• warning(s): fluff mostly lol, harry pov, not proofread fr
• word count: 1.2k
• request(ed): “can you please write a jealous harry potter when his girlfriend starts hanging out with cedric?”
• summary: the request lol
————————————————————————
Every Friday after classes, Harry, you, Ron, and Hermione would find a quiet place to watch a movie on the projector Ron had snuck in. It was a tradition the four of you had come up with after finally each falling into your respective couples. You and Harry were first - you both knew you liked each other but never said anything. After a heated argument one day in the library (mostly you were frustrated he wasn’t being safe and smart with his life after an encounter with you-know-who) and he kissed you right in the middle of your rant. You two had been together ever since. Ron and Hermione finally admitted their feelings shortly after.
Tonight, you were late. Only by a few minutes, but enough to have Harry wondering where you were and how you were doing. What he didn’t expect to see or hear was your giggling followed by a deep voice coming his way. His head turned quickly to find you walking towards the group with Cedric Diggory at your side. Harry furrowed his brows and looked to Hermione and Ron in confusion. They didn’t look as worried as he was, but still offered no kind of relieving explanation. Once you reached them, he watched as you said goodbye and walked over to lean down and kiss Harry on the cheek. Cedric waved to the group before heading forward someplace else.
Harry cleared his throat. “Erm was that Diggory over there?”
“Yeah, it was,” you start, “I ran into him and we were talking about the Transfiguration assignment before we realized we were heading the exact same way.”
“Oh, hm, alright.”
And that was the end of that. Harry didn’t press any further. He didn’t see the need and he wasn’t the type. He was just glad you were at his side now and he could enjoy the movie with you.
The next day at breakfast, Harry listened to how worried you were about passing two of your classes. He tried to tell you everything would be alright but he could hardly get a word in. He didn’t mind though. He liked listening to you even if half of it wasn’t really making any sense.
“Y/N!”
Both Harry and your head turn to the noise. It was Cedric Diggory heading your way, papers in hand.
“Hello Potter.” Cedric says smiling.
“Diggory.” He nods politely.
“Y/N, here are those notes that I promised you. I was able to find them in my things from last yea I had buried.”
“Oh my God thank you!” Harry watches you exclaim. “You’re a life saver!”
Harry rolls his eyes as Cedric walks away. He’s even more surprised when you jump out of your seat.
“I have to go study these Harry, I’ll see you later.”
Unfortunately for him, later wasn’t until the night where he was finally able to see you holed up in your room, Diggory’s notes in hand. Like the good boyfriend he is, Harry brought your favorite snacks because he knew you’d want them and wasn’t sure if you had eaten or not. You told him all about what you had learned and understood now that you had the notes, and he stroked your hair and listened until you fell asleep on his chest. For some reason, even though nothing was wrong, every time you mentioned Cedric and his oh so helpful notes there was a little ball of fire simmering in Harry’s chest. Tonight he would ignore it, but he wasn’t sure for how much longer he would be able to do that.
“Do you think this Diggory thing is weird?” Harry asks Ron during a Wizard’s Chess game the next day. You and Hermione were off in the library looking for a next good read. Harry and Ron weren’t as interested in doing that.
“What Cedric? What thing?”
“Well, I don’t know. First he walks her to us on Friday and now he’s giving her notes?”
Ron stuffs his face with toast before answering, mouth full. “Well, I don’t know, sounds innocent enough to me, she’s been really stressing about that class.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
After the match, Harry and Ron make their way to the library and see you and Hermione side by side by side looking looking at a book that was thick enough that your foot could probably break if it was accidentally dropped. Unfortunately, Cedric was right in between the two of you.
“This is amazing.” You gleam. Harry watched as you smiled ear to ear looking at the pages in front of you. It didn’t help the ball of fire that Cedric was smiling too.
“Hey guys.” Hermion says. You look up and when you spot Harry you make your way over to him.
“How was chess?” you ask as you kiss him gently on the lips.
Harry kisses you back while still keeping his eye on Cedric. He notices that Cedric’s eyes haven’t left you. “Ron won. What’s going on here?”
“Y/N and I were looking for a really good fantasy book about this Herbologist and Cedric helped us find something even better since we couldn’t find the copy we were looking for. Guess it was already checked out.”
“Hmm.” Harry says.
“What’s wrong?” You ask.
Harry shakes his head as if to say nothing.
Cedric greets the boys and then bids you all goodbye. Harry thought that still his eyes lingered on you for a little too long, but nothing in your response to him gave Harry any pause. You weren’t giving Diggory any extra attention that gave any problem but still he couldn’t quite get the flames to calm down.
Harry held your hand as he walked you to your dorm. He was quiet almost the whole time and let you talk about the book Cedric had introduced you to. To be honest, and he hated, it sounded like a really good book. And Harry hated that. He knows it’s innocent and nothing is technically wrong, but still he was upset because Cedric lately has seemed to be able to help you with so many things.
“Harry?” You ask.
“Hm?” Before he knew it you had already reached your dorm, but he was lost in thought.
“What’s wrong? Honestly this time..” You ask.
“Nothing.” He says. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Harry, you’re lying.”
Harry wanted to deny and argue, but he knew that you knew him better than that and would beat the answer out of him sooner or later.
“I just, you know, Diggory has been doing a lot for you lately and the way he was looking at you today was just..ya’know I -”
“Harry, are you jealous?”
Harry’s cheeks turned a shade of pink that made you smile.
Harry leaned into you as you cupped on of your hands onto the side of his face and the other ran through his hair.
“Harry, I only have eyes for you. You don’t ever need to worry.”
You press your lips against his and he kisses back with fervor. He liked that your lips tasted like cherries for some reason and he savored it while his hands wrapped around your waist. He got butterflies when you moaned as he gently bit your lip. He loves the feeling of you against him and he just wanted to get closer and be able to be in this moment with you forever.
“That’s good to hear.” He says when you finally break away. He could feel heat in his cheeks almost hotter than the moment the two of you just shared.
“Jealousy is not a good look on you Potter. I prefer flushed instead.”
Summary: You'll be allowed to date Ron Weasley over Draco's dead body
A/N: omg it has been a hot minute since i posted anything, hasn't it? ive been so exhausted from university that i havent really been able to do much and also i unfortunately caught a nastly case of the flu so i am bedridden but hey at least im able to write! truly im not satisfied with this fic i wanted it to be way more angsty but i wanted to be able to post something at least while i have the time and this was the simplest of my wips that was also the farthest along, i hope u like itttt
credits to @saradika-graphics for the divider
The Slytherin common room was its usual moody self—dim lighting, dark green velvet, and the soft bubbling of the lake outside the windows. Draco Malfoy lounged in his favorite chair like the spoiled prince he was, flanked by Blaise and Theo, deep in some smug conversation about Merlin-knows-what.
That’s when you walked in—poised, perfect, and already rolling with a master plan.
"Draco~" You said, voice all syrup and sugar.
He didn’t even look up, "No."
You blinked, "Excuse me?"
"I said no. Whatever you’re about to ask—I’m not doing it."
You scoffed, placing a perfectly manicured hand on your hip, "Oh, so you think I only come talk to you when I want something?"
Draco finally looked up, already exhausted, "What is it?"
You stopped in front of him, the firelight glinting off your hair, and smiled like the picture of charm, "Notice anything different?"
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, "Please, please, don’t do this to me right now."
You crossed your arms over your chest, "So you don’t notice anything different? Wow. Typical."
Draco rubbed his temples, "Alright, alright—uh, did you cut your hair?"
You looked personally offended, "You know how long it took me to grow it out! Why would I cut it?"
"Right—sorry. Um… new shoes?"
You raised an eyebrow, "These are my favorite shoes. How do you not know that?"
"Okay, okay—uh, new coat? Jewelry?"
You stared at him, equal parts insulted and incredulous, "Seriously?"
Draco’s eyes darted to his friends for help. Blaise shook his head. Theo mouthed you’re on your own.
He panicked, "Did you… gain wei—no, that’s definitely not it."
You narrowed your eyes dangerously, "Right. Because if I gained weight, I’d just be some unlovable, ugly monster, wouldn’t I?"
"NO!" Draco looked like he might actually throw himself into the fire.
"So I have gained weight then?" You stepped forward, pure menace in lip gloss and heels, "Because if I haven’t, then what—you think I’d be ugly if I did?"
"That’s not what I said—"
"That’s exactly what you said," You snapped, tone sharp as a wand flick, "So either I’m ugly or I’m one shepherd’s pie away from becoming ugly. Which is it, dear brother?"
"I’m not saying any of that!" Draco threw his hands up, "What do you want, for Merlin’s sake? Do you want more allowance? Is that what this is about? I’ll give you half of mine—I’ll give you next month’s too. Merlin—take the whole vault!"
You blinked at him, faking a pout—just as behind him, your friends slipped away with a clinking bag of Firewhisky and questionable snacks from Zonko’s.
Mission accomplished.
You sighed theatrically, "All I want… is a brother who pays attention to me."
And with that, you turned on your heel and stormed out, cloak swirling dramatically behind you.
The door shut with a sharp thud.
Outside, the act dropped instantly. For a moment, you kept your scowl fixed, listening until his groan echoed behind the door. Then the mask slipped — and you broke into laughter, your friends waiting in the corridor with triumphant grins and a sack of stolen Firewhisky.
You tossed your cloak off your shoulders, revealing a short black dress that Draco absolutely would not have approved of—tight in all the right places, short enough to be scandalous, and paired with knee-high boots that clicked satisfyingly against the stone floor.
"Let’s go then." You grinned, linking arms with your friends.
As you made your way down the hall, giggling and whispering, you couldn’t help but think how perfectly everything had gone.
If he’d noticed you wearing a long winter coat indoors, he would’ve known something was up, especially considering that you were trying to leave the common room after curfew.
But he didn’t.
And most important of all—Draco would’ve never let you go if he knew you were sneaking out to a Gryffindor party.
But, as always, the Malfoy princess got exactly what she wanted.
And tonight, that was a night of fun in the lion's den.
The roaring warmth of the Gryffindor common room hit you like a Bludger the moment you slid through the portrait hole. Red and gold banners hung crooked from where someone had tried—and clearly failed—to charm them into waving. Butterbeer bottles clinked on every surface, music from a bewitched wireless thumped beneath a haze of chatter and laughter.
You chuckled softly. Merlin, it really was an eyesore having this much red and gold in one room. But you swallowed the instinctive critique and stepped fully in, weaving between overexcited Gryffindors with polite nods.
The refreshment table looked like it had survived a small war. Nearly everything edible was gone except for the ocean of alcohol—apparently every person in this room had brought a six-pack. A kind gesture, you supposed. Your own bottle of Firewhiskey sat among them.
With a flick of your wand, you uncapped a beer and layered an anti-tamper charm over it before taking a sip. The faint buzz began tickling behind your temples as you surveyed the crowd—so many bodies, so much noise, so much heat packed in one common room.
Another sip.
And another.
You drifted toward the growing dance circle, slipping past a pair of fifth-years—
“Ron, do a bloke a favour and grab more food from the kitchens? We’re famished.”
Ron turned at the sound of his name—thoroughly inattentive, as usual—and walked straight into you.
“My bad—!”
“Watch it!” You snapped, glaring at him before brushing past, heading back toward the dance floor. You lifted your hand to take another sip—
Empty.
You spun, scanning the floor for the fallen bottle. Nothing.
“Unbelievable.” You muttered.
The minimal buzz you’d built up began to fade, replaced by an uncomfortable heat flushing your neck and ears. Deciding you needed air—just for a minute—you slipped out the portrait hole and into the corridor.
The hallway outside the common room was a blessed relief: quiet, cool, still. The distant rumble of music vibrated through the ancient stone walls.
You exhaled, wandering without a destination, closing your eyes for one peaceful moment—
A hand wrapped around your waist.
You gasped—too late—before you were pulled backward, quick and sure, into a dark, empty classroom.
The door clicked shut behind you.
You spun, wand already half drawn—
—and froze.
Ron Weasley stood inches away, breathless, hair adorably mussed from running, freckles bright against flushed cheeks. His eyes—warm, startled, absolutely intent—were fixed on you like you were the only thing in the entire castle worth seeing.
“Hello, love.”
Despite yourself, your mouth tugged upward. You stepped into him, arms naturally winding around his neck. “You left early,” You teased, “I thought we agreed to wait at least thirty minutes before sneaking out.”
He chuckled, one hand sliding around your waist and pulling you closer, “Seamus gave me the perfect excuse.”
“Which means they’re expecting you back soon.” You chided gently, letting him lean in for a kiss—
—when you spotted the bottle in his other hand.
Your bottle.
“You little thief!” You accused, reaching for it, “I knew it was you!”
He held it out of reach, grinning like a menace, “You can’t drink yet, love. You’re still sixteen.”
You stared at him, mouth falling open, “Ronald. Bilius. Weasley.”
He raised an eyebrow, smug as anything, “That’s me.”
“You’re seventeen for—what—eight weeks? And suddenly it’s illegal to drink underage?” You scoffed, “I believe someone should tell that to the hangover you had four months ago, where you nearly threw up in Transfiguration.”
He shrugged, utterly unbothered, twirling the bottle like he was showing off, “And these eight weeks have shown me the error in my ways. You should take some pleasure in having such a mature boyfriend.”
You reached again.
He lifted it higher, “Uh-uh.”
You rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth tugging up despite your absolute refusal to let him see it, “You’re unbearable, you know that? I’ll be seventeen in less than a year.”
“And you,” He said, tapping the tip of your nose with his free hand, “Can enjoy those eight wonderful sober months.”
You huffed, stepping forward to snatch it—only for him to back up, guiding you until your hips bumped the edge of a desk.
“You’re adorable when you pout.”
“I do not pout—”
He leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, voice low, warm, and annoyingly fond, “You do. And I love it.”
Your breath hitched as Ron’s mouth dipped to your jaw, his lips brushing the skin there—soft, slow, lingering in a way that melted your knees a little more each second. His hand slid around your waist, fingers splaying possessively. He dotted another kiss lower, then another, grip tightening.
You tried to keep your voice steady, “Ron—”
He hummed against your skin.
“Gimme a kiss,” He murmured, lips brushing the curve of your jaw, “and I might let you have a sip.”
Your pulse jumped.
“Oh, so we’re bartering now?” You teased, though it came out softer than intended.
“Mm-hm.” Another kiss, this time just under your ear—warm and frustratingly gentle, “Cruel, isn’t it?”
You swallowed, unable to reply.
Ron hummed, lips grazing a particularly sensitive spot that made your breath stutter. “Go on then,” He whispered, “Convince me."
You hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged him up to your height, eyes meeting his—blue, bright, and already softened with something dangerously tender.
You hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged him up to your height, eyes meeting his—blue, bright, and already softened with something dangerously tender.
“What if your friends come looking for you?” You whispered, voice low and teasing, though a hint of worry made him glance toward the door.
Ron’s grin faltered for the briefest moment before returning, mischievous as ever, “We’ll figure something out. We always do.”
You smirked, “You mean I come up with a sensible reason while you hide in the nearest cupboard?”
“See? The system works.” He said, eyes glinting.
Then he pulled back, and you felt a rush of cold air sweep between you both, even though he wasn’t even a foot away. “Of course,” He murmured, voice low, “there’s always the option to just leave now and go back to the party—”
“Not a chance.” You shot back, hooking your feet behind his knees and pulling him into you once more.
Before either of you could think twice, his lips were on yours again—soft this time, lingering, but with that electric heat that made your knees go weak. Your fingers threaded into his hair, holding him close while he nipped at your bottom lip—careful, teasing, impossibly sweet and dangerous all at once.
You gasped softly into the kiss, and he grinned against your mouth, sliding his hands lower to rest at your hips. The world outside the classroom faded into nothing—the distant music, the laughter, the bustling Gryffindor party—all irrelevant.
He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, breath warm and rough, “Love kissing you. Love having you here with me. Love this dress—fuck, this dress. Just… love you.”
You smiled, used to his love-sick rambling, letting your fingers brush his jaw. “Love you more.” You murmured.
His grin widened, soft and boyish, and he tugged you in again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then, impossibly, he trailed his lips down your cheek, over the curve of your jaw, and paused just below your ear, looking at you with a burning gaze so intense that your eyes fluttered shut.
You let him capture your lips again, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier—his hands framing your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair. Every brush of his lips sent sparks down your spine, knees threatening to buckle.
“We better do this quick,” He murmured against your lips, voice low and urgent, “before those fat arses start wondering where the food is.”
Your dorm room was quiet in that hazy, early-morning way where the world hadn’t fully woken yet. The lake outside cast rippling green shadows across the stone ceiling, your roommates still asleep, snoring softly or curled up like cats under piles of blankets.
You’d barely been awake for five minutes, hair a mess, still half-asleep as you tugged on your socks when—
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Something collided with your window.
You jumped, nearly tripping over your boots. Another BAM, followed by frantic scrabbling.
Oh, Merlin.
Only one owl in the world crashed into things this enthusiastically.
You hurried to the window and unlatched it just in time for a tiny, hyperactive blur of feathers to tumble inside in a chaotic spin.
“Pig—shh! Shh!” You hissed, grabbing the little menace before he woke the entire dorm, “You can’t be here!”
Pigwidgeon hooted proudly, completely ignoring your panic, and stuck out his leg where a tiny parcel was tied with—of course—Gryffindor-red twine.
You rolled your eyes even as your heart lifted.
“Honestly, Ron.” You whispered fondly, scratching the little owl’s head as he crooned softly, ruffling his feathers on the windowsill. You untied the package, a gentle smile growing on your face as you took in its contents: a slightly squished treacle tart, two Chocolate Frogs, a Peppermint Toad, and a folded note, crooked as if written in a hurry. You unfolded it.
Ron’s handwriting was its usual disaster, letters leaning every which way.
“I won’t be able to meet tomorrow, my love. Quidditch practice got rescheduled. I hope the sweets make up for it. Miss you.”
You huffed, biting the inside of your cheek and scolding yourself for melting at such a bare minimum. After all, he was supposed to let you know—every Thursday was your scheduled date, the only night free of Divination, which meant the Astronomy Tower was yours for a starlight date.
“Well,” You whispered, scratching Pig’s head despite yourself, “I suppose it isn’t his fault. Is it, Pig?”
Pig trilled happily, hopping in excited little circles on your knee.
A groggy voice came from one of the beds: “…why is there an owl in our room?”
Your heart stopped.
You quickly stuffed the sweets and note under your pillow, grabbed Pig, and shoved him toward the window.
“He came to the wrong dorm!” You lied brightly, “Go on—shoo!”
Pig flew out with another chaotic twirl.
You slammed the window shut, diving into your bed in hopes your roommate would drift back to sleep, perhaps even think this was a dream. You tucked the note safely inside your bedside drawer, unable to stop smiling.
Miss you.
You mouthed the words to yourself.
“Yeah,” You whispered, “I miss you too.”
The library was louder than usual. With exams coming up, every table seemed taken, the walls doing little to muffle murmurs and the frantic scratching of quills. You and your friends had claimed a corner table, surrounded by stacks of books, heads buried in assignments that somehow felt easier to tolerate than the thought of leaving.
Somewhere in another aisle, Ron sat with a pile of books nearly as tall as he was—most of them undoubtedly Hermione’s—while he and Harry whispered quietly. His brow furrowed in concentration, but his ears perked up at every soft shuffle, every whisper echoing down the aisles.
You wandered a nearby shelf, pretending to scan titles while actually keeping an eye on him. Your heart thudded every time his familiar red hair peeked between the stacks. Murmuring under his breath about Arithmancy homework, he looked utterly absorbed—yet somehow aware of every sound around him.
Heart pounding, you hugged a book to your chest and slipped around the corner of a tall shelf. And there he was.
He looked up at the exact same moment, eyes locking on yours. That mischievous, impossibly soft look made your stomach flip.
Neither of you said a word. Words weren’t needed.
You edged closer, ducking between the shelves so your friends and his wouldn’t notice. The library seemed to hold its breath around you.
Finally, with barely a sound, he brushed his hand against yours as you passed. Quick. Electric. Enough to make your fingers tingle.
Then, before either of you could overthink it, you leaned in slightly, letting his hands clasp around your wrist as you went on your toes. Your lips met gently, soft, almost reverent, yet enough to make your knees weak.
There was something thrilling about hiding between the shelves, with friends only a few feet away, that made you want to climb him like a tree—but also something comforting about having him so close, a steady warmth that seemed to quell every nervous flutter. You kissed him again, a little more deeply this time.
Pulling back just slightly, your forehead brushed against his. “Good luck with your studying, love.” You whispered.
His grin was small, but filled with the warmth and mischief you adored, “You too, darling. Don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”
You smiled, trying not to melt right there between the shelves.
And then, just like that, he slipped away down another aisle, leaving you with a racing heart, the lingering warmth of his lips, and the thrill of a secret that no one else could touch.
The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and dust, a comforting mix of old wood and parchment. You had lingered after your Runes lesson, knowing there was no class scheduled next period—and knowing Ron would come find you as soon as he was done with his own class, so you could spend free period together.
He was sitting on the seat in front of you, and you perched on the edge of the table, one hand tangled in his, the other lazily drumming along the wooden surface. He pressed soft kisses to the pulse point on your wrist every few minutes while recounting his day.
“Honestly, I don’t understand how that man is a teacher.” He whined.
You chuckled, “He seems especially mean to you lot, though. Perhaps Snape doesn’t like the color red?”
“I’m doomed then.” He murmured, resting his chin on your bare thighs. Your heart leapt to your throat. You ran your fingers gently through the ginger locks at the base of his neck, squirming as a warm sigh escaped him, goosebumps raising along your skin.
You laughed quietly—just as a faint sound echoed from the hallway. Footsteps approaching.
Your head snapped up. “Someone’s coming.” You whispered.
Ron’s eyes widened. Without a word, he grabbed your hand and led you to the back of the classroom, slipping between the supply cupboard and the narrow corner. His chest pressed to your back, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pinning you gently but firmly.
The door creaked open, and a lone student stepped inside, muttering to themselves, “I swear I left my bag here… somewhere…”
You held your breath as they padded across the floor, scanning the desks. Ron lowered his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, and pressed a gentle kiss to the pulse along your throat before leaning closer to your ear. “Shh,” He murmured.
The student bent down, rifling through the drawers of a nearby desk. You could hear every movement, your pulse thundering in your ears. If they stepped just a little closer, they’d see you both. Your knees threatened to give out, and your hand tightened around his in panic.
Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the student muttered, “Ah, found it!” and turned to leave, completely oblivious to the two of you crouched nearby.
You let out a shaky breath, sinking back against him. Ron’s hands still rested on your sides, fingers brushing lightly, completely unbothered. He began pressing soft, teasing kisses into your hair.
“What a rush, am I right?” He whispered, his voice low, tinged with excitement.
The streets of Hogsmeade were bustling with students, laughter echoing off the snow-dusted rooftops. While you loved Hogsmeade in spring, there was just something magical about the snow covering the plains—despite your skin being bitten raw by the frost.
“(Y/N).”
You froze. And not in a good way.
Draco Malfoy stood there, arms crossed, nose slightly wrinkled, looking like a vulture who had just spotted its prey.
“Draco,” You said sweetly, forcing a grin, “Lovely day, isn’t it? Are you having fun?”
He raised a brow, scanning the streets, “What are you doing so far off? You know you’re not allowed past the Hogsmeade district.”
“Well… I’m not really past the district, am I now?” You said, smiling politely and subtly darting your eyes around, “I just wanted to get away from all the noise for a bit. You know how those Gryffindors are—loud and irritating.”
Unusually, Draco didn’t take the bait to insult Gryffindors. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and finally said, “You’re behaving suspiciously these days. Sneaking away, getting random parcels… you’re… unusually happy.”
“A tragedy, isn’t it?” You replied lightly.
“You know Pansy said that you might be behaving this way because of a boy.” He said, voice tight.
You blinked, feeling your stomach lurch, “A… a boy?”
“But I’d know if there was a boy in your life, wouldn’t I?” He asked, raising a pale brow.
You smiled, laughing like the idea was absurd, “Of course I would, Draco. You’re my big brother—I value your opinion.”
His expression softened ever so slightly, and you smirked internally. Bullseye.
“You sure you’re alright? It’s not like you to be so far out.” He pressed, genuine concern flickering in his voice.
You smiled softly, letting the warmth of your hidden affection for your brother shine through, “Yes, Draco, I’m fine. Truly. Just wanted some peace and quiet. I’d tell you if something was wrong.”
His eyes raked over you one more time before he finally relented, “Alright then. Come find me if you need anything.”
You waited until he disappeared inside before turning the corner, heart racing slightly from the adrenaline.
Wide-eyed, you froze—and so did Ron.
He was crouched behind a snow-dusted cart of pumpkin pasties, face reddened from the cold, cheeks a deeper crimson from the remnants of your lipstick smeared all over him.
“Oh Merlin.” You whispered, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Ron grinned, stepping out from his hiding spot, “You value his opinion, do you? What would big brother Malfoy think about you dating Weaselbee?”
You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your amusement, “Don’t call yourself that. He can be a prat.”
“But he has a surprisingly protective side, I have to admit. I don’t even treat Ginny like that.” Ron said, gesturing vaguely to where Draco had disappeared into the Hog’s Head.
You smirked, nudging him playfully, “Maybe he just loves me more.”
Ron laughed, shaking his head, “Yeah… or maybe he’s just paranoid that the sacred Malfoy line is going to get corrupted by gingers.”
You giggled, feeling warmth spread through you at the thought of Ron actually joining the Malfoy line.
"Oh, the horror."
The greenhouse is dim at this hour, all moonlit glass and the soft rustle of leaves settling into sleep. The smell of damp soil clings to the air, thick enough to make you feel cocooned — safe, hidden, unseen.
Which is exactly why you’re here.
Ron slips inside and quietly closes the door behind him, casting a silencing charm with the ease of long practice. The moment the magic settles, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since dinner.
He steps toward you immediately, hands finding your waist, forehead brushing yours. The tension drains out of him in a warm, relieved wave, and for a moment it feels like everything aligns — like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
“Hi.” You whisper, and he smiles that soft, stupid smile he only ever shows you.
“There you are.” He murmurs before pulling you into a slow kiss — the kind full of held-back longing, full of the ache of missing someone even when you saw them hours ago.
It’s gentle. Lingering. A little desperate.
When he pulls back, he doesn’t let go. His thumb strokes across your cheek, his eyes roaming over you like he’s trying to memorize all the things he’s not allowed to admire in public.
“Sorry I’m late.” He breathes, “I almost got caught by Hagrid while he was patrolling the grounds.”
You giggle softly, shaking your head, “Well you’re not forgiven. Make it up to me.”
You pout your lips dramatically, and Ron laughs before indulging you with a long, sweet kiss that ends with a satisfying smack.
When he pulls back, he’s still smiling — but there’s a flicker of something else there, something thoughtful.
“You know,” He says, brushing a dust of pollen out of your hair, “you wouldn’t have to wait for me in some dingy greenhouse if you’d just come up to my dorm. My mates wouldn’t mind. They’d tease, yeah, but I can handle that.”
You snort, fingers intertwining with his, “Ron, please. The second someone sees me even walk toward your dorm, it’ll be all the entire castle talks about.”
His expression softens, then shifts — just a touch.
“And… would that be so bad?” He asks quietly. “People knowing?”
Your breath catches. His grip on your hands tightens, almost like he’s steadying himself.
“I’m tired of meeting in greenhouses and broom closets,” He admits, trying to laugh but the sound falls flat, “I’m tired of not being able to hold your hand in the Great Hall.”
“Ron—”
“I get it,” He cuts in gently, “I do. I know it’s… complicated.”
You look away.
“That if people found out,” He says slowly, “things would get… messy.”
That word drops like a stone between you.
“But everyone would get over it eventually, wouldn’t they?” He whispers, “I hate this. It was fun at first — exciting, even — and it’s all worth it to be with you, but…”
The sentence trails off, unfinished but heavy.
Guilt blooms hot in your chest.
“Ron, you know Draco would lose it—”
Ron steps back, just a little, but enough. The hurt flickers across his face before he forces it still. You see it anyway.
“Right,” He says tightly, “Because the last thing we want is Draco Malfoy being upset.”
“Ron—”
“No, it’s fine,” He says quickly. Too quickly. And the crack in his voice betrays everything he’s trying so hard to hold together, “Honestly. It’s fine. I just… I want to be able to look at you without worrying who’s watching. I want to be your boyfriend without feeling like I’m some secret you’re ashamed of.”
Your heart twists painfully.
“I’m not ashamed of you.” You whisper, reaching for him.
He lets you lace your fingers with his — but his shoulders don’t fully relax.
“I’m not sure I can believe you,” He says quietly, “Sometimes it feels like you’re more afraid of upsetting him than… losing me.”
You freeze.
Ron’s face shifts immediately — regret, panic, shame.
“That’s not fair,” He mutters, rubbing his hands over his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I’m just… tired. I’m tired of feeling like I’m fighting for a place in your life I already have.”
You swallow hard, words sticking in your throat.
Because he’s not wrong.
You love Ron — deeply. Warmly. Stupidly.
But Draco is your older brother. The person you grew up alongside. The one who always took your side when your parents scolded you. The one who would, despite being awful at sharing, would always give you the last bite of his food. The one who has always cared — awkwardly, possessively, fiercely.
His opinion matters.
Your parents’ opinions matter.
Your family’s wrath matters.
And Ron has no idea how hard it would hit them. How hard it would hit him.
Of course Ron is worth it — he’s the love of your life.
But everything is going so well right now. This way, you can keep everything. You don’t have to choose. You don’t have to watch your brother and your boyfriend tear each other apart. You don’t have to deal with the whispers, the rumors, the storm.
And Ron can see all of that — even if he pretends not to.
He takes a slow step forward, gentler this time. His palms cradle your cheeks, thumbs brushing your jaw. He kisses your forehead softly, lingering there.
“Can you… at least think about it?” He whispers.
Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into him.
His warmth, his hope, his vulnerability — it all presses against you, and it almost hurts how much you want this too.
It’s past curfew when you climb the last stairs to the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, heart hammering. The moment your knuckles rap against the door, there’s a muffled thump, then shuffling, then—
Neville cracks it open, blinking owlishly.
“…Malfoy?” He blurts, “Um—are you lost?”
“No.” You say tightly.
But he said your name loud enough that three more faces immediately appear behind him: Seamus, Dean, Harry, all peering at you like they’ve spotted a rare and possibly dangerous creature.
And then Ron steps into view.
Concern goes straight to his face, “(Y/N)? What’s wrong?”
You don’t answer. You shoulder past the cluster of startled Gryffindors, grab a very confused Ron by the sleeve, and drag him into the room. His friends stand frozen as you march him straight to his four-poster, shove him inside, and yank the curtains closed behind you.
A quick silencing charm hums through the fabric.
Ron stares at you, wide-eyed, “Okay—what’s going on? What happened? Are you okay—?”
You inhale sharply.
“I told Draco.” You say.
Ron’s eyebrows shoot up. He clearly hadn’t expected it to happen this soon, “You—really?”
“Well, yeah,” You snap, running a hand through your hair, “I figured this relationship wasn’t ending anytime soon, so it was like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
Ron tries—tries—not to smile, but he’s already failing.
“And also,” You continue, pacing, “he was being a complete prat and talking shit about you and your friends in the common room and I couldn’t listen to it anymore.”
That makes Ron smile for real—soft, almost proud.
“So…” He ventures, “how… did it go?”
You stop, turn slowly, and level the deadliest glare you can muster.
“Oh, Ronald. It went stellar. He gave me his blessing to come up here and propose to you. How do you think it went?”
Ron snorts. Actually snorts.
“Right, okay, fair.” He holds up his hands, still grinning, “We both knew he wasn’t going to take it well at first, didn’t we?”
“He absolutely lost his mind,” You groan, flopping onto the mattress, “He started lecturing me and somehow that turned into Pansy lecturing me, and then Blaise joined in, and then Theo—THEO—tried to stage an intervention. So I left. And now I need a place to sleep because I am not going back down there tonight.”
Ron looks half concerned… half borderline giddy.
“Well,” He murmurs, climbing onto the bed next to you, “you’re always welcome here.”
He pulls you closer until your head settles against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, warm, grounding. You exhale, tension finally bleeding out of you.
“He’ll come around,” Ron says softly into your hair, “He can’t be mad for long.”
You sigh, eyes slipping shut.
“We both know how long my brother can hold a grudge.”
For now, though, wrapped in Ron’s arms behind thick curtains and muffled spells, you let yourself breathe.
Turns out Ron’s confidence was… optimistic.
Draco did not “come around.”
Not in a day.
Not in a week.
Not in two weeks.
He didn’t yell at you. He didn’t hex Ron. He didn’t stage another intervention with Pansy.
He just… ignored you.
Utterly.
He swept past you in corridors like you were Nearly Headless Nick — like you weren’t even solid enough to bump into. He’d look through you in lessons. Around you in the common room. Past you at meals.
And somehow, that hurt more than any fight ever could.
The castle, of course, figured things out within forty-eight hours. There were whispers, gasps, notes passed in class, a few snide comments about “sleeping with the enemy” — and then it fizzled out.
Hogwarts students had the attention span of a pygmy puff when it came to gossip.
If anything, the general consensus of the castle was:
“Oh, that’s cute. Unexpected. But cute.”
If only your brother had that level of maturity.
Draco’s silent treatment bled into everything else. His friends didn’t dare choose sides, which meant they were suffering more than you were. Pansy kept shooting you looks that said please fix this, I’m begging you. Blaise seemed permanently resigned. Theo’s eyebrows were permanently raised.
Because Draco wasn’t just ignoring you.
He was ignoring everyone who spoke to you.
Which included them.
Which is how you ended up spending breakfasts, lunches, and dinners at the Gryffindor table with Ron.
And honestly? It wasn’t bad.
Hermione smiled warmly every time you sat down. Harry always slid over instinctively to give you space. Dean and Seamus tried (and failed) to act normal around you. Neville asked if you wanted any salt or extra mashed potatoes like you were a visiting diplomat he desperately didn’t want to offend.
And Ron…
Ron looked like he won the Triwizard Tournament every time you chose to sit beside him instead of slinking back to the Slytherin table.
You couldn’t prove it, but you were certain he’d given his friends a Very Serious Lecture™ that morning — right before you woke up tangled in his sheets — because when you pulled open the curtains of Ron’s bed, every single one of them avoided your eyes with the intensity of men who had been threatened.
“Morning.” Ron had said, eyes soft.
Dean had nearly dropped his wand. Seamus, trying to look casual, accidentally elbowed Harry in the ribs. Neville stared at the floor so hard it was a miracle he didn’t fall into it.
It would’ve been funny if you weren’t so emotionally wrung out.
And every meal after that had the same vibe — Gryffindors acting like having you there was completely normal while Draco and his friends sat stiffly at the Slytherin table, navigating the strange limbo your absence had created.
That morning, as the rustle of wings filled the Great Hall and feathers drifted through shafts of sunlight, your shoulders tightened on instinct.
Ron noticed immediately — he always did, lately.
“Merlin, love,” He murmured with a grin, nudging your knee under the table, “You flinch every time the owls come in.”
You sighed, poking at your toast, “Well, I’m waiting for it.”
“For what?” He asked, reaching for his pumpkin juice.
You gave him a pointed look.
“The howler, Ron. The inevitable howler.”
His cup paused mid-air, “Your parents wouldn’t—”
“Oh, please.” You dropped your voice into a posh baritone, straightening your spine like your father during family photos.
Clutching a hand dramatically to your chest, you recited: “You’re DATING RONALD WEASLEY? I blame myself as a father — where in Merlin’s name did I go wrong with you? Please, break up with him and come back home, sweetheart. I’ll buy you a puppy.”
Ron choked so violently he nearly launched pumpkin juice across the table.
Harry wheezed. Dean snorted into his porridge.
Seamus, of course, muttered, “I’d take the puppy. Improvement from his ugly mug,” before Dean smacked him across the back of the head.
Ron was still laughing when he said it — light, teasing, harmless.
“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”
You tilted your head, “Ron. He bribed Draco with a pony once to convince him to continue piano lessons. Nothing is off the table.”
Seamus grinned wickedly, “Explains the prancing.”
Ron snorted into his juice, “Bet he named it after himself—”
You shot him a sharp look.
“Ron.”
He blinked, confused, “What? I’m just—”
"Bet he felt like a right prince charming on that horse, the git." Dean chimed in.
Ron grinned at the table, “Honestly wouldn’t surprise me. Malfoy’s dramatic enough—”
Your stomach twisted, irritation flickering before you could smother it.
“Can we not?” You said softly, “He was nine."
Ron blinked, thrown by the sudden shift in your tone, “Love, we’re just teasing. He gives it out, he can take it—”
“That’s not really the point,” You said, pushing your plate away. The laughter around the table dimmed awkwardly, “I’m… not hungry anymore.”
Ron straightened a little, brow creasing, “Wait—are you mad? I wasn’t even—”
“It’s fine.” You stood, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, “I’m going to class.”
And you didn’t kiss him goodbye.
You didn’t even touch his arm.
The boys stared after you, wide-eyed, feeling like they had just gotten Ron in trouble.
Hermione lifted her teacup, took a slow sip, and said dryly:
“Well done, Ronald. I don’t think Mr. Malfoy has anything to worry about if you continue behaving like that.”
Ron groaned, dropping his forehead onto the table.
And across the hall, at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy finally let his eyes land on you as he watched you storm out of the Great Hall.
The Slytherin common room felt warmer than usual, or maybe it was just the anger and frustration prickling up your collar. You had just stepped inside, brushing the chill off your coat, when a sharp voice sliced through the air.
“I saw you leave Weasley in the Great Hall.”
Your head snapped up. Draco. Talking to you.
You froze mid-step. Your mind scrambled. He’s… he’s speaking. After two weeks.
“And… was that it?” His tone was casual, too casual, like he wasn’t aware of the tension hanging over you both, “Did you finally realize how much of a git he was and break it off?”
Your jaw went slack. Blink. Blink again. This is what he’s chosen to say? After two weeks of icy silence?
“Excuse me?” You managed, voice tight.
Draco’s pale eyes didn’t waver, as if he expected your reaction. “I mean—” He waved a hand like brushing away an inconsequential topic, “You leave him, I saw it. That’s usually how things go, right? You realize they’re beneath you, you end it, you move on. Or was I wrong?”
Your chest tightened. A mixture of disbelief and frustration coiled in your stomach. You had endured two weeks of cold shoulders, whispered commentary from his friends, and endless stress building inside you. And now, after all that, he starts with this?
You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Words caught somewhere between exasperation and incredulity.
“Draco,” You whispered, stunned, “Are you serious right now?”
He rolled his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m only asking because it was obvious you were upset—”
“Oh, was it?” Your laugh came brittle, “Funny, since you haven’t taken two seconds in the last two weeks to check on me.”
Your hands curled into fists at your sides, “I left the Great Hall today to defend you, Draco. Even though you haven’t looked at me in two weeks, I still stood up for you in front of him and his friends, who are the only people being amiable to me right now.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“And even now,” You continued, voice cracking, “you’re not asking how I am. You’re not asking if something happened. You’re not asking if I’m okay. You’re asking if I broke up with Ron.”
Draco’s mouth thinned into a line, “Why should I ask how you are? You didn’t ask me when you decided to date Wheezy.”
You flinched.
He saw it—but didn’t soften.
“I didn’t ask,” You said quietly, “because I knew you wouldn’t be supportive.”
“Supportive?” He repeated, incredulous, “How could I possibly be supportive? This is—this is a ridiculous, foolish mistake! Why else do you think I haven’t told Father yet? I’m trying to give you time to see the error in your ways.”
Your heart dropped.
There it was. The part he hadn’t said out loud. The part you knew was coming but hoped wouldn’t.
“So that’s it?” Your voice shook, “If I date Ron—or—Merlin forbid—anyone else you don’t personally approve of… you’ll just pretend I don’t exist?”
He blinked, startled by the wording — by the emotion.
“Is that how much you care about me?” You whispered, “Ignoring me until I fall back in line?”
Draco’s breath caught.
And for the first time in two weeks, he didn’t have a ready insult. He didn’t have a snide remark. He didn’t have anything.
“(Y/N)…” He said softly, something unraveling in his voice.
But you shook your head, eyes burning.
“Never mind,” You snapped, voice sharp and cutting through the tension, “I see exactly where our relationship stands.”
And with that, you spun on your heel and stormed off, leaving him frozen in the middle of the common room, the words hanging in the warm air behind you.
You had barely stepped out of Transfiguration when students rushed past, the unmistakable electricity of commotion buzzing through the corridor. A crowd was forming fast, clogging the passage like a dam.
Great. Nothing good ever came from a Hogwarts crowd.
You pushed through, ready to scold some third-years for hexing each other again—only to freeze.
At opposite ends of the corridor, Ron and Draco faced each other, wands raised, faces twisted in fury.
Not arguing.
Not shoving.
Dueling.
“What did you call me, you pompous ferret?” Ron barked, wand sparking.
“Oh, please, Weasley,” Draco sneered, “You couldn’t duel your way out of a paper bag. Try me.”
A jet of red light shot across the corridor—Ron barely dodged. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Oh. Absolutely not.
Before either could strike again, you whipped out your wand.
“Expelliarmus!”
Both wands flew into your hand. Ron stumbled. Draco swore. And before they could so much as blink—
“LEVICORPUS!”
They shot upward like rag dolls, suspended by their ankles, robes flopping over their heads, swinging helplessly upside down like two extremely stupid bats.
The crowd fell silent.
You did not.
“ENOUGH!” Your voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls, “I AM DONE. I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH BOTH OF YOU!”
Both boys flailed helplessly in the air.
“PUT ME DOWN!” Draco yelled.
“Not until I’m finished,” You snapped, “Draco. I love Ronald. He is going to be my husband one day—”
Ron, upside down, gaped, “I—wait, really?”
You ignored him, glaring daggers at Draco.
“So unless you want to cut me out of the Malfoy family entirely, I suggest you start behaving.”
Draco’s face went red, “I—I—start behaving?! He started—”
“Not. Another. Word.”
Then you turned to Ron, whose face was beet-red, whether from embarrassment or from being upside down, you didn’t care.
“And you. Draco is my brother. The uncle to your future children. If you two don’t start getting along, so help me, I will transfigure you both into ferrets and send you to a travelling circus.”
Draco hissed, voice dripping venom: “I told Mother she needed to punish you more as a child, you spoiled brat!”
“Oh really?” You snapped, “I wonder what she’d say when she finds out what happened to her antique vase that was given to her by her grandmother.”
Draco froze. Face drained, “Uh… oh.”
Ron, dangling upside down beside him, let out a booming laugh, “Lot of bark, not a lot of bite, huh?”
You didn’t even hesitate, “Congratulations, Ronald. That was your chance at sex for the next week.”
Ron’s soul practically left his body.
Draco choked, “WHAT SEX? YOU HAVE SEX WITH WEASELBEE? OH GOD—I’M GONNA BE SICK!”
“Bet that kills you, doesn’t it, Malfoy?” Ron sneered.
You smiled sweetly, “Two weeks, Ronald.”
Ron swore, “Bloody hell, love. I’m sorry! Will you put me down now?”
“Not until you BOTH apologize,” You said sharply, “I want you to hug and promise me that you’re going to get along.”
Draco scoffed, twisting midair, “I’d rather lick the floor of the Leaky Cauldron.”
“Funny,” You shot back, “because you’ll be licking Father’s boots when he finds out about that party you threw at the manor the during their Paris trip."
Ron snorted, “Well, go on then, ferret.”
"Four weeks."
“WHAT— I WAS AT TWO LAST TIME! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE THREE!” Ron sputtered, flailing harder, hair dangling like an angry mop, “I DIDN’T EVEN—Merlin’s beard, woman, PLEASE.”
“Apologize.”
Ron groaned, then swung his head toward Draco. Draco stared back, both boys hanging upside down like disgruntled Christmas ornaments.
Ron cleared his throat, “Fine. I’m… sorry.” He grimaced like the word physically hurt.
Draco looked like he’d rather die, but your wand twitched, and that was enough.
“…I’m sorry too.” He muttered.
“Good.” You smiled, satisfied, “Now hug.”
“HUG?!”
“YOU’VE LOST YOUR MIND!”
“I’M NOT TOUCHING HIM!”
“I’D RATHER—”
You flicked your wand threateningly. Both boys swung toward each other like reluctant magnet poles, colliding midair with a pathetic thunk. Their upside-down hug looked less like affection and more like two drunk bats colliding.
It was perfect.
You lowered them gently—well, gently for you; Ron still staggered and Draco nearly fell—but they were finally on their feet.
You pointed between them. “No more dueling. No more stupid comments about each other. You’re both important to me, and I will not allow either of you to make my life harder than it already is.”
Both boys groaned, but for the first time in weeks, they looked… chastened.
And you, finally, breathed.
The Ravenclaw common room was buzzing with music, laughter, and the clinking of beer bottles. You’d been weaving through the crowd for a while, enjoying the mild chaos and the fact that, for once, no one seemed to be trying to duel anyone.
You grabbed a beer from the table, popping off the cap with a satisfying hiss, and made your way toward your boyfriend—only to catch sight of him mid-argument with your brother. The tail end of their ridiculous conversation reached your ears.
“You’ll be eating your words when we beat your scaly arses next week.” Ron challenged, brimming with confidence.
“As if, Wheezy. We’re going to fly circles around your sorry mug.” Draco shot back, eyes narrowed.
You rolled your eyes. At least there wasn't any real animosity there. Beggars couldn't be choosers, you supposed. With a small sigh, you lifted the bottle—but before it even reached your lips, both of them shouted in unison:
“You can’t!”
Your eyes went wide. Slowly, you lowered the bottle, staring at them in disbelief.
“What?”
Ron snatched the bottle from your hand, “You’re not seventeen yet.”
Draco’s glare sharpened, pointed directly at him, “Who are you to tell her what to do?”
Ron scoffed, puffing his chest out, “I’m her boyfriend. Who the bloody hell are you?”
“And I’m her brother,” Draco shot back, voice cold, “Which makes me the only person who actually has a bloody say!”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, utterly over it, “Could you both stop acting like twelve-year-olds?!”
They ignored you. Of course they did. You watched, flabbergasted, as they devolved into another argument, voices rising over the music and laughter of the Ravenclaw common room.
"I just wanted a bloody drink." You muttered.
bonus:
You had never been so tense in your life.
You had tried—really tried—to postpone this get-together for as long as possible, but with the wedding coming up, delaying it any longer was impossible. Which was why the dining hall at Malfoy Manor had reached decibel levels you didn’t think human voices could sustain.
The ginormous dining hall of your childhood home, chosen by your father because he would never set foot in the Burrow, had never felt smaller. On one side of the table: the Weasleys, red hair blazing like literal warning signs. On the other: the Malfoys, noses held so high it was a miracle they didn’t develop altitude sickness. And in the middle: poor Ron, tugging at his collar like a man being slowly strangled by his own future, and you, silently praying for a headache remedy stronger than any potion in existence.
All you had wanted was a pleasant, civilized meeting between families.
It seemed everyone else had different plans.
Lucius and Molly were locked in a battle over proper table settings. Narcissa and Arthur were arguing about where the wedding should even be held—Molly insisting the Athenaeum wasn’t lavish enough, Arthur waxing poetic about the charm of a simple affair. Draco, leaning back with his signature smirk, couldn’t resist commenting on the “rustic charm” of the Burrow, and Hermione had just barely restrained Harry from hexing him for the fourth time.
“…and I still can’t believe you’re marrying a Weasley! I blame myself as a father.” Lucius declared haughtily, voice sharp enough to cut marble.
“And what’s that supposed to mean, Lucius Malfoy? My Ronald is a fine young man!” Molly snapped, eyes blazing.
“Well, at least our family isn't on a watch-list by the ministry,” George muttered under his breath, earning a sputter of outrage from Lucius that might have set off a small explosion if anyone had been foolish enough to stand too close.
You rubbed your temples. Color-coded seating arrangements, proper tea service, notes for diplomatic conversation—all meaningless. Chaos had a louder voice than your meticulous plans.
Finally, you snapped.
“Oh, for Salazar’s sake!”
You stood sharply, the echo of your voice bouncing off the marble ceiling and silencing everyone—for a moment.
Clearing your throat primly, you straightened your robes and clasped your hands together with impeccable Malfoy grace.
“Ronald and I are getting married next year—on Valentine’s Day, the most romantic day of the year.”
Ron nodded at the words, too afraid of you to have anything to say in argument.
“You are all to attend,” You continued, voice sharp as a dagger, “and send appropriate gifts. You are not to cause a scene at either the ceremony or the reception. Any violating party will be denied access to any and all future grandchildren.”
A collective gasp rose from Molly and Narcissa alike, their faces a study in horror and disbelief.
“Any siblings who fail to attend,” You went on mercilessly, “will cause their parents’ access to said grandchildren to be revoked. The only acceptable reasons for absence are illness… or death.”
You looked around the table, chin high, eyes steely.
“All those in favor of attending and being amiable guests—say aye.”
The room fell silent. The tension was so thick you could almost cut it with a wand.
“…Aye,” Arthur said weakly, his fingers twitching like a man surrendering to a curse.
“Aye,” Your mother echoed, nose practically scraping the ceiling.
One by one, the others muttered reluctant “ayes,” like schoolchildren caught passing notes.
Everyone but your father.
You turned to him, a poisonous smile playing on your lips.
“Stay strong, Father. She’s doing that thing again,” Draco muttered under his breath, not making eye contact.
You tilted your head, feigning innocence with a small pout, “Won’t you walk me down the aisle, daddy? You’re really not going to see your granddaughter? You’ll be okay with never being called Poppy ever?”
Lucius cracked a sigh, exhaling a sound that could have been mistaken for a foghorn, “Salazar’s balls… aye.”
Perfectly satisfied, you clapped your hands together, “Splendid. Meeting adjourned. Let’s have tea.”
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
⟢ pairing. ron weasley x fem!reader ⟢ summary. you, oblivious as ever, hadn’t caught on to ron’s not-so-subtle signals about his feelings for you. ⟢ friends to lovers. he fell first, he fell harder. ⟢ wc. 1,8k ⟢ masterlist!
ron was someone who was obviously terrible at masking his feelings. he was so awfully bad at it, that even neville had managed to catch on; at this rate, the fat lady probably knew too; everybody seemed to know, except for the one person thick enough not to notice, the one person who he actually wanted to.
harry and hermione, who from the very start had always knew about ron’s secret, sometimes wondered how long it would take before you finally caught on. as hermione once said, “honestly, i’ve never met such a thick person as to not notice you making it so ridiculously obvious.”
and she wasn’t wrong.
it was in the way ron always saved you a seat beside him, even if it meant shoving his books across the bench or glaring at anyone who dared to sit too close. it was in the way he slid the last roast potato onto your plate at dinner, ignoring the fact that food was practically sacred to him. it was in the way he lingered by the portrait hole in the mornings, pretending to retie his shoelaces just so you wouldn’t have to walk to class alone. it was in the way he carried your books when you looked tired, muttering something about how “they weren’t heavy anyway” even as his ears turned scarlet.
every single thing he did was a miserable attempt at making his feelings known, though you never once caught on. hermione, in particular, had long abandoned subtlety; she no longer bothered with knowing looks and had moved straight into exasperated sighs and muttering under her breath whenever you missed yet another painfully obvious signal. harry, on the other hand, found the whole thing hilarious and had even roped ginny into betting on how long it would take before you finally noticed.
fred and george, of course, never missed a chance to make things worse. they teased ron mercilessly, dropping not-so-subtle comments whenever you were around or nudging him dramatically whenever you walked past. the twins, however claimed that they were doing him a favor.
“you gonna finish that toast, or are you saving it for a special someone? y/n, perhaps?” fred, who leaned over the table with a grin, snickered loudly. “shut it, fred.” ron scowled, already red in the ears.
“special someone? me? what d’you mean?” you blinked, completely stupid enough not to understand as ron choked on his roasted turkey. “oh, you know..” george suddenly chimed in, but ron cut him off quickly before he managed to utter a single word.
“don’t you dare, george,” ron warned sharply, his face turning crimson as he shoved another bite of toast into his mouth to avoid looking at you. fred raised his brows in mock innocence. “what? we were only going to say you’re his favorite study partner. right, george?”
“absolutely,” george agreed, smirking. “his very favorite. can’t stop talking about her, can you?” ron nearly dropped his goblet, choking out, “i do not!”
doing him a favour, they said. not to ron, no. but either way, ron couldn’t help but silently hoped you had caught on. he would rather die than admit his feelings to you aloud. he’d much rather you pieced it together yourself. oh, yes, that would save him the humiliation of confessing his feelings out loud.
it came to a point where hermione, already exasperated beyond belief, had enough.
“honestly ron, just tell her how you feel! or—or ask her out on a hogsmeade weekend or something—alone, this time..” hermione trailed off awkwardly recalling the last time ron had did exactly that, but didn’t quite go exactly as planned.
“i was, you know.. um.. wondering, if you’d wanna spend the day toromow—i meant, tomorrow,” he stammered, ears already turning red. he cleared his throat, fumbling over his words. “with—with me, i mean—well, if you’d like, of course! we can also go anywhere you want.” he then awkwardly fiddled with his sleeves out of nervousness; he could practically hear his heart thudding loudly in his chest.
please say yes.. oh, help me..
“of course we can,” you shrugged, smiling softly. it was then that ron froze for a moment, blinked, and stared at you in disbelief. he had thought it ought to be more difficult than this. “wait, really? you—you mean it?” his heart thumped painfully fast, and his stomach did that weird twisty thing whenever you looked at him that he couldn’t quite name.
“of course i do!” you beamed. “ooh, you can accompany me and hermione at honeydukes! we’ve been craving some chocolate frogs lately,” you added cheerfully, clasping your hands together in excitement at the thought.
what? hermione?
ron felt as though a thunder had struck him completely. his eyes were practically bulging at this point.
“but—” he sighed, deciding not to say anything. “well.. that’s fine, i suppose.. yeah. sure, brilliant idea.” he forced a smile, shoving his hands into his pockets, shifting from foot to foot, looking like a dramatic puppy pouting from disappointment.
oh, hermione didn’t want to remember that, and neither did ron, who sank onto his fluffy armchair near the fireplace in the common room as he painfully replayed the scene in his head.
“don’t—even—remind—me.” ron said, burying his face in his hands. he needn’t remember that mortifying moment; the memory alone made his ears burn. from behind, he could hear muffled, stifled laughter. “oh, shut up, harry.” he groaned, finally lowering his hands just enough to glare over at his best friend, who was trying—and failing to look innocent.
hermione, too, stifled a laugh upon seeing harry. though, she quickly recovered once she saw how serious ron actually was. “well, maybe.. this time, you can go and ask her to go to hogsmeade together again. just make sure it’s only the two of you this time.” hermione suggested, looking over towards harry, awaiting for any sign of approval.
“yeah, go get her ron.” harry urged. “d’you reckon she’d say yes?” he asked, his voice dripped with uncertainty. harry and hermione exchanged glances, before hermione spoke up. “well, i suppose she would. i mean, she has to, wouldn’t she?” ron swallowed hard.
the morning after, precisely when the whole school had gathered for breakfast, ron managed to inch his way toward your table, shoving down his nerves like they were a particularly nasty potion. he clutched his tray like it was a shield, muttering under his breath, and stole quick glances at you, trying to work up the courage to speak without turning into a complete disaster.
fred and george, conveniently seated a few tables away, were already grinning like the cat that got the cream, clearly anticipating the spectacle about to unfold. hermione shot ron a quick, pointed look from across the hall, silently urging him to just go for it before you wandered off or someone else interrupted.
ron cleared his throat loudly, attracting a few curious glances, which he was too preoccupied to even notice. “hey, um.. y/n, can i talk to you? like—alone?” he managed. you turned around, now facing him. “sure, what’s up?” your full attention was now at ron, who, once again, cleared his throat.
“well.. maybe we can talk outside? be—because it’s quite noisy here, don’t you think?” he suggested. you tilted your head slightly, smiling. “oh, alright, we can go outside.”
you hadn’t noticed ron exchanging looks with harry and hermione, who both gave him a thumbs-up. you then followed him out of the great hall, the clatter of trays and chatter of students soon blurred, where the two of you settled in a corner, far enough from the great hall.
“so, what d’you wanna talk about?” you asked curiously, a crease forming between your brows. you thought it was unusual for ron to want to talk to you away from the others. ron, who’s face was almost as red as his robes, suddenly spoke.
“well, i.. just thought we could—uh, you know, talk,” he muttered whatever popped up into his brain, glancing at the ground before quickly looking back at you.
you chuckled. “you’re acting really funny, what’s going on?” he swallowed hard. “would you..” he trailed off, his heart beating so loudly he swore you could hear it. you tilted your head.
“would you like to go to hogsmeade with me later this afternoon?you know.. just—just the two of us..” he mumbled, rubbing the nape of his neck as he avoided your gaze. suddenly the solid stone floors were interesting.
you widened your eyes, taken aback, but soon broke into a soft smile. “sure, that sounds fun.” and for some reason, you felt a little flutter of excitement at the idea of spending time with ron—though you couldn’t have known why.
“really? brilliant!” he beamed, then tried to steady himself. “i mean, yeah—cool.” he added quickly, running a hand through his hair and shoving the other into his pocket, trying desperately to act casual, completely ignoring his now flushed cheeks.
you laughed softly. he sure was acting weird today, you thought. “we should probably get back, shouldn’t we? before food’s all gone.” you suggested. “food? oh, right.” he said quickly as he fell into step beside you.
the blurred noise of clinking plates and laughter swelled again, and before you knew it, you were stepping back into the great hall. fred, who saw ron’s unmistakable grin—which ron tried to hide, but is obviously failing miserably—wore a smug smirk as he nudged george.
you quickly slid back into your seat, picking up your abandoned spoon to resume your breakfast as ron followed suit. hermione studied your face, which looked usually fine, before turning to ron, who seemed as if he had just won the quidditch cup, and so she took it as a good sign.
three heads away, fred and george wore a wicked grin. “looks like little ronniekins has got himself a date,” george whispered back, just loud enough for ron’s ears to burn all over again as harry bit back a laugh, before it quickly turned into a grunt. hermione had apparently kicked him under the table to shut him up, her expression schooled into feigned innocence as she buttered her toast. harry had a good feeling he was about to win his bet against ginny.
Includes: !readers is a virgin, Ron has some experience, first time together, getting talked thru it, size kink?, PiV, praise, sight exhibitionism maybe idk
W/c: ~1.5k
Ron invited you to stay the two month summer break with him and his family. Spending time outside of the school together was something that the two of you have bearly ever done. Sure you’ve been at Hogsmeade together but never spent a break together. But Molly insisted that everyone would be happy to have you stay with them over the summer. So here you were.
After everyone brought their stuff into their rooms and everything got organized a few got started on cooking dinner. While Mrs‘ Weasley puts together something in a big pot you and Ginny chop up some vegetables. It all just feels like home, like you’ve been there before so many times. They were all so nice and welcoming to you.
From the moment Ron introduced you as his new girlfriend everyone just treated you like family. It was a nice change from what you were used to.
After the food was put on the table and everyone sat down and started eating the atmosphere became a little more relaxed. Everyone was busy chatting and enjoying the food. You look over to your right and see Ron shoving food into his mouth. You laugh softly and mouth a quick „thanks“. He smiles back at you and then continues eating.
It’s around two hours later, the sun is just setting as Ron shuts the door behind him after stepping into his room after you. The room is small but cozy and warm. You’ve been in there earlier when you brought your stuff in. Both Fred and George shot their brother this kinda smirk. You didn’t notice but he sure as hell did.
He knew the second you and him met that his brothers would tease him none stop. And they did. Either with comments only he heard or the grins on their faces. But he was the one with the girlfriend. He was the winner this time.
So after the rest of the house quiet down and everyone settled into their rooms you and Ron got into bed too. It’s not like it was the first time you and him were this close. Of course you kissed and cuddled but the air was never like this. It was intimate and just calm overall. You enjoy having him so close, smelling him, feeling the warmth of his body.
You set down your hair clip on the floor beside his bed and then turn around to face Ron who’s propped up on his elbow. He has this look in his eyes as he reaches out with two fingers to guide your face towards his. His lips meet yours, soft at first but as his tongue slips past yours lips he starts to deepen and intensify the kiss. His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you close.
He moves his body over yours, not breaking the kiss for a second until he’s on top of you. Legs on either side of your body and one hand beside your head to support himself. He lifts his head just so much to look into your eyes. „You- can I?“ he asks as he already tugs at the hem of your shirt. You don’t think for a second and just nod. His warm fingers come against your skin as he lifts your shirt and helps you out of it, leaving you in your bra and pants.
The pants you get rid of just a second later yourself before he even asks. You’re still laying under him when you watch him discharge his own shirt and dipping down to catch your lips between his again. The kiss is warm, but the warmth radiating of your body feels as hot as the sun.
It’s perfect, just like you imagined your first time. Not rushed, no one there to interrupt and with the guy you love more then anything. And he’s perfect too, so careful with you. You knew from the beginning of your relationship on that he’s been with girls before and he knew that he was your first boyfriend ever. There was something about that he loved, being the first guys that gets to see you like this.
And it makes it easier for you, that he knows what he’s doing. That you don’t have to do much, you don’t have to overthink every move you make.
You arch your back off the bed to make it easier for his to unclasp the clasp of your bra, he pulls it off your chest and for a moment he just looks at your chest but then up into your eyes again. „fucking perfect“. And he means it. Everything about you just screams perfection.
He places open mouthed kisses along your neck and down over your chest, he lets his tongue swirl over your nipple while his eyes stay on your face, he wants to see every reaction he gets out of you.
Ron pushes himself up again and starts to unbuckle his pants. You keep your eyes on his face but just for a second they trail down and the little glimpse you catch of his dick makes your breath hitch a little. He of course notices and leans down again. „We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to okay? We can stop anytime. It’s not gonna be awkward or uncomfortable.“ he reassures you. And you know that. You spoke to him about all of that and that’s another reason why you love you so much, because he always respects your boundaries.
„I know, I’d tell but but it’s perfect right now“ you assure him and after adjusting a little more and pulling his blanket over the both of you he lines himself up with you. He places his hands on either side of you again and slowly moves his hips forward. Not rough, not forceful just slow and steady. Your mouth opens and you choke on a moan. „It’s okay I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for me yea?“ he praises and presses a kiss to the side of your neck. You nod and after a moment of just letting you adjust he moves deeper.
The stretch burns a little, but it’s that good kind of pain, he moves his hips until he’s fully buried inside of you. With your arms wrapped around his neck you hold onto him with everything you’ve got. To ground yourself and to make sure that he’s still there.
He gives you another second to adjust. „God you’re tight. You okay?“ he asks again. „Yeah mhmm-“ you answer and nod at the same time. Ron then starts to move slowly. He’s using all of his willpower right not but he’s keeping it together just for you. After letting you get used to the stretch he builds up some pace.
You still got your arms wrapped around his neck and hold onto him as he’s now thrusting into you a little faster. He’s still so gentle with you and you know how bad he wants you.
You can’t help but let a few moans still past your lips even tho you’re trying so hard to keep it together. You don’t want his family to hear of course. But Ron on the other hand feels like he needs to prove to his brother that he’s not the stupid kid they always teased anymore. Deep deep down he wants them to hear you maybe a little bit.
„You’re s-so pretty like this. I love you so much. Love how you’re taking me so good“ you’d love to respond to his praise but heaving him so deep inside you basically just turns your brain into mush. While he goes on to place kisses all over your upper body one of his hands travel down between your legs to find your clit.
He rets his hand a little above and uses his thumb to draw tight circles over the sensitive nub. It feels like fireworks exploding, and of course you’ve touched yourself before but it never felt like this. Every move he makes feels like electric shock waves are getting sent thru your body.
„Hmm you like that?“ he asks even tho he can clearly see the answer written all over your face. It only takes a few more thrusts to sent you over the edge. The moment you come he hold you a little closer and pushes a little deeper into you. With a final thrust he finishes too, for a second after he stops moving the both of you just stay like this. Breathing heavily and holding into each other.
The next day as you and Ron walk downstairs into the kitchen to eat breakfast with the rest of the family the twins give you this knowing look. You turn to Ron, about to say something about being worried that they might’ve heard you but he just wraps his arm around your waist and places a kiss on your lips.
the fact you have no harry potter requests scare me. anyway just know I'll probably be spamming requests every day (sorry)
I really want more ron weasley (I'll take anything wholesome) like imagine spending christmas at the burrow!!! and having to sneak around the creaky floors because Molly doesn't want you sleeping in the same room
❝ Sneaky visits ! ❞ ― ron weasley !
tap here for my cbh masterlist ! here for reqs info
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘 𝗦𝗠𝗢𝗞𝗘 and citrus hit your nose the moment your boots met the creaky floorboards of the Burrow—home of the very chaotic, very lovable Weasley family.
Fairy lights blinked lazily while floating brooms swept the floors in sync with dishrags scrubbing countertops like it was some kind of magical symphony of domestic chaos.
A soft breath escaped your lips, cold and quiet, right as a smile threatened to tug at your mouth. Your eyes swept over the familiar space.
You took one careful step forward, boots making the wood groan beneath you, and gave your body a little shake, brushing snow off your warm clothes. It hit the ground with a soft pat, melting almost instantly into the heat spilling from the crackling fireplace—where flames danced peacefully in total contrast to the mess of Christmas decorations scattered near the hearth.
You gently pushed the door closed, but of course it had to groan like a banshee, announcing your arrival with zero subtlety and absolutely ruining any chance of a surprise entrance.
The surprise was yours instead.
Loud, hurried footsteps thundered down the stairs.
You turned, lifting your head just in time to catch sight of a shock of red hair darting toward you like Longbottom fleeing from Snape.
Ron. Your Ron.
You gave him a sheepish smile—half guilty, half shy—with a little shrug that screamed “surprise?”
His eyes, already wide, went impossibly wider. And then that grin—that grin—spread across his face like it couldn’t wait another second.
Guess you had surprised him after all.
You opened your mouth to say something, your voice ready to spill out a gentle hi—but the words never made it. His hands were already cupping your frozen cheeks, and suddenly, your lips weren’t yours to use.
Second surprise of the day.
You smiled against his kiss, which ended with a quick peck to your cheek before he tucked his face into the curve of your neck like it was the only place in the world he wanted to be.
“What’re you doing here?” he mumbled into your neck, voice muffled and shaky as he started to pepper kisses along your skin.
“Molly invited me to spend Christmas with you guys,” you answered, gently pressing your hands to his chest to put just a little space between you.
He gave you a slightly embarrassed smile, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other stayed firm at your waist, keeping you close—but not close enough, if you asked him.
The second your words really sank in, something shifted in his face—equal parts excitement and disbelief.
He raised a brow, voice full of pure Ron energy: “We’re talking about my mum? Because that… doesn’t sound at all like something my mum would do.” He paused, and a teasing smile curled on his lips. “In fact, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even like you eno—”
You smacked the back of his head.
“She likes me more than she likes you,” you muttered under your breath.
Ron let out a dramatic groan, rubbing the back of his head like you’d just knocked a bludger into him.
“That was assault, you know,” he muttered, his bottom lip jutting out in the most ridiculous pout. “I could report you to the Ministry for magical domestic violence.”
You rolled your eyes. “Shame we don’t live together, huh? Doesn’t count as domestic.”
You stuck your tongue out at him, because of course you did.
He laughed—that snorty, half-suppressed laugh that always made you want to bottle it up and save it for rainy days. And then—of course—he had to go and make it worse.
Both arms wrapped around you without warning and suddenly, your feet weren’t on the ground anymore.
You let out a startled little squeak that was definitely not dignified.
“I missed you,” he whispered as he set you back down, gentle like you were something breakable.
“Not more than I missed you,” you murmured, fingers threading into his hair—still messy, still warm, still softer than you remembered.
And for just a moment, the world hit pause.
The creaking floors, the wind outside, the distant clatter of pans in the kitchen—all of it melted away.
But peace and quiet in the Burrow? Yeah. As if.
“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!” Molly’s voice rang out from somewhere deep in the house, sounding halfway between war cry and welcome. “IS THAT YOU AT THE DOOR? AND WHO ARE YOU WITH?”
Ron tensed like she’d just caught him red-handed sneaking out after curfew.
“Oh no,” he whispered like he was sharing a prison cell with you. “She’s gonna get excited. Then she’s gonna ask if you’ve eaten. And if you haven’t eaten, she’s gonna make you three full meals.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And if I have eaten?”
“She’ll make two more. Just to be safe.”
You didn’t even get a chance to laugh—because the Molly Weasley experience had just entered the chat.
Her silhouette rounded the corner with a dramatic gasp, eyes going wide the second she saw you.
“Oh, darling! You’re here! And without warning—honestly!” she scolded, even as her arms wrapped around you in a hug that could only be described as life-threatening.
You made a muffled sound somewhere between “hi” and “help.”
“Told you,” Ron muttered behind you, not even trying to hide his smirk.
After a flurry of cheek kisses, bone-crushing affection, and rapid-fire plans involving hot chocolate, Molly turned to Ron with a look.
Not a look. The look.
“And you, young man, will be sleeping in your own room tonight. Don’t think I don’t know how your brain works.”
Then she turned back to you, all maternal warmth and boss-level charm, hands landing gently on your shoulders.
“You’ll be staying in Ginny’s room, sweetheart. It’s all ready for you.” A beat. Then—eyes flicking between you and Ron—“And if I catch even one of you sneaking around to do Merlin-knows-what—”
You flushed so hard you were surprised your face didn’t combust.
“Mum!” Ron practically shouted, horror written across every freckle. “We’re not Percy and his seventh-year girlfriend!”
“Don’t drag your brother into this,” Molly huffed, already marching off like a one-woman army of festive chaos.
Silence.
Then Ron slowly turned toward you with the energy of someone accepting a tragic, unavoidable fate.
“So... plan B?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“Sneaking around the loudest, creakiest house in the magical world.”
A grin tugged at your lips—sharp, wicked, absolutely in. “Perfect. I live for danger.”
Ron kissed your temple, laced his fingers through yours, and whispered like it was a sacred oath:
“Then welcome to the most dangerous mission since Fred and George tried to steal the Christmas pudding.”
You both started up the stairs in hushed giggles, dodging garlands and rogue gnome ornaments.
The stairs creaked like they had a personal vendetta against you.
You and Ron froze in sync halfway up the second flight—your hands still intertwined, your breath caught like two kids caught red-handed sneaking biscuits before dinner.
Ron leaned in, his voice a whisper against your ear. “That step always squeaks. It’s like… cursed or something.”
You nodded solemnly. “A protection charm. Designed by Molly Weasley to keep hormonal teenagers in line.”
He huffed a laugh but clamped a hand over his mouth right after. “Shhh—don’t make me laugh. She’ll hear. She always hears.”
You waited a beat, listening. Nothing but the crackle of the fire downstairs and the distant sound of George laughing at something on the wireless.
You took another step. It groaned like a ghost with a grudge.
Ron winced, looked up at the ceiling like he was begging the universe for mercy, and then shot you a look. “Alright, new plan. I go first. If I fall through the floor, save yourself.”
“Chivalrous. But we both know you’d trip over your own feet and take me down with you.”
“Probably,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, then motioned for you to follow him.
The two of you finally reached the upstairs landing, where dim fairy lights still blinked lazily along the banister, casting a soft golden glow across the walls.
Ginny’s door was just ahead.
But Ron didn’t stop there.
He tugged you past it—past Bill’s old room, past the crooked family portrait wall—and into his own bedroom, gently closing the door behind you with exaggerated care.
You blinked. “I thought your mum said—”
“She definitely said,” he cut in. “But hear me out.”
You crossed your arms. “This should be good.”
“I thought maybe,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck like it was a nervous tic wired into his DNA, “we could just talk a while. You know. Before sneaking you back to Ginny’s. Like... fifteen minutes. Tops.”
You stared at him, and something warm bloomed in your chest.
There was his bed, slightly messy. A weird assortment of Chudley Cannons memorabilia scattered across every surface. A half-eaten chocolate frog on the desk. A single slipper with no known partner. And Ron, standing there like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands, like maybe asking you to sit on his bed was the equivalent of proposing marriage.
You smiled and walked in, sitting down with a soft floomp onto the edge of the bed.
Fifteen minutes, huh?
Ron sat beside you, just close enough for his knee to brush against yours. For a moment, the quiet returned—warm, comfortable, humming with all the unspoken things that didn’t need to be said.
He nudged your shoulder with his. “So. Best part of today?”
You tilted your head. “Seeing your face when I walked in.”
His ears turned a very satisfying shade of pink. “Yeah? Same.”
You leaned back on your hands, looking around. “And the worst part?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Mum threatening to separate us like first years caught in a broom closet.”
You laughed, and he did too—soft and quiet and lovely.
Then, after a beat, he reached out, intertwining your fingers again, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin.
“I know it’s chaotic here. Loud. A bit overwhelming sometimes. But…” He glanced over at you, his expression shifting into something softer. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
You didn’t say anything right away. Just scooted a little closer until your shoulder pressed fully against his. “Me too.”
Another pause. Another little pocket of peace between the cracks of Weasley chaos.
Then—
A floorboard groaned loudly in the hallway. Followed by the unmistakable sound of Molly muttering something about “wandering children” and “for Merlin’s sake.”
You both stiffened.
Ron’s eyes went wide. “Operation: Retreat?”
You nodded. “Go, go, go!”
You bolted out the door hand-in-hand, trying not to giggle, dodging the squeaky step, tiptoeing like pros through the flickering shadows—two partners in crime on a mission to beat Molly’s bedtime patrol.
Because sneaking around the Burrow might’ve been a terrible plan…
But it was also kind of perfect.
Especially with Ron.
a/n: I know it's spring, but I loved the idea and had to do it. ! words count: 1,859
summary: ron can't help but fall in love with a beauxbatons student, you, at first sight. needing a date to the Yule Ball, he had an eye out for one girl, and one girl only.
warnings: none, tooth-rotting fluff - ron is madly in love
pairing: ron x beauxbatons!student!reader - hogwarts canon / golden trio era
wc: 4.5k
a/n: based off of a matchup i did!<3 they were a french requester
In your heels, you stepped onto the wet grass. The clouds were scattered across the dim sky, threatening to pour rain.
Hogwarts was larger than you expected.
All these tales about its secret passageways, appearing rooms, and wandering ghosts seemed like they were true—no way anyone could’ve explored the entire castle.
“Posture, ladies.” Madam Maxine demanded, glancing over her shoulder as you all walked inside the warm castle.
They called it the Great Hall.
I see why they call it so Great, you thought, looking around the beautiful room.
The smell of pumpkin and cinnamon wafted through the air; you noticed flickering, floating candles lingering in the air.
We were told to find a place to sit: no assigned seating or rules. Just finding a place to sit to eat dinner.
“Chloé,” You turned to your best friend. “That table, there?” You pointed to the table with a crimson table runner.
Chloé nodded. “Sure. Next to that…boy?”
“...If it’s the only seat.”
You both glided over, noticing that sitting next to the certain ginger kid would be the only option.
“We might need to sit next to the redhead, Y/N.”
“Ah non alors.” You sighed, taking a deep breath, then making your way to the boy. Tapping his shoulder politely, you murmured, “Excuse me.”
The boy turned his head, and once he locked eyes with you, his mouth agape.
It stayed like that—he carefully admired your face.
Chloé snickered behind you, a hand over her mouth.
“Um…may my friend and I sit next to you?” You asked.
He blinked, lips still parted.
A bushy-haired girl who sat across from him pinched the bridge of her nose. “Seriously, Ron?”
“Uh—um—no.”
A moment of silence as he just stared at you.
You furrowed your brows.
“Abruti,” Chloé mumbled.
The girl across from him quickly kicked him under the table.
“Ouch! I mean- yes, you can sit here.” His ears went scarlet.
A boy with glasses next to the girl coughed into his goblet—suspiciously sounding like a laugh.
“Are we sure, Chloé?” You whispered sharply.
“There’s no other seat, Y/N,” Chloé muttered. “We would be lucky to find one in time.”
Sighing, you took a seat next to the ginger and Chloé on your other side.
He was frozen. Maybe even lovestruck.
You sighed, getting the hint that he wouldn’t be the first to speak.
“I’m Y/N. This is my friend, Chloé.” You introduced yourself, hoping to break the ice.
“I’m Hermione. This is Harry, and that,” Hermione pointed towards the ginger, “Is Ronald.”
“Ron.” He corrected, clearing his throat. “N-Nice to meet you, Y/N. And…Chloé.”
“Likewise.” You nodded.
You folded your hands neatly in your lap, trying to remember everything Madam Maxime had told you about making a good impression.
Don't slouch.
Smile!
Don't talk too much.
Don't. Embarrass. Beauxbatons.
You caught Ron’s eye as he was mid-chew, then he quickly looked away.
Two seconds later, you both looked at each other again.
“Is there a reason you keep looking at me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ron nearly dropped his fork.
“Wha—No!” Ron said, looking back to his half-full plate. “Sorry…”
“It’s okay.”
“Um…so,” Ron cleared his throat. “You’re from Beauxbatons?”
“Yes.” You replied shortly.
“So you’re from…France?” He questioned. Chloé suppressed a laugh beside you.
Hermione sighed. “Ron.”
“What?” The ginger frowned.
“Of course she’s from France.”
“I know. I…knew that.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Double-checking.”
Harry let a laugh slip out, causing him to cover it up with a cough immediately. Hermione glared at him.
“What?”
“Be nice, Harry.” Hermione glared.
“I was just clearing my throat!” Harry put his hands up in surrender.
“These people are hectic,” Chloé whispered.
You nodded in agreement with an exaggerated sigh. “At least we will be entertained for our time here.”
You and Chloé continued eating dinner silently as the three bickered.
—
“Is it just me, or,” Chloé held onto the strap of her bookbag tighter. “That ginger boy—what’s his name?—is attached to you.”
“What makes you say that?” You frowned, knitting your brows.
“I don’t know, just the fact he’s always looking at you with an open mouth.” Chloé rolled her eyes.
You waved a dismissive hand. “That’s ridiculous, and you know that.”
“No, it’s not—It’s the start of a love story!” She gushed.
“I already forgot his name, Chloé.”
“Starts with a J…I think?”
“An R.”
“...Oh. Right.”
“Very helpful, Chloé.” Walking into the Great Hall for breakfast, your eyes immediately found his—the redhead.
Chloé sighed dreamily, linking an arm with yours. “What did I tell you?”
“Y/N! Chloé!” Hermione called out, waving for you two to come over.
Herm-own-ninnie. Is that her name? You thought in panic.
You sighed. “They miss us already.”
“Mignonne,” Chloé smirked, following you as you walked over.
Mon Dieu, what is his name? You thought, awkwardly smiling at his taken-aback face. Red. He’ll be named Red.
“Good morning,” You greeted, taking a seat next to the ginger boy.
“Hi.” He responded. “You smell good.”
The boy with the glasses—Harry—snickered silently.
“...Thank you?” You raised an unsure eyebrow.
Hermione shut her eyes for a brief moment. "He means the bacon."
Ron cleared his throat. “Y-yeah, I mean this bacon smells incredible!”
Chloé scoffed beside you, and you pinched your lips in a straight line.
“So…” Ron said. “How are you two liking, um, Hogwarts?”
“Very busy.” You replied.
“I got lost.” Chloé frowned. “This place is too big.”
“So very different than Beauxbatons?” Hermione questioned.
“Sure.” You patted your shirt down. “It’s…louder.”
A rough voice shouted somewhere down the table—A tall, ginger boy who looked somewhat similar to Ron.
“You owe me a Galleon, Lee!”
“Dimwit! You tricked me!” Another voice yelled. Laughter rose from the group of boys.
“You’ll get used to this after some time.” Hermione poked the fruit on her plate.
“Yeah…loud,” Ron mumbled, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you like…anything…?”
You looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
Ron’s already red face deepened. “I mean, do you have any hobbies?” He gave you a sheepish smile.
“Oh, yes, many.” You beamed. “Music—and I’m a big fan of collecting things as well.”
“Like what?” Ron asked, trying to flow the conversation.
“Dolls.”
He blinked at you.
“Sounds creepy, Y/N,” Chloe whispered, giggling.
Waving a hand, you politely corrected, “Not scary dolls—the dolls with the nice hair.”
“Oh. Right.” Ron crookedly smiled.
“Oi!” A voice called out. You turned your head back to the group of rambunctious boys.
All of them were looking at…
You?
Ron looked as well, shocked by the sudden interruption.
“Is that your girlfriend, Won-won?” A redhead sniggered, pointing at you. The group roared in laughter. You glanced at the boy beside you—his whole face was flushed a shade of tomato-red.
“Ignore them, Ronald,” Hermione muttered, crossing her arms.
Ronald, you thought. That’s his name.
“Gonna go snog on her, Ronnie?” Another redhead hollered—who was identical to the other ginger—more laughter from the twins and the boys around them.
Ron scoffed dismissively, looking down at the table.
“Do you know them?” You questioned.
“Yeah. They’re…unfortunately my brothers.” Ron responded. “Fred and George.”
“Are they…always this boisterous?”
“You won't ever catch a second of them being quiet.”
You hummed. “They remind me of children.”
“We heard that!” The twins said at the same time.
You and Ron immediately looked at the playful redheads.
Fred clutched his chest. “We’ve been insulted.”
“By the French, Freddie!” George dramatically gasped.
Ron laughed—and you did too.
Your real laugh.
You hadn't…expected it.
Without the nervous stammering or deeply red cheeks, his laugh was contagious—enough that you couldn't help but giggle as well.
“You didn’t deny it, Ronnie,” George smirked. “Have you even asked her yet?”
You didn’t know how it was possible, but Ron flushed a deeper shade of red.
“Ask her what?” Ron’s eyes went wide.
“Asked her out,” Fred responded.
Ron groaned, running a hand down his face. “Of course not, we just met.”
“You poor lad.” George teased. Then, his eyes flickered to you, his lips drawn with a sad smile. “He’s been drooling over you for the past three days-”
“Shut it, George.” Ron hissed.
“Just the truth, little brother.” George put his hands up in retreat. “Time to make a move, yeah?”
As the twins returned to conversation with their friends, Ron played with the hem of his shirt.
You knew how siblings were—always joking and teasing after little things.
Yet…
Ron never denied anything.
And those twins sounded awfully convincing.
—
“Fleur Delacour…”
“...She’s always been an outgoing one…”
“Connasse…”
You walked past familiar Beauxbatons students as they gossiped in small circles.
The Triwizard Tournament competitors had been chosen—
Viktor Krum.
Cedric Diggory.
Fleur Delacour.
…and somehow, Harry Potter.
Most of the Beauxbatons girls seemed more upset about Fleur being chosen than Harry unexpectedly entering the Tournament.
You, however, had something else on your mind:
The Yule Ball.
“What color dress should I ask my mum to send?” Chloé piped excitedly beside you. “I was thinking something bright. Happy.”
“Hm.” You looked her up and down. “A nice baby pink.”
“I said a bright color, not a gender reveal party color.” Chloé huffed.
“Okay, then a bright pink.”
“That works.”
"And me?"
Chloé stepped back dramatically, folding her arms as she inspected you from head to toe. “A dark blue—Ooh! Maybe a turquoise?”
You raised your eyebrows in satisfaction. “I could see that.”
A squeal came from a distance. Looking over, you saw a boy and a girl tightly hugging each other, with a group of people surrounding them.
“What’s going on over there?” Chloé whispered.
You shrugged. “No clue.”
“Of course I’ll go with you!” You heard the smiling girl say.
You frowned. “It’s…a proposal.”
“They’re getting married?” Chloé asked.
Shaking your head, you laughed. “No, Chloé, a proposal for the Yule Ball.”
“You scared me for a second, Y/N. Thought I was falling behind already.”
You burst out laughing. “Oh, Chloé. Something new with you every day.”
Chloé grinned, then it slowly faltered. “Who are we going to…go with?”
For a moment, you looked away.
Who would we go with?
"I'm sure it'll work itself out." You nudged her shoulder. "Some poor boy is bound to gather enough courage eventually."
Chloé nodded, still concerned. “I hope that poor boy is hot.”
Snickering, you both walked into the castle and headed for the library.
The castle corridors glowed with warm candlelight. For once, the halls weren't filled with laughter or rushing footsteps. Just quiet.
Turning the corner, you bumped into someone.
A familiar someone.
“Merlin, do people watch where they’re-” The ginger boy muttered. His eyes met yours, and his face softened. “Sorry—I didn't know it was you.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Writing letters to our mums.” You replied.
“For our dresses!” Chloé added excitedly.
Ron nodded along, dreamily looking at you; furrowing your brows, you tightened the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
“Oh…for the Yule Ball?”
“Yes.” You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. “What are you…doing?”
“Avoiding someone,” Ron mumbled.
“Ah, I see.” You smiled. “Well, we’re going to…go.”
“Yup. See you…around, Y/N.” Ron crookedly smiled as you passed by. The library was in sight, the doors open and softly lit.
It was a simple step away.
One beat.
Then—
“Wait!” A voice called out. You turned around and saw Ron jogging towards you.
“Yes?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Are you–wait, I don’t want to sound weird,” Ron looked at the ground. “Do you have an idea of who you’re…going with?”
This caught you by surprise.
“To the Yule Ball?” You inquired.
“...Yes.”
“...No. Not yet, at least.” You tilted your head to the side. “Why?”
Ron’s ears burned red. “For no particular reason…just… wondering.”
You huffed a laugh. “Okay. See you later.” Turning on your heel, you walked back into the quiet library with Chloé.
She rubbed your shoulder, mumbling, “So oblivious.”
“Huh?” You looked at her, confused.
“Nothing.”
—
A week before the Yule Ball.
Your dress had come in, thanks to your gorgeous barn owl, Critter.
It was a dark turquoise dress with a black lace rim that accentuated your frame.
“Magnifique.” Chloé breathed, picking up the silky dress and admiring it.
“Yours is cuter.” You rolled your eyes at her astonishment.
“This?” She waved her wand, floating a glittery neon pink dress. “This is cuter?”
“You asked for something ‘bright,’ Chloé.” You snickered. “It looks nice on you anyway.”
She scoffed, swishing the highlighter of a dress away. “I can’t wait to see this dress on you, Y/N. I’ll do your hair, too!”
You smiled. “Let’s think about our dates before we think of hairstyles.”
Chloé frowned. “Right. A week away. Still no hot boy.”
Smiling to yourself, you folded the dress and slid it beneath your bed before smoothing the wrinkles from your uniform. “Should we walk around Hogwarts?”
“And see our options?”
“What else would we do?”
With a grin, Chloé linked her arm with yours. You both exited the Beauxbatons Carriage and entered the castle.
As you both walked in silence, you thought to yourself.
Four boys had already asked me. I rejected every single one of them.
Who am I waiting for?
Why do I feel…
Incomplete?
The castle buzzed with excitement.
Nervous boys approached giggling groups of girls.
Tearful students walked away after being rejected.
…Some were snogging.
You scowled as you saw a couple making out in one of the empty corridors.
“So, where’re we going to go first?” Chloé asked.
You attempted to say her name. “Herm-own-ninnie.”
“The bushy-haired girl?”
You nodded. “She must’ve gotten a date already, no?”
“What are you implying?”
“She’s pretty.”
“She is.” Chloé went quiet for a moment—for a bit too long.
You raised an eyebrow, questioning, “What’re you thinking about?”
“...Nothing.”
“When you say nothing, you’re thinking about everything.” You playfully nudged her arm. “What is it?”
“Do you think…” Chloé started, then she shook her head. “...It’s a crazy thought, Y/N.”
“Even better. Tell it.”
“Maybe Ron and Hermy…own-ninnie…are already going together.”
Your steps faltered.
Your stomach twisted.
Ron’s awkward smile flickered through your mind.
Going…together?
Her and Ron…?
“Y/N…?” Chloé murmured.
You blinked, looking at her again.
“What happened?” Chloé rubbed your shoulder, looking at you with a raised brow.
You shook your head, forcing your feet to move. “I thought I forgot something.”
Both of you wandered down a quiet, unfamiliar hallway—then heard voices.
“You know he won't have the guts to do it, Harry.”
“Well, he’ll have to find a way.”
Herm-own-ninnie and Harry Potter, you thought.
“Ronald’s a wussy when it comes to girls!” Hermione said exasperatedly.
“What’re they talking about?” Chloé whispered.
“Must be about…Ron.” You mumbled. Taking a sharp turn, you avoided the two.
“I thought we were going to talk to her-?”
“Never mind.” You scowled.
“Are you okay, Y/N?”
“Yes. Let’s find you a date-”
“Y/N! Chloé!”
Both of you turned around, facing Hermione and Harry jogging toward you.
“...Hi,” You said a little stiffly.
“Hello,” Hermione caught her breath. “Found anyone yet?”
“No.” You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away from her face.
“Perfect.” Harry grinned. “Told you, ‘Mione.”
“You haven’t got one either, Harry.” Hermione scoffed.
“Oh…right.”
“Chloé, have you got a date?” Hermione chirped.
Your friend shook her head. “I’ve been asked, but they're all…ugly.”
Hermione stifled a laugh. “Tell me about it.”
“Do you have one?” Chloé asked.
“Yes!” The brunette girl beamed. “It’s…a secret, though.”
Harry groaned. “She won’t budge. Tried to get her to say, but nothing.”
A pause.
Your eyes widened in a sudden realization.
“...A secret…”
“…Tried to get her to say something…”
Harry would’ve known if Ron asked Hermione…
That means Ron hasn’t asked her.
Your shoulders relaxed.
“A secret love story? How adorable!” Chloé gushed, breaking through your thoughts. Holding onto Hermione’s hands, Chloé rambled, “I’ve read hundreds of romance stories about stuff like this—”
“Ron doesn’t have a date yet, yeah?” You asked Hermione. She froze, eyebrows raised.
“Um- no! Not yet. We’ve been…trying to get him to get one.” Hermione said quickly.
Harry nodded along in agreement. “He has an eye out for someone, though.”
Hermione nudged him—a bit too hard—which caused Harry to grunt.
“Mione!”
“You, know, we have things to do, Harry!” Hermione smiled hard, pulling Harry’s arm. “We’ll see you two later!”
You watched them as they walked down the corridor, quietly arguing.
Ron has an eye out for someone?
—
You exited the peaceful library, your mind on one thing: going to the Owlery.
You promised your mum you would send her updates on how Hogwarts was.
‘It seems like all the students there have something to pawn about.’ Your mum had written, which made you laugh—because it was true.
You traced your thumb over the folded parchment in your hand.
Then, you heard someone say your name.
“Y/N!”
Looking up, you saw Ron.
You simply waved, offering a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi, Y/N.” Ron awkwardly grinned. “Thought you’d be here.”
Heat flushed to your face. “You thought I’d be here?”
“Well- I wasn’t stalking you or…anything.” His voice got smaller. “I knew you liked going to the library.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Writing another letter?” Ron nodded to the parchment in between your fingers.
“Yes. To my mum—she’s wondering what Hogwarts is like.” You replied. “Want to…walk with me?”
Ron’s lips parted. “Wha- Yes, of course!” He cleared his throat. “Sorry…that sounded overly…excited.”
You softly laughed and went on your way to the Owlery, Ron closely on your side.
“So…what did you write in your letter?” Ron questioned, looking down at you. He was surely taller—which was embarrassing for you.
“I said I liked the weather and the atmosphere. Very calming…sometimes.” You fiddled with the corner of the parchment. “And I said…I liked the people here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The people? Some of them are…well, snobbish.”
You snickered. “I know. The Slytherins—very rude. But I wrote about Hermy-own-ninnie, Harry, and…you.”
Ron’s steps almost stopped. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Ron stayed quiet for a second.
“Are you alive?” You joked, nudging his arm.
“Y-Yeah. I’m breathing.”
‘I’d hope so.” Climbing up the spiraling steps, you recalled, “You know, I used to call you Red in my head.”
“Red?” Ron huffed a laugh.
“Your hair. It’s red.”
“That’s…cute.”
Your head snapped to look at him. “Cute?”
Ron almost choked on his spit. “No- not like that- just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “I wasn’t supposed to say that aloud.”
You burst out in genuine laughter at his flustered state.
“Don’t laugh, I’m already struggling.” Ron groaned.
You patted his shoulder. “You’re very funny, Red. I laugh a lot when I’m with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” You smiled. Then, you looked around the area. “The Owlery’s around here, no?”
“Yeah. Follow me.”
“Better not be leading me to anywhere scary.”
Ron snickered. “Can’t promise that.” Walking down a busy corridor, Ron asked, “What’s redhead in French?”
“Roux.” You answered. “Ginger.”
Ron replied with a short hum. He led you inside the Owlery, and you went to Critter.
“Hi, Critter.” You said quietly, patting her head. You tied your letter to Critter’s leg and whispered, “To mum. She’ll be home.”
Your owl chirped, then flew off. You turned, facing Ron again, and walked out of the Owlery with him.
“So, Roux,” You started, wandering down the corridor. “Who are you going to the-”
“Excuse me,” A rough voice said. A tall boy unexpectedly stood in front of you, looking completely bored and uninterested.
“...Hi?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Can you be my date for the Yule Ball?” The boy asked huskily.
You frowned; Ron stood up straighter, moving closer to your body.
Scowling, you replied sourly, “That’s not how you ask a girl out.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t ask a girl out like this.”
“Why does it matter?” He furrowed his brows.
“Effort matters.”
Other students and passersby looked at both of you.
“Don’t embarrass me. I just need someone.”
“...Abruti.”
“Huh?”
“Idiot.” You said, raising your voice. “Is that loud enough, or do you need me to write it down?”
A group of girls giggled at the scene.
Walking past the dumbfounded boy with a scoff, Ron caught up to you.
“You were glaring at him.” You said quietly.
“He’s…rude. That’s all.”
“I wasn’t going to say yes.”
He looked at you with gentle eyes. “I know. You wouldn’t settle for a lame.”
You laughed, smacking his shoulder. “Oh, Red.”
—
-Ron’s POV-
‘Dear Dad,
Could you send me a Muggle cassette? Rock music, if you've got one.
It's for a girl. She’s pretty cool, and I want to ask her to the Yule Ball.
Don't tell Mum.
-Ron.’
After looking over it, he folded the parchment and sent it off with Pig.
“Ron, what’re you doing here?”
He turned around, facing his little sister, Ginny, with Hermione.
“You two. Hi.” Ron scratched the nape of his neck. “Sent a letter to Dad. Why?”
“I dunno, maybe because there are like a dozen bouquets in the common room!” Ginny hissed. “Get back in there before someone’s allergies start flaring up!”
He ran a hand down his face. “I forgot about those.”
“You sent a letter to Mr. Weasley about what?” Hermione asked, following Ginny and Ron down the corridors.
“For a Muggle rock cassette. Y/N likes music.” Ron replied. “Never mind that, I don’t know what to do with the flowers. Are there seriously that many?”
“Ginny’s exaggerating. I bet there aren’t that many…” Hermione trailed off as the three entered the Gryffindor common room.
Stacks of dark-colored bouquets were piled in the common room.
“Bloody hell.” Ron groaned.
“Is she a florist?” Ginny snickered.
“Ron, she doesn't need twenty bouquets,” Hermione huffed, face-palming.
“Won-won! Who’re these flowers for?” George called out from a corner.
“Are these all for me?” Fred teased.
"Bit subtle, aren't you?" George joked, stifling a laugh. “Could use another dozen.”
“Or two,” Fred added.
“Maybe three?”
“I’m going to throw you both in the lake,” Ron muttered.
“We can use the flower petals to set up a proposal spot,” Hermione offered. “If they’re too many, we can just…give them to couples!”
“Then we use the rose thorns to poke Fred and George.” Ginny grinned.
“Heard that!” The twins said in a sing-song voice.
“Good plan, ‘Mione. I’ll just…choose a good bouquet for now.” Ron sifted through the twenty-something batches of glittery-dark blue roses.
After picking out a chunky batch, he looked to Ginny and Hermione for confirmation.
“Pretty.”
“Looks like moonlight.”
“Okay. I just need the cassettes, then we’ll be set, yeah?” Ron held onto the bouquet tightly, securing them so the petals wouldn’t fall.
“You’ll be all set. Harry still needs a date.” Hermione sighed. “McGonagall’s on his tail about it.”
“Send him with Chloé?” Ginny suggested.
Ron nodded. “That’s…not too bad of an idea.”
“Merlin, I hope Harry doesn’t mess that up.” Hermione huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Later that night…
Ron,
Went to one of those Muggle shops.
Picked out a few of them—I didn’t know which one that special girl would like.
Molly was pressing, but I kept my word.
Good luck, kiddo.
Love, Dad.
–
-Y/N’s POV-
You had finished your daily reading session in the comfortable library. The winter air was sweet, yet cold.
Slipping your thick book back into your bookbag, you headed down the empty hallways. The sun was setting, so the windows let in the honey-colored lighting.
“Y/N!”
You turned around and saw a nervous-looking Ron jogging towards you.
Grinning, you waved. “Hi, Red.”
Freezing, Ron’s cheeks flushed a deep red at the name.
“Hi.” He took a deep breath, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact.
“What’s…going on?” You asked, tilting your head.
“Um- oh, nothing. I just…wanted to…talk to you.” Ron cleared his throat. “Library again, huh?”
You continued your stroll. “Mhm. I’m almost done with my book.”
“What’s your book about?”
“Music.”
“Oh, right…You love music; can’t forget.” Ron mumbled. “How’s…Critter?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Critter’s…alright.”
“Sorry- I didn’t mean to ask that.” Ron scratched his head. “Can we…walk outside?”
“Outside?”
“Yeah. N-nice weather.”
“...Okay, sure.”
Exiting the castle, the green grass waved in melody with the gushing wind. Clouds scattered the yellow-blue sky.
Ron suddenly stopped walking, and you did too.
“Red, what’s…going on?”
“Um…Y/N,” Ron started, his body slightly trembling from nervousness. “I know you love rock music…music in general- I don’t know if you liked the instruments or the actual music-”
“Red.”
“Yeah?” Ron looked at you.
“You’re rambling.” You giggled.
“I-I know. Sorry.” He cleared his throat again. “I got you these.” Sticking his hand out, he held a stack of cassette tapes, tied together with a blue ribbon.
“Red!” You squealed, taking the cassette tapes and admiring them. “Oh my goodness, Red, this is amazing!”
“Dad wasn't sure what counted as rock.”
You laughed, then hugged him.
A soft, gentle hug that proved your appreciation more than your words ever could.
“Thank you, Ron. So much.”
Ron completely froze.
Then, awkwardly, he hugged you back.
Letting go of his body, you saw Ron blush, massaging the nape of his neck.
“You’re welcome. It’s…nothing.” Glancing behind him, he murmured, “There’s more.”
“More? What else is there?”
“Take a look.”
You both walked to a small garden, surrounded by green shrubs, and there you saw it—
Flower petals shaping an embarrassingly big heart.
You burst out laughing. “Oh my goodness, Red, this is hilarious.”
He turned a shade of magenta. “The flowers weren’t my idea…at least the heart of flowers.”
“I really love the colors; it matches my Yule Ball dress…” You trailed off, then your eyes went wide.
The Yule Ball.
Your eyes drifted from the flowers...
...to the cassette tapes in your hands.
...to Ron.
Oh.
This wasn't just a gift…
This was a…
“Y/N…” Ron said quietly, silencing your train of thought.
You slowly faced him, lips parted.
“I remembered what you said,” He started, looking down at the grass. “About effort.”
You felt your heartbeat in your throat.
Why were your palms so sweaty?
“Will you…” He winced, then recollected himself. “Will you…be my date to the Yule Ball?”
Your heart dropped at the words; it was like your legs turned into jelly.
Butterflies filled your stomach as a small smile grew on your lips.
"...It's alright if you've already got someone-”
“Of course I’ll be your date!” You beamed, embracing him again.
“Wha-?”
“Yes, Red, I’ll be your date,” You giggled, parting from his body.
Ron stared at you. "...Really?"
"Really."
A grin slowly spread across Ron’s face. "Blimey."
"What?"
"I thought I was going to throw up."
You burst into laughter. "You looked like you might."
He nodded to behind you. “So…honest thoughts on the flower heart…thing?”
“Still hilarious to me.”
“Fred and George.”
“Yeah. Figured.”
As the two of you walked back toward the castle, the cassette tapes rested safely in your arms.
The Yule Ball was still a long, treacherous week away.
Somehow, you had a feeling in your chest that it would be your favorite night of the year.
You were a well known flirt, the Slytherin maneater. But now you’ve set your sights on Ron Weasley, and he’s not sure what to believe.
ron x fem!reader, reader is a slytherin and flirty af (we love her for it 🤷🏻♀️), ron is self deprecating as usual, mostly fluff and comedy. 1.5k words
Ron Weasley was not used to attention.
He'd spent plenty of time as part of 'The Trio', seen detentions and celebrations, but never for him. It was always them— Harry the hero, Hermione the brains, and Ron. Just Ron.
Attention followed you everywhere you went. It was partially your own fault, your skirt always seemed to be a little bit shorter than regulation, the pleats swayed when you walked, just the way you practiced. But it was also unintentional. You walked the halls like you owned them, confidence palpable and steps graceful from a lifetime of pure blood upbringing.
He wasn't sure what it was that had made you pick him.
"Maybe it's because you're easy," Hermione suggested. "The other Slytherins are cold, she needed a victim that wouldn't fight back."
Harry nodded solemnly. "Maybe they made her mad so she's going after a blood-traitor to prove a point.”
Ron's face flushed as he reached for another handful of grapes. Was it so unbelievable that a girl would be interested in him?
Sure, he wasn't bold like Fred or confident like Ginny. And maybe he wasn’t cool like Charlie or ruggedly brave like Bill— Who was he kidding, even he didn't believe it.
"I just hope she quits soon, I'm not that strong."
Hermione rolls her eyes, muttering something about 'boys' as she returns to her morning reading.
Your game had started small. A wink in Potions. Sitting a little too close in the library, even though there was a whole row of empty chairs. A sugar quill slipped into his hand under the table in Care of Magical Creatures with a sultry, "For when you get bored in class, Weasley."
He’d heard the rumors that trailed behind you like sweet perfume. Heartbreaker, maneater, you flirted for fun. Cormac swore he’d seen you snog a Ravenclaw under the stands and then deny knowing him by dinner. But when you looked at Ron, it just felt different. That was what made it so hard for the poor boy.
“You’re not seriously falling for it, right?” Hermione asks between classes the next day.
Ron had opened his potions textbook to find a chocolate frog and a peice of parchment that smelled like you.
He’s still holding onto it, his fist closed tightly around your unmistakable handwriting, ‘A sweet snack for a sweet boy xoxo’.
He tried to play dumb. “Falling for what?”
Hermione smacks the back of his head, “don’t let her play you, Ron.”
“Maybe she’s not playing.”
The trio turns a corner, and Ron’s eyes immediately find your figure.
You’re standing in a patch of sunlight in front of one of the large corridor windows, and his older brother Fred has got an arm propped up beside your head, sleeve rolled up and head dipped down to talk on your level.
Hermione is on the verge of saying ‘I told you so’ when your head swivels and you spot the three of them, a smile immediately lighting up your face.
“Sorry Fred,” your voice carries as you walk through the hall, “My actual favorite Weasley is here.”
You appear at Ron’s side, curls bouncing and lip gloss shining as you look up at him.
“Did you see my gift?”
“Yeah, it was really.. kind,” he manages to stutter out.
You smile to yourself, biting your bottom lip softly in a way that has Ron’s ears turning red as his hair.
“Yeah, really kind, Yn.” Hermione adds in, “Do you give all your victims chocolate or just the nice ones?”
Your eyes narrow as you look between her and Ron before settling on an answer.
“Only the pretty ones.”
You stretch onto your tippy toes to brush a kiss against Ron’s cheek, and then you’re gone in a flurry of shining emerald and silver.
Sure, you wouldn’t deny being a bit of a flirt, but this was different.
You’d had a crush on Ron since fourth year, and you’d always noticed how small he made himself look next to his friends, the way he hid behind his louder siblings.
The other boys didn’t deserve your attention. They had to earn it just to get a smirk out of you. But Ron? Ron deserved love and attention in a way you’d never felt inclined to give before.
You hated that his friends seemed to think this was a game to you. You hated even more the way you could see Ron starting to fall into their suspicions. He’d avoided your eyes for the majority of the week, even if you spotted the pocket of his robes overflowing with your notes he’d kept.
You corner him outside of the Great Hall before dinner one night.
“Ron,” you drawl confidently, “Have you been avoiding me?”
He forced himself to avert his eyes. You looked too good. And your eyes held a shining look that almost convinced him it was real.
“I haven’t.”
“You’ve barely looked at me all week.” You pouted. “I even wore my hair back, the way you seem to like it. Are you mad?”
He lets out a groan without meaning to, eyes settling on your figure, still staring up at him.
“I’m just busy.”
“Doing what? Other than getting buff on the Quidditch field and punching Malfoy when you thought no one else was out?”
He flushes.
“I’m not- you say that to everyone.”
He internally panics when he feels your hand brush along his arm.
“I really don’t.”
Before he could force his brain to think of something else to say, you’ve disappeared into the hall and taken your seat next to Daphne Greengrass with nothing but a hair toss his way.
He looked down at his feet, only then noticing the note sticking out of his pocket.
‘Meet me in the astronomy tower at midnight? I promise I’m not going to hex you. xoxo’
There was a pink lipstick mark on the edge of the paper, and Ron had to take two laps around the hallway before he felt normal enough to join the rest of his friends for dinner.
He kept your note to himself, not wanting to give any of his friends a chance to talk him out of going to see you.
You’re already there when he climbs the stairs up to the tower that night. You’d been there for an hour already, unable to handle the anticipation. Not that he needed to know that.
He drank you in the moment before you realized he had arrived. Your knees were up to your chest, arms wrapped around them. Your skin glowed in the moonlight, hair blowing in time with the night breeze.
A shiver passed through you right before you noticed him.
“You came!”
He smiled, more comfortable in the still night.
“Of course I did.”
You smiled at the assurance in his voice. “I wasn’t sure.”
He takes a seat next to you, taking off his jumper and offering it to you instead of responding.
“You look cold.” He says when you pause.
You put your arms up by your ears, letting him slide the soft cotton onto you.
You inhale deeply, savoring the scent you’ve come to associate with Ron. It was earthy and warm, comforting in a way you never imagined it would be.
“Thank you.”
He laughs easily, and your cheeks warm. “For the jumper?”
“No,” you shake your head gently, swallowing your pride and locking eyes with him. “Not for the jumper. For noticing things other people don’t, and never trying to be someone you aren’t or expecting me to be someone I’m not.”
Shock crosses over every feature of his face, and he opens his mouth before closing it again, unsure how to respond.
“I know they think I’m messing with you. But I’m not. I’ve liked you since fourth year, Ron. This isn’t me playing a game, it’s how you should be treated.”
Ron’s eyes are wide, and he’s stuttering.
“What, why— how?”
You laugh softly, not teasing but affectionate.
“You used to get so red when I talked to you in class, but you still helped me any way you could.” You shrug, steeling yourself for the embarrassment. “And then you got taller, and fit from quidditch. And I thought you were a sweetheart but then all the sudden you’d gotten kinda hot, too. I mean, what’s a girl supposed to do?”
He blinked. “Merlin, you’re actually serious.”
“You think I’d drag you up here and ruin my perfect sleep schedule to mock you?”
He shook his head quickly. “No, I know you’re not cruel.”
“Thanks.”
“I just didn’t get it. You’re you. And I’m-”
“Exactly who I want.”
You gave him a smile— soft, sure, and reserved just for him. He smiled back, wider than he had in years.
And for the first time, Ron realized maybe ‘just Ron’ wasn’t so bad.
