#diva gonzo

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So Diane Duane read your crossover fic and it was yours? I do hope that you're still running around screaming bloody murder that one of your fave authors noticed your work (albeit it accidentally) and they mentioned it in public and you're mortified.... Wow. I dunno whether to hide you in a deep dark cavern of mine or find some old scotch to celebrate your accidental achievement.

Break out the moscato and scotch, my dragon friend

[romionesecretsanta]

Reflections

For @diva-gonzo

“She’ll be here soon, you know. Staring outside won’t make her come any faster.”

Ron turned briefly from the window to glance at Harry, giving him a quick rude gesture before looking back outside. “I know that, wisearse. And may I remind you, I’m not the one that kept sticking his head in the fireplace waiting for Ginny.”

A cough and a rustle behind him let him know that Harry had retreated behind the Prophet, and Ron allowed himself a small smirk, even though his eyes didn’t budge from the spot where Hermione was due to arrive. She’d been staying with her parents, who had been surprisingly nice about her coming over for the next two days–and he had been invited over there for New Years, something he was trying to put off panicking about for another day. This was their first Christmas together as a couple, and he was determined to enjoy it to the fullest.

Hermione had barely blinked into view before Ron was out the door, waving to her. She began trotting towards him, a large smile on her face, and with every few steps she picked up the pace until she was at a dead run, her bag slapping against her back. Ron barely had time to brace himself before she launched her body towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He hugged her tight, spinning her in a circle. “Miss me?” He asked, against the top of her head.

“No, I’m just here for the good food,” she laughed, kissing his cheek.

“Oi! I think I’m rubbing off on you in bad ways!” He said, lowering her to the ground, but keeping an arm around her waist as they walked toward the Burrow.

“If you’re lucky, I might let you try the right way later,” she smirked up at him, right before theywalked through the door and he could say nothing in return to the tantalizing prospect.

After Hermione had been fussed over by the rest of the family, he managed to maneuver her over to the sofa, where he took advantage of his Mum cooking in the kitchen to give his girlfriend a cuddle–albeit a tame one, considering Harry and Ginny were there.

They gazed into the fireplace, feeling toasty warm, with the scent of cinnamon and apples all around them. Both became quiet, thinking how different it was from last Christmas. There had been no cuddling then. Only bitterness and separation. The only fire had been the small one outside the tent for Hermione, not nearly enough to ward off the biting chill of the wind. Ron, out of guilt and feeling a need to punish himself, had often sat outside Shell Cottage without one.

“Hey! Mum called us for dinner; are you two coming?” Ginny asked, looking from one to the other with amusement.

Blushing, both stood up, knocking into each other in their rush.

“I should’ve been helping your mum in the kitchen,” Hermione berated herself.

“Hermione, you’re a guest–it’s not that big of a deal. Besides, Mum has never been shy asking you to do something if she wanted you to,” he pointed out, thinking to himself that she shouldn’t feel like she was obligated to volunteer for kitchen duty like a visiting elf.

“Still, I should have at least offered,” she said over her shoulder as they walked down the hall.

“Ron’s right, Hermione,” his dad said from behind them. “Christmas is the one meal where Molly demands to be left alone in the kitchen. She has a regimen she sticks to, and woe to whoever gets in her way!”

“I’m not that bad!” His mum said over her shoulder as they filed into the kitchen. “I just know what exactly has to be done and when, and it’s easier to do it myself than to keep making sure everyone is doing their job.”

“Too bad she didn’t feel that way about everything else while we were growing up,” George said with a faint smile, his eyes automatically flickering to the chair next to his before jerking back.

Everyone laughed at the joke, more or less managing to ignore the slightly awkward moment–George hated it when people could tell he was looking for Fred, and no one wanted to send him into one of his moods on Christmas.

Ron’s stomach growled as the food was passed around the table. His mum had been busy in the kitchen all day, and he’d barely been able to sneak a small bite for breakfast. Of course, he usually ate light to save himself for the feast, so surely it was alright to take an extra scoop of potatoes while they were still here….oh hell, maybe three.

He passed the bowl to Hermione, relieved to see her take a decent sized helping. While she had been almost half starved last year, she had had trouble adjusting to eating regular food again. Sometimes it would be too much and she would get sick, and sometimes she would totally lose her appetite for no reason. She seemed to be evening out lately, her cheeks filling in and getting a healthy rosiness.

Although both ate heartily, if anyone had been paying attention, they would have noticed that the mushrooms from the gravy had been carefully scraped to one side of the plate, the small pile kept scrupulously from touching anything else. Harry, as well, had avoided his, but Ginny had helped herself to his portion, ignoring the shudder that the three of them shared.

This, too, was different than last year. Months on the run and starving. Foraging for food, never finding more than enough to just keep body and soul together. The constant pangs of hunger, ripping through your stomach like claws. And while Ron had spent some of that time in the comfort of Shell Cottage, guilt and worry had killed his appetite, bad enough that some days he could barely choke down anything at all, even though his body cried out for it.

After dinner, they trooped back into the living room, relaxing with full stomachs. Stories were shared, and old jokes were brought up and groaned over. It was warm, and it was safe; Ron looked around at his family, hardly able to believe that just a year ago, he couldn’t have said with certainty that any of them would live out the week. And now here they were–with Bill and Fleur sitting together on one of the sofas, the newest addition to the family pushing out in a slight bump under Fleur’s robes. He cast a sideways look at Hermione, and wondered if that would be them in a few Christmases or so. She seemed to feel him looking at her, for she turned his head, and he couldn’t help blushing at the direction his mind had gone. They weren’t ready for that, but…..someday. He hoped.

Full of good food and eager to get to the presents, everyone turned in earlier than usual, as if that could make morning come faster. Ron knew that as usual, he would probably spend most of the night awake–as he did every year–drifting off right before morning, then jerking awake with some strange inner alarm clock, before trying to beat his siblings down the stairs. Briefly he wondered if he should try to act more mature now that he was in an adult relationship, then shrugged. Hermione had seen him at it for years, so he doubted she expected him to grow up that much. Speaking of Hermione….

The door to his room creaked open, and she tiptoed in with a guilty smile–from certain things she dropped, they both suspected his mum knew, but they kept it quiet just in case. As Hermione said, just because they weren’t going along with how she thought things should be done, didn’t mean they had to rub her face in it in her own house.

“Move over, I’m freezing!” Hermione ordered, scurrying across his room and diving under the covers.

“Is that an invitation to warm you up?” He leered, scooting back against the wall and pulling her closer.

“If by warming me up you mean cuddling me until we fall asleep, then yes,” she said, her cold feet resting against his shins.

“Fuck, your feet are like blocks of ice! You really do need warming up–that better?”

She sighed as he squeezed his arms around her, which he took for a yes. As they lay there together, he listened as her breathing slowed and deepened, her heartbeating in a steady rhythm against his hand.  Last year, he had spent Christmas Eve sneaking out of Shell Cottage to stare out over the ocean, tearing himself up wondering where she and Harry were, and if they were okay. Hermione had spent it nearly getting killed.

Had it really only been a year? In some ways, here in his own familiar bed, it felt like forever ago. But all he had to do was walk down the hall to the room George now had to himself, or run his fingers over the tiny scars on the back of Hermione’s neck, to know it was still much closer than he wanted it to be.

Last year had been the worst Christmas of his life; the war, the worst fight he’d ever had with his friends, the uncertainty of whether or not any of them would live through it, and if he would ever be forgiven if they did…..It had ripped holes in his soul that were still slowly healing.

But they were healing. This year, they were all safe. Hermione and Ginny were finishing up at Hogwarts, their careers already (mostly) decided on. Harry, who did not die, was diving head first into Auror training, and Ron already suspected he’d make head of the department before he was through. He had also started his own training, although his would be a bit slower, since he had permission to help at George’s shop–which wasn’t special treatment for himself, he had been assured, but in recognition of Fred’s sacrifice, as well as George’s. So he was training for a job he’d always dreamed of but hadn’t been sure he was good enough for, and he was helping his brother and saving up money in the process. Money for a small flat and a larger bed, for the witch he had always dreamed of, and had also been sure he wasn’t good enough for. The witch who loved him, and was helping him through the pain, as he was her.

This Christmas was one step away from the darkness, and next year would be another. His eyes drifting shut, he curled tighter around Hermione. Step by step, they would make it into the light together.

[ladyknightleyisundercover]

Happy Birthday, dear! I also hope the sun shines on you today, your shoes are comfortable, and the garlic bread to your liking. But then as a fellow cranky 'Puff, a proper celebration requires libations and plenty of nosh! Warmest,

Thank you so much! I felt like I needed to wait to reply until I had sampled the garlic bread, but I can report back that it was indeed delicious, and as was the rest of the day in general :) 

[wildegreenlight]

For you @diva-gonzo Went to the Chinese Lantern Festival tonight & thought of you!

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diva-gonzo replied to your post : it’s been over ten years and i’ve only realized...

Didn’t need to happen because the entire trainwreck of a series is one long nightmare.

valid

but it’s a vampire book, and by definition of certain things, there must be halloween and an ironic use of a vampire costume 

[ladyknightleyisundercover]

@diva-gonzo (tumblr keeps eating my reply to you!) thank you for the kind offer. Unfortunately, her request is very clear, it’s just the tone that’s...off. Not ideal but I’m hoping it will be sorted soon...

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@diva-gonzo, it’s totally on my Hannukah list!

While we both wait, at least know that @fuckyeahdiomedes lost sleep while reading Oathbringer. He loves it and has many feelings about what Sanderson has done. 

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I missed wishing you a Happy Birthday? Shame on me. So Happy Birthday and I hope the rest of the next week is filled with cake, skittles, rainbows, and unicorn nuzzles!

Seriously, don’t worry. The week has gotten everyone so confused that even my baby sister wasn’t sure what yesterday’s date was. 

I’m liking your unicorn more than the one in the book I’m reading. It has…violent tendencies.