduction of House-Elves?” she said with disgust. “Are you ignoring me because of that awful book?”
“It’s a fascinating and informative book,” Hermione defended herself. “If you read anything other than those stupid Quidditch magazines, you’d understand.”
“Yeah, right…” Ron slumped back against the sofa. “I once heard her mention that she likes chocolate frogs.”
“Don’t you dare!” Hermione angrily put her book aside again, but at that moment the portrait hole opened.
You swept into the common room with your group of friends. Ron immediately fell silent and glared at his friend to make sure she didn’t say anything. Hermione, pleased with the situation, raised her free hand to get your attention. Seeing them, you couldn’t help but smile and quickly approached them.
Ron thought he would faint right then and there. The annoyance he felt with his friend quickly transformed into a knot of nerves in his stomach and a burning heat in his cheeks. He prayed internally that Hermione wouldn’t open her mouth at that moment. “It’s so good to find you,” you said, relieved. “For a moment I thought I’d have to send you both an owl.”
“An owl?” Ron repeated nervously. “Why?” He had to stifle a cry of pain when he felt Hermione’s foot dig into his ankle.
“Well, I don’t know if you knew, but tomorrow is my birthday.”
“Yes, we knew,” Hermione said.
“No, I had no idea,” Ron replied at the same time. They both glared at each other, trying to get the other to shut up.
“Um… Well,” you continued, oblivious to the silent exchange, “Tomorrow is my birthday and I wanted to celebrate. It’ll be something low-key, right here. Fred and George promised they’d get me some snacks. And well, of course, you’re both invited.”
“Oh, that sounds great!” Hermione exclaimed immediately. “Count us in.”
“Cool,” you smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be a good night.” You winked at them. One of your friends came over to where you were to take you with her towards the stairs to the bedrooms. You hadn't even disappeared from sight before Ron slumped back down on the sofa, feeling defeated.
"Well," Hermione said, unable to hide her smile, "You have at least 24 hours to figure out what to get her. You should hurry."
The night was agonizing; the idea of showing up empty-handed made Ron's stomach churn uncomfortably.
It wasn't that you'd be angry if he arrived with nothing, of course not; you were too kind. He'd seen it many times, like when you let him keep your notes indefinitely, or when you shared your favorite sweets, or how you never laughed at him whenever he managed to embarrass himself by saying something silly.
But if he managed to find a good gift, one that would impress you, there was a chance he'd get more than just kindness from you. Perhaps you could see him with the same eyes he saw you with.
However, nothing came to mind, and every small idea that seemed even remotely viable instantly became unfeasible due to the meager amount of Galleons in his purse. Harry hadn't been any help, and he was sure the rest of his friends hadn't either, and Hermione was too stubborn in insisting that he should figure it out for himself.
There was only one last option left to ask for advice, one he had tried to avoid because of the consequences it would bring. But desperate times call for desperate measures. His brothers had always been successful with girls; surely they (after teasing him relentlessly) could help him.
The next morning, for the first time that year, Ron was the first of his classmates to get up and head towards the Great Hall. Fred and George were in their usual spot, chatting about something related to explosives and some itching powder. “Good morning, little brother,” Fred greeted him with a grin that was a bit too big for that time of day. “Did you fall out of bed? Nightmares about spiders again?” Ron bit his tongue to keep from answering. Yes, he’d had a horrible nightmare where he gifted you a box full of spiders and everything ended in disaster… But he wasn’t going to admit it, not with them.
“No, I was just thinking.”
“Merlin’s beard!” George exclaimed. “I’m sure we’ll have a storm tonight.” Both twins laughed as if it were the funniest joke they’d ever heard.
He was about to get up and leave, but Fred placed his hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. “Come on, little brother, don’t be angry. Why were you looking for us?”
“I need some advice,” Ron grumbled.
“Advice,” Fred repeated. “What kind?”
“Skipping class?” George interrupted.
“Teaching some idiot Slytherin a lesson?” Fred continued.
“Escaping Filch?”
“Cheating in Snape’s class?”
“Girls?” Ron didn’t answer the question, but the change in his expression was enough to know that George had hit the nail on the head. “Girls!” he confirmed again, and the twins burst into laughter once more, attracting the attention of some students at other tables. Ron was about to get up, convinced that it had been a bad idea to ask them for help, but both brothers forcibly sat him back down.
“You should have started there. We’re experts on the subject,” Fred began. “So tell us, who is this unlucky girl?” George asked.
“I’m not looking for that kind of advice,” he lied. “I just want to know what I can get a girl for her birthday.”
“Her birthday?” Fred repeated, leaning towards him with a mischievous grin. “And she’s the one I’m thinking of.”
“I have no idea who you’re thinking of,” Ron said quickly.
“I think I’m thinking of a girl too,” George added, also leaning towards him.
“Are we thinking of the same girl, George?” Fred asked with feigned innocence.
“I think so, Fred.”
“This was a mistake,” Ron lamented, dropping his head into his hands.
“A mistake? You’ve come to the right place, little brother,” George patted him on the back, trying to cheer him up. “What’s more, we thought you were taking your sweet time,” Fred added. “We bet you’d take until next year to confess your feelings for Miss.”
“Damn it, now I owe Lee 10 Galleons,” George complained.
“You were betting on that?!” Ron exclaimed indignantly.
“Well, it’s not like you’ve been very subtle,” Fred said in a half-whisper.
“When you comb your hair every time she appears, it’s a bit obvious,” Lee commented, sitting down across from the three redheads.
“Or when you always look for a seat near her.”
“Or when you stare for long minutes when she ties her hair up.”
“Or when you stutter every time she speaks to you.”
“Or when…”
“Stop it! I don’t do any of those things!” Ron shouted, completely red-faced. “Sometimes it’s a bit creepy,” George added in a whisper. “But you’re in love, what can you do…”
Ron remained in his place, staring at the plate in front of him, unable to believe how obvious it had been.
“Anyway,” George continued, “you came to the right place, we’ll help you.”
“Yeah, right,” Ron scoffed, already despondent.
“Come on!” Fred slammed his fists on the table, making the plates rattle. “She’ll be so impressed with your gift that she’ll have no choice but to run straight into your arms, won’t she, George?”
“Of course, Fred.”
“Listen, Romeo,” George continued, “She’s a very pretty girl and she also seems to have class, you have to give her something worthy of her.”
“I think I still have some Glow Powder…” Fred rambled.
“Isn’t that the one that almost made the Prefects’ bathroom explode?” Lee chimed in, his mouth full. “Yeah, but we already adjusted it, it’s less flammable now… In theory,” Fred defended himself.
“I’m trying to surprise her, not start a fire,” Ron quickly explained.
“But you have to make your gift stand out from everyone else’s,” George said.
“And romantic,” his twin added.
“And make an impact.”
“There’s a shop in Hogsmeade near Zonko’s,” Jordan interrupted, his mouth full of toast. “They have things like bracelets, necklaces, and all that nonsense girls like… And it’s not too expensive.” Ron’s eyes widened; for the first time in the entire conversation, someone had given him a concrete idea. He stood up so quickly that he accidentally bumped his brother’s elbow as he was drinking from his glass, causing the liquid to spill all over him.
“Holy crap!” Fred exclaimed, jumping out of his seat as pumpkin juice dripped down his uniform. Ron didn’t turn to look at the mess; after all, he knew he’d get charged for it later. He reached Gryffindor Tower in record time and raced up to the dormitories, pulling all the Galleons, some Sickles, and a Knut he'd kept from his own birthday out of his trunk. There was no sign of Harry anywhere, so with a swift movement, he borrowed the Marauder's Map and the cloak hidden under the bed. He was sure he could repay him later. Without wasting any more time, he ventured through the passage, where a strong, icy gust nearly ripped the cloak off his back. It wasn't the first time he'd traveled through these tunnels, but he swore he'd never done it at such speed. It took him no more than a few minutes to reach the other end. Luckily for him, the Honeydukes cellar was completely deserted, which allowed him to remove the cloak before leaving.
Hogsmeade was completely covered in a white blanket of snow, and a familiar, sweet smell filled the air. He walked down the street trying not to attract attention; after all, this wasn't a day when Hogwarts students were allowed to visit the village.
Following Lee Jordan's words, he reached Zonko's shop and began to pay closer attention to the nearby stores. Truthfully, he'd never noticed the old bookstore next door or the old-fashioned women's clothing store beside it, but just a few meters away was what he was looking for.
A small shop, with peeling pink paint on the front and a crooked sign. The window was crammed with strange, shiny objects: rings with tiny pulsating hearts, necklaces that changed color according to the wearer's mood, and even matching bracelets that glowed when one of the two wearers pressed them. Everything seemed designed to impress a girl and perhaps also to ruin any wallet. Ron nervously eyed the shop window. Lee had lied to him; absolutely everything was either out of his budget or too tacky. He was about to give up and desperately search through that secondhand clothing store when a small butterfly caught his attention. The tiny iridescent blue insect fluttered delicately among the other items, held by a thin silver chain. Right where it was attached was a small, handwritten, almost imperceptible sign: “Special Offer!” For a moment, Ron remembered the notebook you carried everywhere, the one with the pretty butterfly you had drawn yourself.
Inside the store, a woman with grayish hair dozed behind the counter. Ron cleared his throat, trying to get her attention, making her jump.
“Oh, dear, how can I help you?” she asked in a calm, kind voice; for a moment, it reminded him of his own grandmother. Ron pointed to the shop window. “I’d like to see the butterfly pendant.”
The woman smiled before searching for what he was looking for. When she brought it out, the butterfly was still clumsily trying to escape. “Good eye, young man,” she laughed. “This is the last one left, that’s why it’s on sale.”
“On sale?” Ron repeated, trying to sound casual as he felt the money in his pocket.
She nodded and told him the price. Ron felt a lump in his throat and emptied everything he had on the counter. He counted it carefully so as not to miss a single coin under the watchful eye of the shopkeeper. Every Galleon, Sickle, and even the last Knut ended up in the shop’s register.
The shopkeeper nodded with satisfaction and tapped the butterfly once with a wand. It fell stiffly onto a small velvet box. “It will last a few minutes,” she explained as she tied a gold ribbon around it. “When your girlfriend opens it, it will fly away again.”
Ron blushed to the tips of his ears, but he didn’t correct her. He carefully tucked the small box into his pocket and said goodbye with an awkward “Thanks.”
The walk back seemed shorter, perhaps because he felt like he was floating. He wasn't in a hurry this time; the snow fell silently, clinging to his hair, but he couldn't care less. He was convinced he was carrying the best possible gift, one that would bring a smile to your face that took his breath away.
When he finally passed through the statue of the one-eyed witch, he dusted off his cloak and walked to the common room. Just as he stepped through the portrait, his brothers came up behind him, laughing and joking, carrying boxes full of snacks and drinks.
“What's with that face, Romeo?” George teased when he saw him.
Fred raised an eyebrow. “Looks like Lee's advice did some good. Although I still think you should have listened to us.”
Ignoring them, Ron went up to the room where he put the map and cloak back in their place. Harry, who was sitting on his bed leafing through a copy of the Daily Prophet, looked at him in surprise. “Did you get a present?” Ron just nodded, blushing. Harry shrugged with a smile, but didn't press the issue.
After a few minutes, they both went down to the common room. The fire was warming the room pleasantly. They had arranged a quiet get-together with a few close friends, and the twins had kept their word about getting snacks and drinks from the kitchen.
He looked around for you; you were standing by the sofa with a glass of Butterbeer in your hand, your hair loose and shining in the firelight. Hermione had just finished telling a joke that made you laugh uproariously, that laugh he loved so much, and it gave him the strength to approach you. He walked toward you with the small box in his hand. He felt like his heart would burst as he got closer; he was afraid that if he got any closer, you might even hear it. When he reached you, he reached out and gently touched your shoulder.
You turned around, and Ron froze. A small pink butterfly pendant, identical to the one he held in his hand, rested on your collarbone, glowing faintly.
“Hi! For a moment I thought you'd fallen asleep,” you said, laughing, but noticing his expression, your smile faded slightly. He just lowered his gaze, speechless.
You followed his gaze to your neck and took the small pendant between your fingers, showing it to him. “Do you like it?” you said tenderly. “It's very original, a friend gave it to me.” Ron felt his stomach sink. “Happy birthday,” he managed to say as he discreetly put away his own gift.
“Thanks, Ron,” you tried to smile at him, but his disheartened expression puzzled you.
You both remained in an awkward silence. From across the room, Ron felt the sharp gaze of his brothers, waiting for the gift to be presented, but that wasn't going to happen. “Hope you enjoy the party,” he muttered before walking away towards Harry and the twins. Fred watched him approach, disappointed. “What’s with that face? Didn’t you get her a present?” Ron didn’t answer, just slumped down in the empty space next to his best friend. Lee Jordan, who was standing with the twins, ventured to ask, “So… did you find that shop I told you about?” “Yeah,” he replied in a low murmur. “And the present? Bro, her birthday’s today. I know you want to surprise her, but I don’t know if you’ll manage it if you give it to her any other day,” George insisted. Ron clenched his jaw, but didn’t reply. Instead, he jumped up and stomped across the common room, passing by the portrait of the Fat Lady. The change in temperature was noticeable, but he didn’t care; he just wanted to be away from everyone. He slumped down on one of the steps with a heavy sigh. The hallway was silent; only the murmur from inside the room could be heard.
With his elbows resting on his knees, he took the small box from his pocket. He opened it carefully, and the small butterfly took flight. "What an idiot," he whispered to himself, watching the little creature trying to escape. He was so focused on the small glass insect that he didn't even hear the frame open behind him. He only noticed your presence when you sat down next to him, staring at you intently.
"You left early," you said, a little uncomfortable. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," he replied with a sigh. "I'm just tired."
"Oh," you murmured. "For a moment I thought you were upset... with me." He looked up to meet your eyes, bright and curious, and felt his heart melt at them.
"Don't be silly," he quickly replied. "I'm just tired of being such a... fool." Ron hesitated for a moment, but finally handed you the small, open box. With extreme care, you took the box in your hands, your warm fingers brushing against his. “I thought you’d like it, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Oh, Ron, I love it,” you said. “This one’s the same color as my notebook. Thank you so much.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he hastened. “Or use it, it’s silly.”
“No, it isn’t,” you interrupted. You took your wand from your pocket and tapped the chain, which, after glowing faintly, shortened considerably. “Now it definitely isn’t,” you assured him. “Will you help me?”
Ron looked at you in surprise. The necklace was now the perfect size to wrap around your wrist. He fastened it carefully, trying to keep his hands from trembling with nerves. You moved it to show it to him; the butterfly fluttered its shimmering wings. “I loved it, Ron,” you insisted again. “Thank you so much.”
“I… I’m sorry I left like that,” he apologized awkwardly. “I just… I spent all afternoon looking for something special, and I wanted it to be unique.” He paused, hesitating to continue. “I think you’re unique.”
You both remained silent, your hand still resting on his, and neither of you seemed inclined to remove it.
“Well,” you said softly, “there’s a gift that no one has given me yet.”
“Really? What—What?” He looked at you, confused.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. Ron quickly returned your kiss, gently releasing your hand to place his own on your cheeks. At first awkward and hesitant, Ron began to feel more confident when he felt your hands become entangled in his hair. He pulled back a few millimeters to check that this wasn't a dream, and without letting go, you smiled broadly before your lips met again. This time, Ron's hands ventured to your waist, caressing you more freely.
It was at that moment that the portrait of the Fat Lady creaked open again.
"I'm telling you, there's still cake in the kitchen, George," Fred complained, coming out of the passageway. "Besides, we didn't have enough..." Both brothers froze at the scene before them. You and Ron broke your kiss with a start, but remained in place. The twins, clearly surprised by the scene, opened their mouths to speak. But before you could say anything, a voice cut you off from inside the portrait.
“Fred, George! Come back here!” Hermione leaned half her body through the painting's frame to lead both brothers back into the living room. Neither resisted the young woman, and the portrait closed again, plunging the corridor back into darkness.
You looked at him again; Ron was still staring at you, his hands still on your waist. “Happy birthday,” he said again.
“This is the best birthday present,” you said before he silenced you again with a kiss.
you have to come baaack, im obsessed with ron w fanfics
Hi! I never really left, I'm just a bit disorganized with my university work and hobbies, but I'm getting settled now and I'm actually already writing about Ron again (I promise to post this week without fail) and maybe a long George story <3
It makes me so happy that despite my inactivity my stories continue to receive so much love.
Summary: Desperate over a potions assignment, finds help from the most unexpected source: George Weasley
wc: 1.4 K
Masterlist
The cauldron in front of you bubbled, thick, dark, and with a sour smell that could make anyone who dared to pass by the common room wrinkle their nose. You looked back at the book resting between your legs:
“Stir seven times counterclockwise. The potion should take on a lilac color and its aroma should resemble freshly blooming jasmine"
Damn. This was all very wrong.
“Perfect” you muttered, tossing your wand to the side. This was your last chance. If you didn't hand in a decent potion to Snape in the morning, you'd fail the class, and you didn't want to have to explain to your family that you wouldn't be able to graduate.
You buried your face in your hands, feeling your eyes sting. Maybe it was from frustration at being so bad at Potions, or maybe it was the strong smell coming from your cauldron. But you could already see the large “D” that Snape would gladly scrawl in your notebook.
"Wow, is that even legal?" a mocking voice made you raise your head. George Weasley was coming down from the boys' rooms and approached you lazily, stretching his arms behind his head.
"Leave me alone" you managed to say. All you needed was for one of the twins to see you cry and make fun of you for the rest of the year.
"Hey, calm down, I was just curious. The smell reaches all the way up to the rooms" Looking at your cauldron, he couldn't hide his surprised expression. "Oh, wow, that doesn't look very good... Unless you want to make it explode, in which case you're on the right track"
"Go away, George, I'm not in the mood for you" you growled, picking up your wand from the floor. You knew you should empty that monstrosity you'd managed to create and start over; it would take all night.
“Oh, don't be mad at me. You're prettier when you smile"
Although the comment took you by surprise, your expression didn't change one bit. George, for his part, approached the cauldron. You didn't say a word; he couldn't ruin it any more than it already was.
“What were you trying to make? A love potion?”
“It's a Draught of Living Death"
“Ah, right, but with this, I don't know if anyone would wake up again" Seeing your frustrated expression, he softened his smile before moving closer, affectionately placing his hand on your shoulder. “Don't get mad, I'm just kidding. It's a very difficult potion"
“If I don't turn it in by morning, I'll fail" you explained. “And I won't be able to graduate"
“Well, it's your lucky day, darling. Because the best in the class is here to help you"
You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "The best in the class?" That was a joke. You had shared classes with him since first year, and you had never seen him get anything more than an 'Acceptable' on his exams.
"Don't look at me like that" he complained. "Just because Snape has it in for me doesn't mean I'm not the best. Do you think Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes could exist if Fred and I weren't the best?"
You didn't respond, still doubtful.
"Oh, come on! I'll prove it to you" He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater. You couldn't help but let your eyes wander for a few seconds to his arms. Damn. "Pass me the silver dagger"
Obediently, you handed him the tools. You watched him intently as he worked, concentrating on pouring the ingredients into the now-clean cauldron. He barely bothered to glance at the potions textbook, only double-checking the quantities.
“This is where your mistake was" You moved to his side to observe the potion, which looked nothing like the one you had made initially. “First, you must stir it only TWICE, clockwise" The mixture was a pale color, subtly tinged with lilac. “Second, you must not let it boil, or it will burn and end up like the one you made. Are you following me?”
You stood by his side, mesmerized by his movements and explanations. It was as if the joking and carefree George Weasley had been replaced by a diligent and focused student.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't like it.
“If Snape asks you, you must tell him you made it this way, correct?”
You were speechless, amazed. In just a few hours, George had not only managed to brew one of the most difficult potions in the book, but he had also explained it to you in a way that Snape never could.
Finally, the sour smell in the air was replaced by the soft perfume of jasmine. He looked at you with a triumphant smile.
“What did you think? Am I a good teacher?”
You bit your lip. “I don’t know how to thank you"
“I do" he said quickly, moving slowly closer until you were facing each other. His gaze alternated between your eyes and lips. “But I’ll tell you after Snape gives you an 'Exceeds Expectations.' Do we have a deal?” He extended his hand for you to shake.
“If I get an 'Exceeds Expectations,' I might just marry you, George Weasley"
“I’ll hold you to that" he winked. "Come find me later" he said, and headed off toward his room, leaving you in the middle of the common room with a Draught of Living Death that seemed to be perfect and your heart racing.
As you headed toward the dungeons, your legs were shaking; a small sample of the potion was neatly stored in a glass vial. Snape was in the classroom with his usual disgusted expression, as if he'd smelled the very same potion you had brewed alone the night before.
Before you entered, you bumped into a Ravenclaw girl who came out of the classroom crying, probably in a similar situation to yours. The potion was fine, you were sure of it, but you couldn't stop trembling nervously.
"Go ahead" the professor instructed. You walked forward slowly and placed the vial on the table. He watched you with a raised eyebrow. “Is that your potion? Because as I recall, the last one you handed in looked like some kind of substance mixed with troll waste"
“I've been practicing, Professor" you simply replied.
He stared at you for a few more seconds. “Surprising for someone like you" he admitted, scrawling your grade in his notebook.
A beautiful, hastily written “Acceptable” crossed the page. The happiness you felt was such that you could have hugged Snape, but you’d probably get an Avada Kedavra, so you held back. You quickly thanked him and ran back to the common room.
“George!” you shouted as you burst through the painting of the Fat Lady. You saw a shock of orange hair on the sofa and got excited, but it was only his younger brother Ron, who looked at you in surprise.
“He’s in his room" Fred answered from across the room. You didn’t reply, just ran up the stairs. Although you did manage to hear the youngest Weasley say he wished girls would look for him like that.
When you opened the door, you saw George still lying on his bed, playing with a strange device that shot out colored sparks. The moment he saw you, he smiled. "So, how did it go?" You didn't answer. Instead, you ran to throw yourself down on the bed next to him. He showed no signs of annoyance; on the contrary, he moved to the side to make room for you.
"A beautiful A" you said, unable to contain your smile.
"Just an 'Acceptable'? That Snape is an idiot. At the very least, I was expecting an 'Outstanding'" he complained.
"I don't care" you interrupted. "It's done. That's all that matters"
"Does that mean you won't marry me?" he pouted.
You couldn't help but laugh. "No, I'm not going to marry you, at least not for now. But you can settle for this" And you leaned in to kiss him.
He held your waist, a little surprised but reciprocating with the same intensity. It was a long, soft kiss, a kiss that made those famous butterflies flutter in your stomach.
When you broke apart, you remained in the same position, still with bright eyes and heavy breathing.
"If I had known, I would have helped you with your Potions lessons sooner" he chuckled. You smiled back. With a sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder, and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.
Inwardly, you thanked that git Snape for making you brew that damn potion.
You thought Sirius's new motorcycle was the only surprise of the night, but his idea of a "ride" is far riskier and more unforgettable than you could have ever imagined.
Summary: You thought Sirius's new motorcycle was the only surprise of the night, but his idea of a "ride" is far riskier and more unforgettable than you could have ever imagined.
wc: 1.5k
Note: Does anyone still remember the movie 3msc? It’s a shame how badly it has aged, but it’s still a part of my teenage fantasies. Anyway, it was the inspiration for this
Masterlist
The sky was just beginning to turn orange when you threw yourself onto your bed. There wasn't much to do on a hot Sunday for which you hadn't made any plans, a fact you cursed. Even your parents had scheduled a “date night” to which you obviously weren't invited.
With nothing much to do, you tried to relax and fall asleep. You were almost there when you began to hear a strange, thunderous sound from the street. You opened a single eye, annoyed at the interruption of your budding nap. You hoped it would end soon, but it only grew louder until it settled right outside your house.
You got up, ready to argue with any idiot who had decided to mow the lawn at this hour. But when you peeked out the window, your eyes lit up.
Standing in your driveway was Sirius Black, wearing that worn leather jacket you knew by heart. He was leaning against a shiny black motorcycle that was still running.
Seeing you peeking through the window frame, he gave you that arrogant smile he couldn't hide and pulled the motorcycle keys out, playfully shaking them in the air.
Unable to contain your excitement, you ran down the stairs in a flash, reaching the front door in record time. But before opening it, you took a deep breath, trying to regain your usual calm.
As you stepped outside, Sirius was still there, with his usual carefree bad-boy air. You had to stop yourself from running straight into his arms. Instead, you walked with feigned composure in his direction.
“Miss me?”
“Not at all” you lied. “It’s been the most peaceful week of my life”
“Don’t break my heart” he pleaded with a pout. “I missed you a lot” Sirius’s hands rested on your waist with his usual familiarity, completely closing the distance between you. You leaned most of your weight on him, but you didn't kiss him (even though you were dying to). Instead, you ran a hand through his long hair, clearing his face.
“Where did you get that?” You peeked over his shoulder to admire the impressive vehicle behind him.
“Do you like it?” he asked excitedly, still holding you close.
“It's amazing” you confirmed, looking into his eyes. You moved closer slowly to place a short kiss on his lips.
“Just like me” he said with his usual cocky smile. You couldn't help but laugh before your lips met again. Sirius’s hands, with more confidence, dared to venture down to your hips and then to the curve of your bottom. You pressed yourself closer to him, but he quickly groaned in annoyance and pulled away.
“Don’t do this to me” he complained. “I didn’t come for this…” He hesitated. “Or maybe I did, but later” He put his hands on your waist again to put some space between you. “First, let’s go for a ride”
You looked at him, unconvinced. You hadn’t expected him to want you to ride that thing. As impressive as it looked, it didn’t seem entirely safe, and you had never been on one. Seeing the doubt on your face, he scoffed.
“Come on, I even brought this for you” He opened the seat to take out two identical black helmets. Without waiting for your answer, he placed one on your head and carefully fastened it under your chin. “Perfect” He tapped your now-protected head as if it were a door.
“Promise we’ll go slowly?”
Sirius didn’t answer, but he put on his own helmet and climbed onto the motorcycle. With no choice, you followed him. You climbed on and, holding onto his shoulders, you settled into the space behind him. Before he could start the engine, you hugged his waist tightly, afraid he'd take off suddenly.
“No, no, no, doll” he shifted uncomfortably. “If you grab my jacket, I can’t drive” A little confused, you released your grip on his jacket.
“Hold onto me instead” he said, and slightly lifted his jacket so you could wrap your arms around his torso, which you did happily.
“What an idiot” you muttered, resting your cheek against his back, though you were grateful he couldn’t see the smile you couldn’t hide.
“Ready?” You nodded slightly.
He put the keys in the ignition, and the motorcycle roared to life. It was quite noisy, and you couldn't help but notice Mrs. Williams, the old woman across the street, peeking through her curtains and watching disapprovingly. But you couldn’t have cared less; you were on the damn motorcycle, hugging the damn waist of the damn Sirius Black. Everyone else could go to hell.
With a slight tug, you began to move down your almost empty neighborhood street. You were grateful that Sirius took your request seriously and didn't go too fast. “Are you enjoying it?” he yelled over the wind and the roar of the bike. You just moved your head against his back, nodding.
The sun had almost set by the time you reached an empty highway, barely lit by some old streetlights, from which you could perfectly observe the sunset. You already felt more confident and relaxed; everything was perfect: the refreshing breeze that hit you, the views, and your perfect boyfriend who never ceased to amaze you.
“Now comes the best part” he declared excitedly. For a moment, you thought Sirius would take advantage of the long, empty road to test the speed of his new acquisition, but you couldn't have been more wrong.
“Surprise me” you said with confidence.
You peeked over his shoulder to see him flicking some switches on the handlebars. You didn't question it; you knew nothing about motorcycles, but you heard him sigh deeply.
“Damn, am I ever going to surprise you” you heard him say before starting off again. This time with a stronger pull that made you hug him tightly.
You traveled a few miles at a dizzying speed along the road. Despite your initial fear, you couldn't help but laugh excitedly; it was much more fun than you had imagined. But all that vanished when you felt the motorcycle's front wheel lift off the ground, throwing both of your weight backward.
You screamed, terrified of crashing into the concrete at such speed, but your fear was even greater when the rear wheel also lifted, leaving you floating in the air.
Sirius's laughter mixed with the wind and the motorcycle’s engine, which continued to move forward in the air. More than ever, you hugged his waist and squeezed him with your legs while you hurled a torrent of insults that he couldn't hear.
Finally, upon reaching a height where the air was cooler, the vehicle stabilized and continued moving forward at that distance from the ground. The speed at which you were moving slowed slightly. You loosened your grip—just barely—to look down, and your stomach lurched.
“Did I surprise you?” Sirius turned his head slightly to look at you.
“Eyes on the road, idiot” you screamed in terror. He just rolled his eyes.
“What for? The only thing that could run us over now is a distracted bird” One of his hands let go of the handlebars to grip your arm, which was wrapped tightly around him. “Come on, open your eyes, I have something to show you”
You felt them lean slightly to the left, and a completely new landscape appeared before your eyes. The city, which now seemed so far away, stretched out like a sea of twinkling lights that competed against the sky, now dotted with stars.
Before you could say anything, you began to descend slowly towards a small green hill from which you could also see the tiny lights of London.
You felt your legs tremble slightly as you got off the bike, visibly grateful to be back on solid ground.
“It wasn't so bad, was it?” Sirius’s hands carefully settled near your neck to unbuckle your helmet and store it inside the motorcycle.
“I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest” you confessed.
“You feel that way because you were hugging me” he said with a crooked smile “But what did you think of the ride?” He watched you like a child eager for an answer.
You sighed, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and you looked into his eyes, which shone like the stars above you.
“Perfect” you replied sincerely, wrapping your arms around his neck again“But don’t ever give me one of those 'surprises' again”
You felt his chest vibrate with a laugh; he wasted no time pulling you into his arms as well.
“I can’t promise you that” he said, his face buried in your hair. “It comes with the Black package: guaranteed fun”
“What an idiot”
“But you love this idiot”
You looked at him again; he couldn't have been more right. “Yes, I love you, you idiot” you confessed for the first time. He remained silent for a few seconds, processing your words.
When the Yule Ball takes a disastrous turn, an unexpected encounter with Neville Longbottom transforms a night of disappointment into a truly magical memory
❀ Pineapple Juice (2.1k)
A party night turns unbearable thanks to McLaggen. Luckily, an accident and some pineapple juice transform the evening into the best one ever
The fear of losing a job and losing each other. An honest confession and a tender moment are enough to show that their love is their best shield against any storm
Summary: A party night turns unbearable thanks to McLaggen. Luckily, an accident and some pineapple juice transform the evening into the best one ever
wc: 2.1k
Masterlist
Nobody could deny it, Slughorn had outdone himself this time. What was once a dusty, old classroom now shone like a diamond; every chandelier, curtain, and centerpiece seemed designed solely for that night.
You would have been grateful if they had put the same effort into the invitations they sent out. Most of your friends hadn't been invited, and those who had came down with a horrible cold that made them sneeze bubbles—a strange and sudden illness that didn't even give them time to warn you that you would have to go alone.
Perhaps you would have had better luck if you had also caught the cold, and you wouldn't be standing here with shoes that pinched your feet, a ridiculous dress with irritating seams, and with McLaggen in your ear ranting about the one sport you disliked the most in the world.
“It's just as I'm telling you,” your companion said arrogantly. “Many believe the Seeker is the most important on the team, but they're wrong! It’s actually the Keeper! That’s why I chose that position.”
You nodded in response, thinking that maybe if you didn't answer, he would get bored and go bother someone else. But Cormac seemed more verbose than usual today.
“That’s why I chose not to join the Gryffindor team, they're amateurs,” he explained. “I wouldn't be able to reach my full potential.”
“I thought you failed to catch a quaffle,” you mentioned distractedly.
McLaggen snorted in annoyance. “What are you talking about? It's just as I told you, if I were in Gryffindor, I'd have to lower my abilities to match the team’s level.”
“Drinks?” a voice offered from behind you.
You barely turned to grab a cup of an unknown liquid from one of the trays. In one quick motion, you drank the entire content without breathing, hoping it would help you not to tear your ears off if you had to keep listening to Cormac talk.
“Oh, you must have been very thirsty,” commented the same person who had given you the cup. “If you want, I can bring you another one.”
The familiar voice caught your attention. Neville was standing behind you, holding a silver tray that was now empty. You turned around completely, unable to hide your huge smile, your heart swelling with excitement upon finally noticing him. You saw his cheeks flush slightly at the intensity of your gaze.
“I didn't know you would be here tonight,” you said, still smiling.
“Uh… yeah, you know… I didn't know you would be here either,” he stammered, already a bit nervous. “I'm just here to bring the drinks.”
“Waiter, bring me another drink too,” Cormac stretched out his arm very close to your face to leave his empty cup on the tray. Neville stumbled slightly, trying not to let it fall. Seeing McLaggen’s gesture, other boys were quick to imitate him, filling your friend’s tray almost to the brim. He looked terrified they might fall.
“I'll bring your drinks right away,” he said without taking his eyes off the glasses, which threatened to topple with every trembling step he took. You watched him disappear into the crowd.
“What a weird guy,” Cormac said, his brow furrowed. “Just like all Hufflepuffs.”
You looked at him, not understanding. “Neville isn't in Hufflepuff, he's in Gryffindor, just like us.”
“Oh, right, the one who's always having accidents,” he replied, shrugging it off. “Yeah… It's a hazard that he's in charge of the glass cups! He's going to end up killing someone.”
You took a deep breath, trying to control the violent impulse starting to spread through you. Yes, Neville could be clumsy and prone to accidents, but Cormac was nobody to talk about him like that.
“Oh, come on,” he complained upon seeing the change in your expression. “Don't tell me he’s your friend?”
You didn't respond, just gave him a cold look, hoping he would understand that he needed to shut his mouth. But of course, that was nearly impossible.
“The one who lost his eyebrows from making a cauldron explode? Don't make me laugh.”
Just then, Neville arrived at your side with his tray, this time reloaded with drinks that seemed to be tilted dangerously. Extremely focused, he took one of the cups, which seemed to have a different drink than the others, and offered it to you.
“I know you like this one better,” he said in a low voice. “They weren’t serving it tonight, but I thought… you know.”
“Thanks, Nev,” you couldn't help but smile as you tasted the pineapple juice. It was as if your chest hadn't been bubbling with rage just a few seconds ago. Every time you spoke with him, it was as if the world around you disappeared.
“Oh, I was dying of thirst!” Cormac exclaimed.
With a rough movement, he took one of the cups, and with feigned clumsiness, he blatantly pushed the entire tray toward Neville. The sticky, cold liquid completely soaked your friend's robes and the floor around him, and the glasses that had miraculously survived shattered against the stone floor.
Neville stumbled back in surprise, slipping on the liquid and falling to the floor, flushed and soaked. The loud noise caused the entire hall to fall silent, watching the scene with obvious disapproval.
“It was obvious.”
“Who was the genius who gave Longbottom the cups?”
“How clumsy.”
You heard these comments from the crowd of students who watched everything with curiosity. McLaggen covered his mouth with his cup, hiding his stupid laughter. You were about to lunge at him, but seeing Neville on the floor, you chose instead to help him up, being careful not to slip yourself.
“There’s nothing that can't be fixed!” exclaimed Slughorn, making his way through the crowd, and with a skillful flick of his wand, he made the cups reappear on the table, repaired, and the floor sparkle clean. Everyone celebrated the action, but your companion was still completely soaked.
“I… I'm sorry… It wasn't my intention,” he tried to excuse himself.
“Don’t worry, lad. That's all for today,” the professor interrupted. He patted his arm in an attempt to comfort him, but upon feeling that it was sticky, he quickly pulled his hand away. “Now go take a shower.”
Neville just nodded silently. You looked for his gaze, but he quickly lowered his head and rushed out of the hall.
“Do you still like him?” McLaggen muttered mockingly. You clenched your fist, ready to punch him, but held back. You would probably be punished immediately, and your priority right now was elsewhere. In the morning, you could deal with the jerk.
You quickly walked after Neville, shouting his name, but he seemed to ignore you as he continued on his way. Annoyed that you couldn't run, you took off your uncomfortable, stupid shoes to chase after him.
You had only taken three steps when something sharp jabbed forcefully into the sole of your foot.
“OW!” you yelled, unable to hold it in. Neville stopped dead in his tracks to look at you. Hopping on your good foot, you took a couple of clumsy jumps until you leaned against the wall.
It seemed that a tiny piece of glass had gotten stuck on Neville's suit, falling onto the hallway floor, and you were the lucky one to step on it, barefoot.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asked worriedly, rushing to your side.
“A little,” you lied, trying to hold back tears.
Neville knelt down in front of you without hesitation. You couldn't make out the color of his cheeks in the dark hallway, but you imagined they were just as flushed as yours. He carefully took your foot, moving your dress out of the way to get a better look.
“I can't see the glass,” he murmured, frowning.
“But I can still feel it,” you complained.
“We have to go to the infirmary,” he sighed. “I can't carry you, I'm soaked… Do you think if I crouch down, you could get on my back?”
“What?” you asked, surprised. The night seemed to be turning around.
“Yeah, you're right… It's a silly idea,” he scoffed. “I'd better go get a professor.”
“No, no, no, no, wait,” you managed to grab his robe. “It's not silly at all,” you smiled at him. For a moment, you forgot about the glass embedded in your skin. “But if we fall down the stairs, I don't want you to blame me.”
He turned his back and crouched down slightly. With a small jump, you managed to climb onto his back.
“You can rest easy,” he said, straightening up. “You're not a cup, I'm not going to drop you.”
“The cups weren't your fault, it was that jerk McLaggen,” you interrupted.
“Yeah, but I ruined it, I was distracted.”
“You didn’t ruin anything, the cups were repaired, and no one was hurt.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Yeah, so what? Now I’m getting a ride on your back at Hogwarts. The night is only getting better.”
Neville let out a nervous laugh, making his back vibrate slightly. He was about to say something, but at the last second, he closed his mouth again.
“What were you going to say?” you insisted.
“I imagined it would be better if you had gone with McLaggen… you know… you looked very entertained.”
“Are you kidding me?” you asked, annoyed. “If I had stayed there for five more minutes, they would have been carrying me away too, but to Azkaban! For murder!”
You heard him laugh again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, careful not to choke him. He adjusted his hands on your legs before starting the climb up the stairs.
“How did you know I liked pineapple juice?” you asked curiously.
“You always have it for breakfast,” he said casually. “You're the only one; everyone else prefers pumpkin juice. They practically make it just for you.”
“So… how did you get it for tonight?”
Neville fell silent. For a moment, you thought you had pushed him too hard, but finally, with a sigh, he answered, “I had to go down to the kitchens to have them make it for you… And then bring it to the hall.”
“Does that mean you went down seven flights of stairs just to get my drink?” you asked, surprised.
“…And then came back up. Yeah.”
“You’re so sweet, Nev.”
“It was nothing,” he brushed it off. “It's just juice.”
“Pineapple juice,” you corrected him. “And now you're carrying me up the stairs to the infirmary. You are my Prince Charming, Neville.”
The words came out of your mouth before you could process them. You felt him squeeze your legs a little, nervously. For a moment, you thought your face would catch fire from embarrassment, then you realized you were at the door of the infirmary. Neville helped you down from his back, careful not to let you put weight on your injured foot.
“The cups were my fault,” he confessed. “Cormac pushed the tray, but I was so distracted… I was watching you so intently, that dress looks perfect on you.” His confession left you completely speechless; your heart skipped a beat with excitement. The night just kept getting better. “I know you probably don't feel the same way, but I just had to say…”
You didn't let him finish before crashing your lips against his. Neville didn't react, completely frozen. You carefully took his face in your hands. “I couldn't imagine a better night,” you said, close to his lips.
This time, he took the initiative, bringing your lips together. It was a clumsy, rushed kiss, but it made you completely forget about his sticky suit, the stabbing pain in your foot, and the idiot McLaggen.
When you separated, still breathless, Neville looked down and murmured something you could barely hear, “Sorry… I never… I'm sorry.”
“Don't worry,” you hurried to say. “I'll teach you.” And you wrapped your arms around his neck. With a little more confidence, Neville placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer and increasing the intensity.
Just then, the infirmary door burst open, causing you both to jump apart in surprise. Madame Pomfrey looked at you with a raised eyebrow and gestured with her head for you to come in.
“I don't have all night, young lady.”
“Oh, yes… yes, of course,” you murmured, still feeling dizzy, and you entered with small hops. Neville was about to follow you when the nurse's voice cut him off.
“Not you, Longbottom,” she declared. “Yours can be solved with a shower. Go to your room.”
You saw him hesitate. He gave you a look before leaving under Madame Pomfrey's watchful eye. You couldn't hide the huge smile tattooed on your face.
“Now, girl, tell me how you did that,” Pomfrey began in a formal tone.
Summary: The fear of losing a job and losing each other. An honest confession and a tender moment are enough to show that their love is their best shield against any storm
wc: 1.1k
Masterlist
A quick note: I wrote this inspired by the song: No me importa el dinero - Los autenticos decadentes. And it goes without saying that I'm pretty weak at English, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.
I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated <3
You looked out the window for the umpteenth time. The streetlights outside were already starting to turn on and the shops were closing, but there was no sign of who you were looking for. You sat back down in one of the dining room chairs, anxious.
It wasn't the first time Remus had taken this attitude; he'd leave early in the morning for work and not return until almost nightfall. He always had a perfect excuse: chatting with his boss, working overtime, walking back to avoid spending money on the bus, etc.
At first, you'd taken it in stride. You both urgently needed that money; the bills kept piling up in the mailbox, and your salary alone wouldn't cover all the expenses. Not to mention how difficult it had been for your husband to get and keep a regular job because he was a werewolf.
But the situation kept repeating itself, day after day, and you began to wonder if there really wasn't something more to it.
The ringing of the phone yanked you from your thoughts, and you rushed to answer the call.
“HELLO?! HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!” The shouts on the other end of the line nearly pierced your eardrum, but the voice was easily identifiable.
“I can hear you, James,” you said, moving the tube away from your ear. “No need to shout.”
“Oh, sorry, I'm still learning how to use this thing.” He lowered his voice a little, though it was still loud. “Can you put me through to Moony?”
“He's not home yet,” you replied, somewhat annoyed. “How's little Harry?”
“That bastard! When he gets home, tell him to call me. Harry's fine. He misses his aunt and uncle.”
“Oh, my little one. We'll go visit them as soon as possible.”
You heard James fiddling with the phone and the muffled sound of Lily's voice in the background. “Oh… Uh, yeah, and I wanted to let you know if you need help with anything… Anything… Don't hesitate to ask, that's what friends are for.” You remained silent for a few seconds.
“What do you mean?” you managed to mumble, confused.
“Yeah… You know…” James's voice sounded uncomfortable, and you could tell he was pacing, stretching out the phone cord. “You understand…”
“No, I don't understand.”
“Money…” He finally revealed. “If you need help with that, you can count on us.”
You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. It wasn't the first time your husband's best friend had offered his help. It was sweet, but with your job and Remus's new income, you were sure it wouldn't take long to stabilize financially.
"That's very kind, James," you replied. "But we'll be fine."
"That's good to hear." He laughed too. "So Moony already got another job? That was quick."
"Another job?"
"...Shit," Lily's voice bellowed in the background, probably insulting her husband. "I... I thought you already knew," he said finally.
You remained silent, trying to process the information. The front door creaked as usual, admitting a very tired Remus. "Bye, James. Give Harry a kiss for me," you said, and without waiting for a reply, you hung up.
You watched your husband drop his bag and hang his old coat on the rack. When he saw you, he approached slowly before placing a small kiss on your lips. His slouched gait and the heavy bags under his eyes betrayed that something was wrong.
You placed one of your hands on his cheek, bringing him back to your lips. He, somewhat surprised, followed your instructions.
"Did you miss me?" he said, barely separating you a few inches.
"A lot." You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against his chest. Remus's scent was intoxicating; it was a kind of men's cologne mixed with the chocolate he always carried in his pockets. His arms carefully wrapped around you, and he rested his chin on your head with a sigh.
“I'm sorry I'm late, today…”
“Don't try to hide it anymore,” you interrupted. “I knew something was wrong.”
His breath hitched, and he let go of your waist in an attempt to distance himself, but you only tightened your grip. He didn't put up any further resistance and buried his face in your hair again. “I didn't want to worry you,” he said softly.
“You didn't want me to know you were out of work again.” You both fell silent. Gently, you loosened your grip. He lifted his head so you were face to face. “Why? We’re a team,” you said, feeling a lump form in your throat.
“I… I was afraid you’d leave,” he admitted. “It was a good job, a good opportunity… We needed that money.” A single tear slid down your husband’s cheek. You hurried to wipe it away carefully, but more soon escaped his bright eyes.
“A cold wind can’t knock me down.” You took hold of both of his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “If I have you near me, I’m not afraid of what might happen.”
“I’m sorry…”
“I don’t care about money. I have what I love most by my side,” you assured him. “I am your faithful companion.”
“You are my shield against fear, and even if the sky collapses, I will always be there.” Remus’s voice was broken, he carefully brought his hands to your face, also wiping away the tears that you hadn’t even noticed were running non-stop. “How could I have imagined that you would think of leaving me? We've been through more than one storm together."
"Neither the good nor the bad times have been able to separate us, because our love has always been stronger." You crashed your lips onto his again.
Your husband was trembling slightly, but he soon wrapped his arms tightly around your body. He gently pushed your body to walk backward. You obeyed gladly, unable to let go of his lips, until the back of your knees hit the armrest of the chair. You both sank down, landing on the old chair.
You couldn't help but laugh at his startled face when the piece of furniture made a strange noise from the sudden weight of both of you. After a few seconds, Remus quickly settled on top of you, careful not to crush you completely.
"I admit... I was afraid it was another woman," you confessed timidly.
"Another who...?"
You felt the heat settle on your cheeks. It seemed stupid now, but the thought of Remus having an affair had crossed your mind from time to time.
“Impossible," he declared. "I am also your faithful companion."
Summary: When the Stones' music becomes the center of a funny interrogation, Ron Weasley has to give it his all.
wc: 1.4k
Masterlist
“Hermione! The door!” you shouted upon hearing the unmistakable sound of the front doorbell, but received no response from your sister. The repetitive melody rang again, this time more insistently. “HERMIONE!” you called again, but again, you were ignored.
Clearly annoyed, you threw the book you had found among your sister’s things onto the other bed before heading downstairs. You had been warned about Hermione’s friends’ visit weeks ago, but you had never been informed that you would be the one to greet them.
The doorbell rang once more. You cursed under your breath before slamming the door open. The two boys jumped, one of them still holding up his hand to ring your bell once more.
“Oh,” the boy with glasses looked at you in confusion. “I’m so sorry, we were looking for the Grangers’ house.”
“It’s here,” you clarified. “You’re Hermione’s friends, right?”
They both looked at each other before nodding. You stepped aside to let them pass. "Hermione's my sister. I suppose she's out shopping. She'll be here soon."
The two boys looked at each other cautiously before entering. You couldn't help but look them up and down. For a second, you regretted not going to that strange magical boarding school yourself. They sat stiffly in one of the living room armchairs, as if afraid of making the wrong move.
"Do you want something to drink?" you asked, trying to be friendly. "There's tea or juice... or water."
"Tea would be nice, thanks," the boy with glasses replied with a smile.
"Fine. And you?" This time, you looked at the redhead.
But he seemed frozen, staring at you with his mouth half open. You frowned and looked at his friend, who seemed to notice his condition and jabbed him in the side with his elbow, making him jump.
"Ron," the redhead finally said, as if he'd found his words.
“Well… But I don't think there's any of that in the kitchen,” you replied uncomfortably. Perhaps it was a very common drink among teenage wizards. “Can I offer you a soft drink?”
“No—er—I mean—” he cleared his throat. “My name is Ron.”
“And mine's Harry,” the one with glasses added. “And he'll be drinking tea too.”
“Sure, a pleasure.”
From the kitchen, you could hear the two of them whispering in the living room, but you couldn't make out what they were talking about. When they returned with the tray, they both fell silent and nervously looked straight ahead.
“How strange they are,” you thought.
Just then, the front door lock turned and your sister walked in, laden with bags from the store. “Oh, I was expecting them later,” Hermione commented, leaving a few shopping bags by the door.
“They just got here a moment ago,” you told her. “If I didn't open the door for them, they'd break the doorbell,” you tried to joke, but both boys turned red. Especially Ron, who seemed to choke on his own tongue.
"I'm sorry, Mum asked me to stop by the pharmacy. I didn't think you'd be so punctual," Hermione apologized, taking a seat opposite her friends.
"Don't worry, your sister was very kind," Harry replied, accepting the cup of tea you handed him.
"Oh, thank you," your sister said when you offered her a freshly brewed cup.
When it was Ron's turn, his hands trembled slightly as he took the cup, which he did with extreme delicacy, as if afraid of dropping it.
"So... you like The Rolling Stones?" Ron asked suddenly.
It took you a few seconds to answer, thinking they were talking to each other, but the redhead gestured to your T-shirt. It was an old one you had taken from your dad's old things. It was a bit big on you and the neck was a bit stretched out, but the band logo was still visible.
“Ah,” you hesitated. “Yes, I like them quite a bit,” you admitted.
“Me too, they’re my favorite band,” he confessed. Harry and Hermione looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“That’s great… What song do you like?”
“Oh… That one… You know… It’s very well-known.” He began to mumble nervously, but no song seemed to come to mind. You hid a small smile behind your own mug, taking a sip.
“I didn’t know you knew The Rolling Stones,” Hermione said with a fake air of distraction.
“What are you saying?” Ron complained. “They’re my favorite band!”
“You still haven’t told us your favorite song,” your sister pressed.
“That’s because… There are so many, I can’t choose just one!” Ron took a quick sip from his mug. “It’s very good,” he said almost inaudibly.
“Then I think you could tell me the name of the singer, right?” your sister insisted again.
Ron's cheeks went from a furious red to a worrying pale. He obviously didn't know who the Rolling Stones were, and it didn't really matter. But Hermione seemed to enjoy unnerving him.
"Who do you take me for? Of course I know!" Ron glanced at his friend for help, but he just shrugged, holding back a laugh.
"Mick Jagger?" you offered with a half-smile.
“Exactly,” exclaimed the redhead, regaining some color in his face. “Mick… that… Excellent guy.”
Hermione slapped her forehead in resignation, while Harry could no longer hide his laughter. You just smiled at Ron, bringing back the crimson color to his cheeks.
“Anyway,” Hermione sighed, going to grab one of the shopping bags, the only one different from the others. “I bought this for astronomy class.” She pulled out a small golden artifact, similar to a telescope.
“Cool,” you said, snatching it from her hands. She tried to stop you, but gave up when she saw you had already placed it over one of your eyes. “I can’t believe they use those things for school. It’s impressive.” You looked at your sister through the artifact, distorted and upside down.
“And you?” You handed the strange telescope back to your sister and looked at Ron, who was turning to you again.
“What about me?”
“Nothing, just… uh… um…”
“I’m not a witch, if that’s what you were going to ask,” you said briskly.
“Ah… Sorry.”
“Why? It’s not something I deny,” you dismissed with a casual gesture.
“No, yes, of course, but you know. It would have been fun if you came to school too…” He paused to sip his iced tea. “For Hermione, mainly,” he clarified.
Hermione looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, right… For me,” she replied sarcastically before rising from her seat with a dramatic sigh. “Harry, could you give me a hand carrying the groceries to the kitchen?”
Harry looked at her, uncomprehending. “Now?”
“Yes, Harry, now,” she interrupted in a firm tone.
The boy with glasses blinked a few times before quickly standing up, his long legs slamming onto the coffee table. You heard him swear before helping your sister with the bags, which didn’t seem heavy at all.
Ron watched them leave, completely bewildered. You saw him about to help them, but quickly stopped him. “So what other bands do you like?... Besides the Rolling Stones?”
His expression turned into a gesture somewhere between nervous and worried, impossible to hide.
“I really like Queen,” you continued. “Although I also like Pink Floyd... and ABBA.”
“All of them... Great... I love them.”
“You don’t seem like the type of guy who listens to ABBA.”
“It’s my favorite band... after the Rolling Stones.”
“Of course,” you agreed. “Always after them.” You laughed softly when you saw him lower his gaze.
Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione and Harry came back from the kitchen. They both gave you an apologetic look.
“We have to go,” Hermione announced. “Your mother must be worried sick, Ron.”
“Already?” the redhead complained, but with a sigh, he got up from the sofa.
You quickly tore off a sheet of paper from a small notepad next to the phone and scribbled down your number before handing it to Ron. He looked at it as if you were pointing a gun at him.
“If you want to talk more about the Stones,” you smiled at him.
“But... I don’t know how to use a pho…”
“I’ll teach him,” Harry interrupted, grabbing the paper.
You watched them walk off down the street, and you couldn’t help but smile when Ron turned around to see if you were still there. You gestured for him to call you, which made him turn around quickly and be playfully shoved by his friend.
Maybe you could bribe your sister to invite them over next summer.
Summary: George Weasley has a plan for your detention: a date. And a promise for Luna you won't be able to ignore.
wc: 1.5k
Masterlist
You stared at them, silent. You even counted to ten, trying to find your composure, but when Silas Blackwood snatched Luna's copy of "The Ancient Art of Garden Gnome Mating," you jumped out of your seat and headed his way.
It was a matter of seconds; by the time you finished, your wand was vibrating slightly in your fingers, waiting to strike again. Professor Flitwick ran into the library, but it was too late: Silas was on the floor, his nose inflated like a balloon, his eyebrows now long octopus tentacles. His two friends hadn't fared any better; one of them sported beautiful matching donkey ears and tail, and the other couldn't stop vomiting snails.
"What have you done, Lovegood?!" the professor yelled at you.
Beside you, Luna watched the scene with her characteristic distracted air, hugging her strange book, unable to hide that glimmer of emotion. You stroked her head with a sigh before following the professor to his office.
"See you tonight." You heard her mutter something about Nargles and being careful, but you didn't pay much attention.
You had to endure a long conversation with your head of house. He kept saying that it had been an unnecessary use of force, that Silas now floated every time he sneezed, and that it would take weeks for his eyebrows to return to normal.
That made you smile with satisfaction, but Flitwick didn't like it.
"I didn't do anything wrong," you interrupted. "They're always bothering her and stealing her things... You know it, everyone knows it, and no one does anything."
The professor sighed in resignation. This wasn't the first time you'd had this conversation, and it wasn't the first time you'd fought over your little sister. "We already talked about this, Lovegood. That's no excuse for you to bewitch half the castle," he explained. "But considering your background, I think a week's punishment will be enough."
You headed to the classroom where you would serve your punishment. It was one of the coldest and dustiest in the castle, located on the third floor. Professor Binns looked at you over his glasses as you entered, handing you a piece of parchment and a quill, along with some History of Magic notes that you were to transcribe by hand.
You had barely written half a line when the front door opened again. George Weasley, disheveled and with a slight blush on his cheeks, walked between the desks without erasing his stupid smile. The professor barely glanced at him before handing him a piece of parchment and quill as well.
George spotted you immediately and with a half-smile, headed straight for you. You thought he'd take the seat next to you, but instead, he sat in the vacant spot behind you, resting his forearms on the desk, leaning close enough to be close to your ear.
"What a lovely coincidence to find you here, Lovegood," he whispered. "You could say fate wants us together."
You rolled your eyes openly as you continued writing on the parchment.
"What are you doing here?"
"Well, grounded, like you. I heard about what you did to those Ravenclaw boys," he murmured conspiratorially. "Sublime."
"I'm being serious." You looked at him over your shoulder. "I don't believe in your coincidences."
He raised his hands in surrender as he sat down properly.
"You caught me," he declared. "Let's just say Filch's cat now glows in the dark, and that gives me a few free afternoons by your side."
You turned your gaze forward, trying to concentrate on that stupid history scroll that couldn't have interested you less. But you soon heard the squeak of the chair behind you. Without asking, he quickly took the empty spot next to you.
"A beautiful lady shouldn't serve detention alone," he said with mock solemnity. "What would you think if I told you that the cat thing was an elaborate plan to ask you out?"
"I'd say you're an idiot."
"Your sweetness drives me crazy."
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but your lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile, betraying you.
"If you'd agree to go out with me, I could make you smile more often," he proposed. "You're much prettier than with that frown you always wear." He did an exaggerated imitation of your face, causing a laugh to escape you.
You looked at Professor Binns, expecting a scolding, but he was already slumped over his desk, snoring.
"I have an idea."
"That's probably a bad idea."
"Let's escape to the kitchens. I'm sure there's an apple pie with your name on it there." George winked at you.
"Are you kidding?"
"Would you rather spend the afternoon transcribing scrolls of..." he looked at your notes, "How troll assemblies were organized in the 13th century?"
In a swift movement, he snatched your parchment to scribble on it. It took him a few seconds to reveal it again with a proud smile. A small, sloppy drawing adorned the edge of the sheet.
"Would those be the trolls at the assembly?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
George looked at you.
Indignantly, "Of course not! It's us on a date... See?" He pointed at the scribble. "We're smiling and holding hands."
"Hmm." When you didn't react, George took your hand and led you out of the classroom. You followed without resistance; anything would be better than transcribing about trolls or playing at deciphering their horrible drawings.
You walked through the almost empty corridors, dodging a couple of suits of armor that looked more awake than Professor Binns before reaching the kitchens, where he let you in with an exaggerated bow.
When you entered the kitchens, a dozen house elves quickly surrounded you both, offering hot drinks and freshly baked buns.
George led you to one of the unoccupied tables, where plates, cutlery, and a cake quickly appeared; to your surprise, it had your name written on it in dough.
"I told you there was a cake with your name on it, didn't I?" He proudly pointed to the dessert you both would share.
"I can't believe you were serious. How long did it take you to plan this?" you asked curiously.
"Planning? Please, the art of improvisation is my greatest virtue," he declared, serving you a generous slice of the freshly baked pie.
You carefully cut a small piece and brought it to your mouth. The flavors exploded immediately; the sweetness and softness of the apple was unmatched; you had never tasted anything like it before, and you had to restrain yourself from exclaiming.
"So?" he asked curiously.
"It's not bad," you declared simply.
"It's not bad? But what are you saying, it's excellent. I had to bribe Poppin to use my mother's recipe," he complained.
"It's edible," you replied, wanting to annoy him a little.
"Is it good enough for you to accept a second date?"
"Second date? This isn't a date, George." You took another slice of pie.
He remained thoughtful for a few seconds, watching you eat.
"You're right," he sighed. "It's not a date yet..."
You looked at him, your eyes lingering on his lips. A second before you could ask him what he meant, he leaned across the table and stole a kiss. It was quick, almost a brush, but enough to make you forget how to swallow the piece of cake still in your mouth. You stared at him, transfixed, as he sat back down as if nothing had happened.
"It's not a date without a kiss," he said matter-of-factly, and went back to eating.
"Idiot," you managed to mumble, feeling your face heat up.
"Yes, but now we're officially on a date," he replied with the most charming smile in the world, which did nothing to calm your nerves.
"I have a very tempting proposition."
You looked at him, still trying to process the kiss, as he clasped his hands together on the table, with the same enthusiasm of a child with a mischief brewing.
"If you accept a second date, I will personally make sure that no one bothers Luna again for two weeks—no, a month is better."
His voice sounded sincere, and his slightly flushed cheeks made your chest flutter.
"It's a win-win: You'll have a date with the most eligible bachelor at Hogwarts, who will also work tirelessly to ensure that your little sister is never bothered again. Do we have a deal?" He extended his hand across the table, waiting for you to shake it.
You were about to refuse, but you looked at him more closely. He had that carefree charm and that way of stealing smiles from you, even against your will. And now here he was, with a cake with your name on it, a promise for Luna, and a smile that made your nerves tingle.
You sighed, rolling your eyes.
"Fine," you shook his hand. "Second date then, but I'll take the leftover cake."
"Perfect!" he exclaimed, scaring a small house elf who was passing by. "Book your next Hogsmeade trip, babe. I won't let you down."
"It's a win-win," you repeated mockingly.
"I'm sure you will... I knew you liked the cake. You just like to play hard to get."
