#habababa

[staggbones]

Hababababa

hababababa

[the-professor-persists]

CONGRATULATIONS 🎉🎉🎉 you deserve thousands more! About prompt... what do you think of #dron (Draco x Ron)? Bonding over quidditch? 😍

Haba my LOVELY. Thank you so much! You give me life. I have been meaning to write some Dron for weeks, so thanks for kicking my butt into gear and making me do it. This is just the beginning, I believe. 😘💚😁

Draco had not spoken for three weeks, eight days, and four hours. Not ‘had been really quiet’ or ‘had only asked for the salt’. Draco Malfoy had not uttered a single word, to anyone, since the beginning of eighth year. The way he saw it, the quieter he was, the less trouble he caused, and he would survive. He didn’t want to be in the ruined castle, with walls barely held together with construction charms, rubble barely cleared from the gardens, the ghosts of faces everywhere you turned. None of it was exactly helping his inability to move on, to get past the war, to figure out where he went next. 

Being silent had its advantages; it was a lesson most people learned when they were five, and one he’d never really grasped. He knew, now, how important just sitting quietly could be. People didn’t see you when you entered a room. They forgot you were there when you didn’t contribute to conversations. And that was powerful and terrifying. 

He’d discovered, rather unpleasantly, that he agreed with Gryffindors more often than not. He found out that he really knew next to nothing about the world outside of Hogwarts. He knew more about his classmates in three weeks than he’d learned in six years of shared classes and meals. 

Draco had learned that Harry Potter took two sugars in his tea, and was extremely embarrassed about it because Hermione liked to tease him mercilessly.

 He had learned that Neville Longbottom was actually extremely bright when people let him finish his sentences, and Draco suspected that he really needed a different set of friends, because that almost never happened. 

He’d learned that Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had been together since sixth year, and that they were both hilarious and kind, and that it was beautiful to watch them be happy.

 Unfortunately, he had also discovered that Ron Weasley was exactly the sort of person that he found disturbingly attractive. It was extremely fucking annoying. There was nothing about the loud, abrasive, ginger-headed idiot that should appeal to him, and yet, he found himself uncomfortable in his pants anytime Ron reached above his head to take a pot of a shelf or hefted a large piece of rubble over his shoulder by hand, FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON. Weasley took up so much space, the complete antithesis to Draco. 

This would have been avoidable and easy to ignore, had Draco not accidentally snorted at a joke Ron Weasley made about the Puddlemere Seeker one evening in their mandatory ‘clean up the castle’ sessions in the Ravenclaw dorm. The snort earned him a sharp, puzzled look, which Draco desperately wanted to wipe off his smug face, either with a fist or with his own lips. 

That afternoon, he was sitting in Greenhouse Four, waiting for class to begin, when Weasley appeared, alone and flushed with cold. He sat down directly behind Draco and tapped him hard on the shoulder. Draco whipped around, trying to hide his fear. 

“You don’t like McGregor either,” Weasley said gruffly. 

Draco shook his head. Draco found he still had no words, and he cocked his head curiously without responding to the half-compliment. 

“With Puddlemere playing the way they are, I feel like the Canons might actually have a chance this year,” Weasley continued. 

Draco cleared his throat, voice hoarse from disuse, and whispered, “Only if they don’t make a huge mess of everything at mid-season like they always do.” 

Ron looked as though he was considering anger, and at the last second, he laughed instead.

 “Look. Don’t make me regret telling you this but, there’s a pickup game. On Wednesdays. The pitch is free at eight. No set positions. You should come down,” Ron said in a rush, still smiling. Other students began to arrive, and Draco turned back around, baffled and blushing.

                                                         -XxX- 

At 7:55 that week, he sighed silently to himself and dragged on his britches, loose because of all the weight he’d lost. He pulled a clean sweep from the Quidditch shed, and reassessed his decision for the fiftieth time, but forced himself to go to the pitch. 

The game was exhilarating; he played Beater, the crack of the bat on the Bludger satisfyingly loud and aggressive. Draco let it ring in his ears, grinning like a loon. As the game ended, Weasley flew toward him, holding the quaffle and wearing a lazy grin, hair a disaster from the wind, cheeks flushed from exertion.

 “You’re a decent beater,” he said. 

“I’m good in every position,” Draco said, winking, and immediately wanting to die in embarrassed shock. What the hell was he doing? 

Weasley threw his head back in a full body laugh. “Aha,” he laughed. “There’s Draco Malfoy.” 

The air was empty, the bodies below breaking off into groups of laughing students as they returned to the castle. Weasley flew in a lazy arc until he was right in front of him. He extended the quaffle, an oddly shaped and meaning-filled olive branch, and smirked a half smile that made Draco’s mouth go dry. 

“Prove it,” he challenged. 

When Draco finally took the ball, Weasley instantly sped to the other end of the pitch. It was only then that Draco remembered; Ron’s natural position was Keeper, and Draco was an absolutely terrible Chaser. He laughed to himself but followed anyway. By the time they landed, the sun was sinking below the horizon, and the pitch was completely empty. 

“Coming to dinner?” Ron asked innocently.

 “No…. I don’t… Um.”

 “Yeah I know but I just thought…” Ron broke off, sounding frustrated. “No, um, never mind.”

 “Good game?” Draco said quietly, extending a hand.

 Ron smirked again, but took the extended limb. “You are so completely weird, Malfoy.” 

“You too, Weasley.” 

They smiled and headed in different directions.

                                -XxX- 

He played for three weeks. The last game before the snow flew was cold and icy, and everyone played haphazardly, quitting before a clear winner emerged. Draco turned away from the others, who were headed into town for a Butterbeer before the gates locked, and was almost at the castle when he realised he was being followed. 

“Why is it you think you get to be silent and aloof? Don’t you think we’d all just rather never speak about normal things, ever again?” Weasley yelled at him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. 

Draco inhaled long and loud, trying to steady his nerves. He hadn’t been grabbed like that since living with Death Eaters, and he sort of wanted to cower on the ground. 

“I’m just trying to stay out of the way,” he whispered, unsure what Weasley needed to hear. “I’ve done enough.” 

“We all did,” Ron said gruffly, seeming to deflate. “We all feel alone, Malfoy. You just… try and keep living. I tried. Harry is trying. Hermione is… Well, trying, I guess, but—“

 “I know you aren’t together. That doesn’t mean you are alone,” Draco murmured.

 “You don’t know half of what you think you do. It’s honestly always been my problem with you,” Ron said, gripping Draco’s shoulder harder.

 Draco would have responded, but instead he was being attacked. The kiss wasn’t really a kiss, per say, so ‘attack’ seemed like the appropriate word. Ron seemed to have a goal, a purpose, and he was going to use every possible means to get there. He bit Draco’s lip and grabbed his neck. He scratched his nails into the flesh he found there, and his inhale dragged air from Draco’s own lungs. Ron was angry, that much was clear, but at whom was harder to sort out. Regardless, Draco decided he was there for whatever was happening. He kissed back, stepped into the taller man’s grasp, pulled his hips together with Ron’s until they ground together and Draco groaned. 

“What are you doing,” Draco said against Ron’s lips. 

“I have no bloody clue. Just…Puddlemere, and watching you fly, and you’re always fucking watching me, and I just…Please, can we not try and figure me out right now? I’ve been trying for six months, and I haven’t got a clue.”

 “You want to come to my room instead?” Draco breathed. 

“Yeah,” Ron growled, his breath lifting his own fringe off his reddened face. “Yeah, I do.”

[fangroyal]

congrats on 200, you utter gem!! i gotta request our beloved ship of dron (is anyone surprised?) and them being in a fluffy established relationship (preferably at hogwarts but idm if it's after) but anything else is completely up to you - i trust you completely!

(Thank you so much for the request, hun! <3 I’ve been wanting to do a Weasley jumper fic with these two for years―it’s practically required of any Dron writer, haha―so I figured what better time than now? I hope you don’t mind sharing your gift with @acciovodka​, as you two just so happened to ask me for the exact same thing. x’D Love you both! Hope you enjoy it!)

Read on AO3

It was the first day of winter break, and Hogwarts’ halls were mostly deserted. In less than an hour, the scarlet Express would depart from Hogsmeade station, transporting them all back to the comfort of their loved ones. Normally, there would be several students remaining behind for those couple weeks, but not this year. No, this time it seemed they’d all silently agreed that after everything that had happened barely six months prior, there was no more important place for them to be than home.

Except for one.

As soon as he had finished packing, Ron had excused himself from Harry and Hermione’s company and set out on a mission to find him. Tucking a brown paper package under his arm, he set out down the shifting staircases, past a gaggle of second-years hurrying along with their trunks, and descended into the castle’s dungeons, till he came upon the familiar blank stretch of stone. There, he provided the latest password that he was sure his boyfriend hadn’t realized he’d memorized and slipped through the arch that formed in the wall into the common room. Pansy had smiled knowingly as he’d passed her by, her luggage floating behind her as she made her way out, bound for the train home. She appeared to be the only Slytherin around; the corridor that led to their dorms was empty, right up until he reached the last door on the left―the room that had been specially added for the eighth-years.

Draco was right where Ron had assumed he would be. His legs were pulled up to his chest where he rested in the furthest window seat, his hands folded in his lap. He leaned back against the cushion behind him as he gazed out into the Great Lake’s murky depths. Something unseen zoomed through the foliage growing just outside the glass, disturbing the water and casting his pale features in alternating shades of blue and green.

He looked up as he heard the door click shut, and when he saw it was Ron standing there, a glimmer of a smirk passed over his lips.

“Who let your sorry arse in?”

“I have my ways.” Ron winked as he crossed the room to press a kiss to the top of Draco’s platinum blonde head. The boy chuckled quietly to himself, a hand reaching up to clutch absently at a sleeve of Ron’s jacket.

The Gryffindor glanced around them, spying Draco’s trunk at the foot of his bed. It was still latched and shoved up against it. The drawers of his dresser were still shut as well, and there were no clothes folded neatly on top of the comforter, as he would’ve done. Ron had expected as much, and yet…

“You packed?” he asked, gesturing towards it.

Draco’s expression darkened. “I told you I’m not coming.”

“Why, because you’d rather stay here alone and sulk?”

It was telling of just how far they’d come in the past couple months that Draco merely fought a smile and rolled his eyes at the comment.

It had never occurred to Ron until recently that he might ever be standing where he was at that very moment. That this particular person’s well being would ever matter as much as it did now. But so many things had changed, so many people had changed, and if he’d learned nothing else from war, he’d learned that when it came to the aftermath of that life and death sort of existence they’d been tolerating for so long, it didn’t help anything at all to hold a grudge. It had been astounding to him what he had seen that first time he’d truly opened his eyes and looked at Draco Malfoy. And he’d decided pretty quickly that he never wanted to stop looking.

Today, when he looked at him, he thought he saw the same gloomy boy he’d never bothered noticing much back in their sixth year. There was a sadness in his cloudy eyes that Ron didn’t like. He couldn’t blame him, all the same; the idea of either of his parents, let alone both of them, being locked up in Azkaban for the holiday…It was unfathomable. The Weasleys had of course offered for Draco to come to the Burrow, but he’d refused. Politely. He was still a pureblood, after all. Ron―along with Harry and Hermione―had decided he wasn’t going to allow him to be all by himself on Christmas, no matter what the little git had to say about it. And that was why he had come there that morning.

“I thought you might still say that, so…I got you a little something.”

Draco hesitated, raising an eyebrow at the offered gift, then pulled it into his lap. As he did so, Ron slid into the unoccupied space at the opposite end of the window seat and coaxed the other’s long legs to stretch out and cross over his own. Draco ran his hands along the rough paper before slipping a finger under one loose corner and tearing. The second a tuft of wool peeked out, Ron saw recognition light up his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Is this…?”

Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Ron could still hear it crack. He swallowed against the sympathetic tugging in his chest as he replied, “Well, if you did decide to come, you’d have to have something to wear, now wouldn’t you?”

Draco ripped the package open with fervor, now, his fingers trembling above the dark fabric as he lifted it and let it unfurl before him. Ron watched the blonde’s face contort for a moment, his eyes misting. He it set back down and rubbed his hand across his mouth in a manner that the Gryffindor had come to recognize as an attempt to keep himself together. Now that it lay unfolded over his lap, the emblem the jumper bore was clear: a large, capital D, stitched with golden thread.

“I’d thought she might’ve gone with green and silver,” Draco joked, laughing lightly even as his voice tightened with emotion.

Ron shook his head, grinning even through his own physical response. “Nah, too obvious. I mean, outside of your uniform, pretty much your entire wardrobe is black, so we figured why not go with something you’d actually wear.” Draco laughed again as he brushed a stray tear from his cheek. “And gold for the letter because, well, we know you like the finer things.”

It looked like Draco was attempting to smile at that―but as his brow creased and a fresh flood wet his lashes, Ron suddenly found himself with a lapful of boyfriend as the blonde crawled across the small space between them to bury his face in the crook of his freckled neck. Ron wrapped his arms and legs around him, holding him close.

For awhile, the only sound in the room was Draco’s muffled sniffling. He didn’t make much noise beyond that, but Ron could feel his tears dripping into the collar of his shirt. They lay there for some time, the jumper and its discarded packaging pressed between their thumping hearts.

Eventually, Draco gathered enough of himself to say, “Well, it’ll certainly look good with those really tight…what-do-ya-call-‘ems I have. Janes? The Muggle ones. I know you like those.”

There was no denying that, but Ron wasn’t much bothered with the idea for the time being. Instead, he listened to Draco’s breaths as they gradually calmed and circled his arms tighter around him. The blonde squeezed him in return, before pushing himself up onto his knees and wiping the back of his sleeve across his reddened eyes.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he suddenly announced, a cocky grin lighting his features, “and just you try and keep me away.” When he leaned in to press a firm kiss to his lips, Ron thought he could feel the old Draco again in his touch, and it made his belly flip with joy. “Now, are you going to help me pack, or what? The train should be leaving soon.”

Ron was grinning, too, as the Slytherin scrambled out of his lap and bounded towards his trunk, quickly throwing it open and beginning to toss his belongings inside. He got up to help as well, and when they were done and ready to head out, Draco pulled the jumper over his head with a smirk of pride that Ron hadn’t seen him wear in a very long time.

[nevillelongsbottom]

If you still doing them maybe Draco and Neville for hs headcanons? 😍

i’m gonna cry cus i basically wrote a whole one yesterday and forgot to save the draft before i went to bed so all my work is gone DDD: but here’s a new one! slightly related to the old one! :D 

draco is not much one for counting dates: but he is, for example, acutely aware of when the fourth of september rolls around

a year ago on that day, all of his slytherin gang (or so they were called; he has no idea who actually coined the name - probably harry) decided that, for whatever reason, he no longer belonged and kicked him out unceremoniously, trashing his reputation in the process 

it feels like so much longer than a year, and so much shorter

on their free period, him and neville head around to costa, a favourite student spot; draco’s feeling generous, so pays for neville to have a large latte instead of a small one and they buy enough cookies and muffins to maybe make them sick 

“imagine what your dad would say if he knew you were drinking in a costa,” neville laughs

“he doesn’t even approve of bloody gail’s bakery,” draco grumbles. “i don’t know what kind of coffee shop pleases him - in fact, i don’t even know if he likes coffee unless it’s been hand ground by penniless children”

neville giggles at that - he has such a nice laugh, really; it’s probably one of draco’s favourite things, however sappy that thought is

he’s grateful for neville, after all - he’d rebuffed neville’s efforts to be friends at first, not wanting anybody’s pity on his new loneliness, but eventually, the realisation that he really was alone and that blaise and pansy and everyone else weren’t going to take him back in had sunk in, and he had approached neville awkwardly one lunchtime, their roles suddenly reversed

and of course, neville being bloody neville, had just smiled and scooted over to make room for draco

for a while, it was like being lonely together, not standing out so much as awkward outcasts - but, draco had started talking, annoyed by the perverse silence between them, and everything had just fallen so easily into place afterward

there’s no having to watch his words, to make sure he’s as perfect as possible at all times in front of neville - there’s no having to hide his flaws or flaunt his money in neville’s gentle company

and people can laugh all they fucking want, draco likes neville and that is that

“hey, draco,” neville says, leaning back on his chair for a moment and chewing his lip in a way that is decidedly not sexy, because neville couldn’t do sexy if a pair of fishnet tights slapped him in the face, “if you remember when your friends - er, i don’t know, got rid of you? - then do you remember when we got together?”

draco raises an eyebrow. “that’s a little too much to expect, longbottom”

“well, i mean, i don’t, either… do we just not have an anniversary, or do we just do it at some point?”

“are anniversaries important?” draco asks, tilting his head to the side. “they strike me as a bit stupid. i like you all the time. why should i have to prove that with some lavish gift and flowers?” 

neville shrugs. “i dunno, either”

it plays on draco’s mind, though, as the month passes by: he really doesn’t remember at what point he stopped being neville’s friend and started being his boyfriend, because it all melded in together 

and if neville wants some kind of anniversary, maybe he should let him have that, right? as much as draco tries not to let lucius swing his opinion (especially considering lucius doesn’t even know that draco has a boyfriend), his dad would fume if he didn’t celebrate an anniversary like that

their next free period together is spent in the common room: neville is sitting on the sofa knitting and half-watching hot fuzz, one of the three DVDs the common room has (the others, of course, being shaun of the dead and the world’s end) 

“okay,” draco says, folding his arms, “do you think it was closer to november? or december?” 

“well, it was snowing when we had our first kiss, so it must’ve been december,” neville reckons, his needles clacking in a surprisingly steady rhythm 

“i’m sure the snow was early last year, though”

“i’m sorry about the anniversary talk,” neville says, putting down his giant ball of aggressively yellow yarn for a moment, “you really don’t have to do anything; i just wondered if you knew”

“i swear to fuck, neville, we’re going to figure out a date for this if it’s the last thing i do”

neville just grins, looking pleased as punch

november rolls around, and draco still has no bloody idea when the hell him and neville got together - he can’t really remember last november in particular detail; just that, at some point at the end of the previous year, he had decided that he’d spent enough time skirting around it, dug a hand into neville’s hair, and pulled him down (damn tall bastard) for a kiss

he has some other friends now, too, all of neville’s originally, but luna doesn’t remember and he didn’t even talk to ginny until afterward 

so he decides that, since he can’t decide what month it is, their anniversary will be november 30th - it’s close enough to december, right? and in november, in case maybe it was november 

it doesn’t snow this year, though, but draco doesn’t mind; it means he just has to wrap up in less layers of burberry trench 

much like most sensible students, they spend their lunchtime in the common room (this time it’s the world’s end that’s playing, which has gathered an audience of shivering idiots who ran to the local chippy in the baltic weather), though this time they’re on the floor because they didn’t make it in fast enough for the sofa

it’s an explosion of noise: the film in one corner and two door cinema club blaring in the other corner, and they’re right in the center of it

“hey, neville,” draco says, trying not to be too loud but just loud enough to be made out over the noise; neville looks up from his maths homework, which has been puzzling him all day and is due in, alarmingly enough, next period. “happy sort-of-anniversary”

he hands over a bag full of balls of various colours of yarns, and neville looks so happy he might just melt like an ice cream or something

“you didn’t have to,” he says, leaning forward to hug draco, keenly aware that pansy is staring with mild horror at the pair of them, “but, i had a feeling you were going to, so this is for you”

he pulls out a scarf made of almost every colour of the rainbow: it’s bright and exciting and just the opposite of anything that draco would ever wear, but somehow, as he slides it around his neck (it’s so soft!), he thinks that’s what neville might’ve meant

“thanks,” he says bashfully, leaning in to give neville a chaste kiss

when they leave to walk home together, draco has the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, and he’s holding neville’s hand staunchly

send me a hp pairing for high school headcanons!

[remedialpotions]

"Is that my shirt?" Beacuse I know it's going to be awesome 😎

Thanks for the prompt! I hope you like what I came up with 💕

Every time I think I’m done with Deathly Hallows/Shell Cottage missing moments, something sucks me back in…

***

Is That My Shirt?

She’d been in the bathroom for a while. Too long, really, for Ron’s taste, not that he had any right to have any sort of opinion about anything she did. He was content to wait, anyway, just to make sure she was okay - Fleur had offered to help her take a bath but Hermione, ever modest and nothing if not independent, had declined. And so Ron was waiting, patiently for once, just so he could lay eyes on her again and remind himself that she was alive, and she was okay, and even if he’d felt completely useless down there in that cellar, in the end he had been able to at least do something to ensure her safety.

He’d have been willing to help her take the bath too, of course, but seeing as he was just grateful she was on friendly terms with him again… he’d thought he’d better not suggest it, not even in jest.

Sliding down the wall opposite the bathroom door, he rested his forearms on his knees and twirled Wormtail’s wand, which felt dirty and tainted, between his fingers. The rushing of water through pipes had abated long ago, and now all he heard was the occasional light splashing sound. Desperately, attempting to be a gentleman, he tried not to picture what was going on behind that door. He was sitting here because she was his best friend and she’d nearly just died and he wanted to be there for her in whatever way he could. This was no time to be picturing soap bubbles on her skin-

“Hi,” said a small voice from across the hall. Hermione stood before him, her bare feet sinking into the well-worn carpet, once again wearing the dressing gown that Fleur lent to her. Her hair, still damp, hung in thick, heavy ringlets on her shoulders.

“Hey,” Ron replied, scrambling to his feet. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” she said firmly back, though a weak smile played on her lips. “You didn’t have to wait for me, I’m all right.”

“Well, I just-” And then he noticed it, the small swatch of orange cotton covering her collarbone, peeking out between the crimson satin of the gown. “Is that my shirt?”

“Oh - well…” Hermione’s face flushed, blotches of pink staining her cheeks. “Yes.”

“You’re wearing a Cannons shirt?” Ron asked before he could help himself, his eyes shining as he gazed at her.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted, shy and sheepish. Her fingers, still bearing scrapes and bruises from the recent ordeal, shifted the gown away to reveal two interlocking black Cs on the front of the shirt. “It’s just - it was the first clean thing I could find in my bag and - and I can change if you want, it’s just really soft and-”

“No, no, don’t,” he rushed to tell her. “Keep it if you want, it’s yours, it’s fine.”

Her teeth sank into the inside of her lower lip as they regarded each other. Ron felt he might implode at any moment. She was wearing his clothes for Merlin’s sake, like they were a real couple, like they’d woken up together on a weekend morning and were about to fix breakfast. Of course, the reality they were living was horribly different than the silly little fantasy he had just invented… but maybe someday, if this war ever ended, they could have it.

“Okay,” she relented, that little grin still on her lips as she hitched the dressing gown back into place. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Ron gave her a smile of his own. “Anything for you.”

***

you can find more four word prompts here!

[nxrcissamxlfoy]

Pansy and Neville and 86 ❤❤❤

“I took a pregnancy potion.” 

The words bounced around between his ears as he sank into the armchair behind him, one hand tucked under his arm and the other over his mouth.  “Um, okay...” He scratched his jaw, tried to keep his breathing regular. “W-what did it-”

“Negative,” Pansy jumped, realizing that she’d left out the important part. “Negative, for sure.” 

Neville let out a slow, relieved breath and nodded. “Oh thank Merlin.” 

Pansy frowned and shifted her weight. She kept her jaw high, but her heart was in the pit of  her stomach. Thank Merlin, he’d said. Thank Merlin he wasn’t attached to her for the rest of his life. Thank Merlin a disgraced daughter of Death Eaters wouldn’t be the mother of his children. Thank Merlin this whole thing could still be as casual as she’d been insisting it was for a year now. 

“Oh!” Neville exclaimed, jumping up. “No, I didn’t mean,” he fumbled, rubbing his hands along her shoulders and biceps, but Pansy pulled away. 

“I know what you meant,” she said, heading for the kitchen, a sudden thirst burning in her throat. “I’m relived too.” She tried to keep her voice level but it cracked anyway way, going up an octave with her last word. She hoped he missed it as she reached for the cabinet where he keeps the firewhiskey. She heard him rifling around behind her but she was focused on the liquor.

“Damn it,” she mumbled, remember her wand laying useless in the living room as her fingertips just graze the shelf. 

A moment later Neville stood behind her, his chest pressed into her back, his arm parallel to hers, his hand around the base of the bottle. “I saw her,” he said as he set the bottle on the counter, “our daughter.” His voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. He reached for the glasses the next cabinet over. “I saw her in those seconds before you said it was negative.”

Pansy stared at the amber liquid flowing from the mouth of the bottle, too petrified to look up at him. “Dark hair, your eyes, my nose, laughing, playing. Smart, bold, with a little mean streak that all the boys are afraid of.” He handed her a glass, and she still couldn’t look up. “Slytherin, probably, if I’m honest with myself.”

He took a sip, and she followed suit, still not able to find any words in the flood of fear that was filling her chest. 

“I saw her, and I saw us and I’m more sure now than ever.”

“You want to have a baby with me?” she finally asked, her words harsher than she’d intended. But he gave her a soft smile. 

“Uh, one day, yeah. But maybe you should marry me first.” 

She choked on her drink and set her glass down, wiping her mouth as she laughed. But he wasn’t laughing, instead he was reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. 

“Neville,” she warned, shaking her head and taking a step back. “No,” she breathed. “Don’t.” 

He took a breath and opened the box, pushing it across the counter towards her. She let out an exhale, confused as she picked it up. 

“It’s empty.”

“Yeah, well, I figured letting you pick it out would be safer than me choosing something awful.” 

She slammed the box down with an over-exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “I can’t believing I’m marrying such an idiot.” 

[send me a pair and prompt!]

[hexiewrites]

I think it's your fault I'm soooo into flintwood? So it's the first thing that comes to my mind about you 😁 But also Pansy proposing to Ron and Molly's gasps in the background THE BEST ❤

oh my GOD I???? love that I got someone into flintwood??? like it was definitely @mxrcusflint​ & @flintwoodandco​ who dragged me down to flintwood hell with them so I’m also going to blame them but like? wow look at me go I’m actually v proud of this. <3

ahahaha also yes. poor molly. xD

[littlemisseightysixed]

4 & 15 ?

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

Oof… I do a lot of strange things. For one, I always have to change my clothing. 😂I am not entirely sure why, I think subconsciously it’s because writing is such a sacred thing to me that I don’t want anything from my everyday life/struggles to taint that. (Besides my own feelings). I essentially become a different person, I will practice accents prior to writing and will actually speak and read in that accent the entire time I am writing. In case anyone was wondering, I mainly utilize my British (more of a London) and Irish accents. Other than that I have to listen to music whether it’s before or during the actual writing process, many times I will just loop the song over and over until I am done with a certain scene. 💋 Yea, I am fully aware I need help. 😂♥️

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

In most cases I will be in my car or doing some mundane activity when the inspiration strikes, (or a song will inspire me). Though in the case of The Ones Who Heard that was from a dream I had that I am fully certain was fueled by my Pinterest board and my obsession of watching Haka videos, especially the one with Jason Mamoa 😍✨♥️ I have been super interested in the War Cry of the Maori people for some time now but around that time I was going crazyyyy with the videos.

So essentially, Haka videos + Pinterest Aesthetic Posts + Sleep = A dream about an Alien Draco with sexy war paint tasked to woo the fiery (very human) Hermione. 🔥✨🌹

***Side note: I loved these questions! Thank you! 💚💚💚***