#MoD Harry Potter

[coldemergency]

Voldemort: There must be endless information you’ve gathered throughout all your past lives

Harry: I know everyone’s dirty little secrets

Voldemort: I don’t suppose you’d share any with me…?

Harry: You would never guess which Hogwarts professor has a foot fetish

Voldemort: Not at all the sort of information I was looking for

Voldemort:

Voldemort: who

[starshiningao3]

It's a MoD Harry time-travel Tomarry WIP! ---

The first time Harry tried to change the course of Tom Riddle’s life, it had been too late.

He’d saved Myrtle, thank Merlin, but Riddle had known it was Professor Evans that had thwarted him. Within just a few weeks Harry had been led out of the Great Hall by an aptly-named Professor Burly, his lip turned in disgust and his grip on Harry’s arm crushing. Three fifth year girls had accused him of being far more… hands-on as a DADA professor than was appropriate. They even had the memories to prove it, apparently.

The girls were from families just influential enough to sway the school board and just unimportant enough to not make the headlines. Professor Evans would fade into obscurity, and the girls would suffer no long lasting damage to their social standing.

It was calculated. It was artful. 

It was Riddle all over.

Riddle’s face had been impassive as Harry was marched from the hall that evening, but his eyes glittered in triumph. Riddle’s mind glanced across his own, grasping carefully for surface thoughts in a way the Slytherin likely thought was undetectable.

Well played, Harry thought forcefully, and watched with satisfaction as Riddle’s brow first crinkled in confusion and then furrowed in earnest when Harry flung him from his mind. Harry had never mastered Occlumency himself, never had the knack for it, but there were some perks that came with his… position.

Death? Harry thought. An iciness bloomed in his temple and blew across his mind like a cool breeze localised entirely within his skull. It shouldn't have been comforting.

Master. Death said into his mind, an echoing whisper of infinite voices. You are done with this life?

Can I stop him from mutilating his bloody soul in this one?

Death was silent for a moment, tracing the strings of his and Riddle’s fates. He'd shown them to Harry once, gossamer webs glowing faintly gold and spanning infinitely through the white fog of limbo. He wasn't sure how Death made sense of them, and he wasn't keen to learn.

No.

Harry glanced at Professor Burly, his wand drawn as he marched Harry through the halls towards the professor's wing.

Will they think Burly killed me if I leave right now?

Death’s Yes rattled with something like amusement as he breathed it across Harry’s mind.

“Good,” Harry said out loud. Burly startled, his grip loosening a bit in surprise. Harry stopped walking and turned to face him.

“You’ve always been a bit of a prick, Burly.”

Harry wrenched himself back, his vision white as he untethered his soul from his body. He blinked the fog of the transition away and watched from the outside as his body crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Burly’s rage at Harry’s last declaration morphed into increasing horror as he first cast a diagnostic spell and then desperately tried to shake Harry back to life.

Smug in the knowledge that Burly’s life was about to get very unpleasant, Harry returned to Death’s domain to rest before he tried his hand at changing the course of Riddle’s life again.

---

Let me know what you think!

Edited to add: This story now has 3 chapters on Ao3!

[hazelnut1]

[rablvk]

I need help finding a fic!! But my brain isn't functioning properly as I only remember a part of it. All I know is that Snape tries using legilimency on Harry during potions class and Harry senses it and throws him out causing snape to fly across the room, everyone in the class saw everything that happened and Susan bones immediately writes to her aunt about what had happened and the next time I believe is when news spread that snape was arrested and sent to Azkaban. SOMEONE HELP ME I NEED TO READ IT OR ELSE MY BRAIN WONT LET ME REST!

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

UDLTTOM DIALOGUE DRAFT #17

*Theodore and Harry arguing after being targeted by Grindelwald supporters*

Theodore: Wtf?! What the actual fuck, Harry?!!

Harry: I don’t know! I don’t know!

Theodore: You’re a shite liar! What the bloody hell was that?! Why did they know your name? Why did you call you little master?

Harry: imayormaynotbethemasterofdeath—

Theodore: What?

Harry: I said, ‘I may or may not be the Master of Death’

Theodore: Wtf is that supposed to mean?

Harry: It’s a long story involving multiple deaths—

Theodore: Then start explaining!

*Harry tells the story of the 3 Brothers and how he came into possession of the 3 Hallows*

Theodore: So you’re telling me that not only are you immortal, but you’re also the master of Grindelwald’s wand?!

Harry: First, I’m not immortal and, second, technically—

Theodore: Technically! If you have to use the word ‘technically’ we’re already in trouble!

[nastasyablake6]

[cloverwoodss]

Master of Death Harry Potter? Yes plz ✨

[miktoast]

Requiem

this is a bit (only 2,810 words) from the first chapter of a fem!harry potter, time travel fix-it au which i named "Requiem". please ignore any typos, it is very early in the morning. notes on aspects of my writing will be included at the end to clarify some things that might not be immediately apparent. sorry for any formatting issues, literally just copied this from word lol

~

Chapter One

Sacrifice and the Day of Judgement

Leaves and bramble crunched under foot as Harry trudged into the Forbidden Forest, everything shrouded in the deep, cool grey of early morning, just before the dawn of May second. Solemnity settled around her like the trusty cloak she had yet to don; the air was unnaturally still, as if magic and time itself hung suspended, watching, waiting. Pluto, looking like little more than a dim star [1], was at the edge of the horizon, glittering at her — like tears under moonlight — with a heavy heart but an un-staying hand, and, as it slipped below the forest canopy, Harry knew: this is the night that she would die.

Her steps did not falter even as reality sank into her bones, polluting their spongy marrow with dread and acceptance. Where they once felt as light and hollow as the fragile bone of the falcon, now they seemed as leaden as any other man. And that's what Harry was.

A human, made from blood and meat and bone.

Mortal.

And she would die.

Still, yet, she marched on in the face of Death, a faithful soldier — ever the mortal human with a cause to die for.

And her courage was steel in her veins, her golden heart iron plated. Her jaw was set, even as her feet caught over tree roots in her weariness, and her chin did not dip and her crown of thorns did not fall. But, however determined she was, however resigned in that she would not bid this cup pass from her unto another, she was still afraid. Harry, after a childhood of war, was battle weary and drained of her fight. She knew not if she could walk honourably, finding only cowardice in her exhausted stumbling, but she did know that the fate of Hogwarts, and the children within her walls, layed only on her shoulders.

If she was to be grateful for anything, she presumed, at least it did not take much effort to die.

Sirius certainly slipped away easily enough.

At the thought of her long-passed godfather, in her clammy palm the Hallowed Stone of Resurrection tingled, and it was then that Harry was struck with startling, electrifying, utterly brilliant clarity. So impotent was she from this sudden idea that she stopped dead mid-step, heel frozen just before it could touch the forest floor. It was only thanks to her years filled with experiences of life-or-death that her body could go ridged as the petrified in such an awkward position despite being so weary.

The stone, drawing her attention from where it had wandered, and in the same hand as her shivering wand, seemed to grow warm, the tingling becoming a pleasant buzz almost as if it was trembling separately from her hand. On the edge of her perception, something whispered from the shadows of the trees, yesyesyes wehelp wehelp thechilde, eagerly brushing the back of her hand where he gripped the Hallowed Cloak of Invisibility and running down her arm to embrace her other hand, flittering around holly wood and dirt-stained flesh.

Though she could not see these apparitions, they seemed to reach out to her, through her magic, sending impressions of children: innocent, anxious to please, possessive.

Unbidden, a thought brushed against her pitiful occlumency shields, somehow seemingly still her own, This is the Cloak, the Stone; they want me to do something. It did not take a Ravenclaw to figure out what. Despite this, a fire of eagerness and anxiety began brewing in her gut, staving off the cold and apathy that her looming death had bred.

Hesitantly, awkwardly, and only after several moments of staring, she draped the Cloak around her shoulders, trying not to jab it with her wand or let it touch the muck of the Forbidden Forest by her feet, though her own clothes and skin were not much better. It took some manoeuvring, but the second it settled into place, it seemed to embrace her in a manner unlike any time before: it shortened to just above her heels and the folds behind her neck mysteriously became a tailored hood, which she flipped over her unkempt hair; even without wind or movement of her own, the Cloak shifted to brush against the bare skin of her arms and calves every so often; and, finally, she realised with a jolt that the fabric wasn’t invisible despite being worn as she stared at sentient ripples and creases — though it still boasted its iridescent shimmer, the Cloak was now a deep black, darker than pitch or the night sky. It looked, for all the world, as if Harry had been swallowed by the Abyss, writhing around her silhouette like it could pull her into its own eldritch form.

After several moments of observing her altered cloak in muted horror and not-so-muted fascination, the Stone, lying forgotten in her palm, stung lightly, insistently. “Bloody hell,” she murmured to herself, staring intensely at the Stone as she transferred it to her left hand but coming up short on the energy needed to baulk at her newfound freak-show attraction — or even become mildly bothered at its apparent feelings, “you’re a persistent bugger, aren’t you?” Slightly doused by her drifting thoughts, the fire in her gut began anew, rapidly consuming more and more of her insides as her mind returned to thoughts about finally meeting her parents.

Oddly enough, Harry seemed to feel a surge of anticipation at the edge of her awareness, as if the self-important rock was saying, "I, too, am very excited to be used!"

“...Right. What did the story say again? Turn it over or something?” Faux-dispassionately — as if convincing it of her lack of faith would prompt it to put more effort into her family's summoning — Harry rolled the Stone over her knuckles, letting her thumb brush against it all the way. With each pass of her thumb over the stone, each gentle scrape of her bitten nail on one of its faces, a new person appeared — first her mother, next her father, and then Sirius.

            Directly in front of her stood Lily Potter on her husband’s arm, presumably gripping the appendage hard enough to make the undead man next to her wince and struggle lightly where they were joined. The fire seemed to come to a peak, an inferno warming her limbs from where they connected to her body and out.

“...Mum?” She called hesitantly after a moment of drinking her remarkably healthy appearance in — she was not living, but at least seemingly-breathing and there, with a delicate flush to her cheeks and clumpy eyelashes that dripped with tears, and the analysis caused her internal hearth to crackle and roar.

“Oh, Harry! My baby!” Their words seemed to have broken whatever immobulus had taken hold of them as Lily almost threw her husband aside in her rush to meet her daughter and Harry found herself sinking to her knees. Lily threw her arms around her shoulders, and they went down together. Her hands frantically patted down her hair, her face, dipping down every now and then to feel her heart thrum or chest swell with breath. Harry, or perhaps one of her companionate apparitions, seemed to consider, could she feel her blazing warmth, her roaring joy, a lion making a den for itself in her chest out of her hope and love?

Quietly, almost silent after years of practice, Harry wept into her shoulder. The Cloak fluttered around her, flustered somehow, and again her mind wandered, could her tears, so potent with joy, rival Fawkes?

Another distant thought, again not quite her own, had her acknowledging that, despite her translucence, Lily’s hug was as solid and warm as Hermione’s had been just half an hour before. She did not question her corporeality, and instead consciously chose to bask in her embrace, the first from her mother that she would ever remember.

Eventually, her tears slowed, less like rushing river rapids and more like hot molasses on her face. Delicate pale hands drifted from their places on the back of her head and shoulder to her face, brushing away tears like she brushed dew from delicate tulip petals. Her own hands rose to her wrists, curling loosely around them as if to keep her from pulling away too soon. Her wand lay forgotten by her thigh, but the Stone stayed stubbornly in place as if it were embedded in her palm.

"We're proud of you, Lovely," Lily started, after a moment of staring kindly into her eyes, so like her own. "No matter what my horrid sister says, we were always proud of you." She leaned forward, one hand leaving her face to brush away her fringe, exposing the highest point of her scar which just met her hairline. Gently, sweetly, she pressed her lips there, and Harry nearly started crying again.

“I love you, Mum,” she choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, my Heart [2] , I love you, too. I just wish I could have told you sooner.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried, the fire curling up to her chest, burning hotter, hurting.

“It’s not your fault, baby. Don’t ever apologise for living. Yes?”

“Yes, ma’am… Mum?”

“Yes, darling?”

She took a deep breath, then, quickly, quietly, as if expecting to be rejected or reprimanded, “I missed you.”

Oh darling, her eyes seemed to say, plagued with great sorrow as she stared into the broken soul of her life’s magnum opus, “My heart has ached every day for the moment I would see you again. Harry?”

"Yes?”

“Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Delicately, one more kiss was pressed to her brow, then, with tremendous effort, Lily separated herself from her daughter and got to her feet. Two pale hands were held out to Harry, and, with great hesitation, she let her grasp her own in a firm grip. With surprising strength, Lily hauled her to her feet and Harry was left staring at their joined hands, admiring the contrast of her pallor to her tanned brown, not quite the darkness of her father but certainly not the lightness of her mother.

Lily leaned forward to brace her forehead against Harry’s own bowed head and whispered softly, “You are stronger than you could ever imagine. Be great.”

Before Harry could gather herself enough to respond, she stepped away to rejoin her husband, only for her — and Sirius, falling into step behind her — to step away. James paused just in front of her, and, with a careful look into her eyes, bent down to pick up her precious holly wand, never breaking eye contact. Hesitantly, he took Harry’s right hand and pressed it into her palm, curling small fingers around it before laying both his hands on Harry's shoulders, somehow able to impart warmth where he touched despite the visage of his ghostly apparition, just like Lily. "Hey, bud," he began, staring searchingly into Harry's eyes.

"…Hey, Dad." That one word seemed to choke Harry as it came out, and it was all she could do to keep the tears from restarting. Of its own volition, again the hand with the Stone raised to grip her dad's wrist, as if to keep her from pulling away like it did with her mother. And, miraculously, for the second time, her hand did not phase through and she clutched at the warm, brown skin of her father's forearm.

That seemed all the permission he needed as James quickly pulled Harry into a tight embrace thereafter, burying his nose in his girl's messy, Potter-inherited hair. She smelled of dirt and the sweet rot of leaves, of magic_[3] and life. Harry found herself leaning into her father's arms, letting her forehead thunk onto his solid shoulder even as her arms fell limp at her sides.

James, like his wife before her, pulled away only far enough to cup Harry's face in his hands. "Merlin, Harry," he whispered, "you've grown up so much!"

Harry gave her a weak smile, "Not more than you."[4] 

James cracked his own charming, lopsided grin. "No, you'll only ever be a little Prongslet, to me."[5] 

Harry couldn't help the wet giggle falling from her mouth, and James couldn't help but plant a kiss on her hair after his adorable daughter made such a darling sound.

"I love you, Dad," Harry whispered into the hollow of James' throat as he pressed his nose into Harry's hair again.

"I love you too, Bint [6]. If only we could spend the rest of eternity like this, I would be content,” James’ voice was soft, bitter, and more than a touch heartbroken himself. Somewhere in the background, Harry could hear the soft murmur of her mother’s voice, echoing her father’s sentiment.

“You won’t have to wait much longer, now, in any case,” her voice was grim and wry, and her hands tightened on James’ wrists. The air was much heavier after her words as reality settled around them: this reunion would not be temporary.

"Guess it’s my turn, then?" Sirius asked, faux-lightly from behind James. Behind him, Lily called his name in a low, warning tone. "Right, sorry, carry on then."

“No, no, it’s fine. Get over here, Padfoot,” with a lighter air around them, James pulled away, letting his hands linger on Harry’s shoulders for a moment longer as he gazed into the mirror of his flower’s eyes. “You’ll do fine. Don’t worry, we’ll be there to greet you.”

Slowly, unwillingly, James backed away, eyes never leaving his daughter’s, and no sooner had his hands left Harry was Sirius barrelling into her, scooping her in a big bear hug. The Cloak pulsed with warmth and seemed to wiggle and shiver with joy at the affectionate touch, even if said touch was not directed at it specifically.

“Prongslet…!”

“Padfoot.”

“I’ve missed you, Pup. It’s been a while, yeah?”

“I missed you, too, Snuffles,” Harry leaned into the hug despite her limited manoeuvrability, gladly suffocated by her godfather’s wild black mane.

“Hey now, that ain’t cool, kid.” Sirius released one arm from around Harry to bury it in her hair and ruffle the bird’s nest there.

“‘Pup’ isn’t very cool either, is it?” Harry shot back, raising her now-free arm to bury it in Sirius’ own veritable bird’s nest and tug lightly for each pass through her hair that Sirius’ hand ventured. The Stone stung lightly in her palm, presumably for being in the hand currently void of use.

In moments, Sirius stayed his violent assault in favour of carding his fingers through curls and knots, deceptively gentle despite his earlier ministrations, and Harry allowed her hand to relax its grip on Sirius' mane, sliding down to find purchase on the nape of his neck as Harry leaned into the affection, going near-limp into Sirius' left arm still curled around her back.

"I called for you, I screamed your name into the veil," Harry whispered into the space where Sirius' shoulder met his neck.

"I know, pup," he answered, whispering just as softly.

“But… you didn’t come…”

“I’m so sorry, pup, I tried so hard,” Sirius said, the explanation falling like acid from his lips, burning a path to Harry’s heart.

"We were going to get a little cottage near the beach. You were going to give me a room just for me, and a perch just for Hedwig, and a room to honour Mum and Dad. We were going to have a home. We were going to be a family."

"We are," Sirius said, guiding Harry's face back with light, but firm tugs on her hair. "You have to know, Harry, a house doesn’t make a family. Just because we didn’t live together doesn’t make us not family. You are my daughter. You have to know," his words were insistent, and the gravel in his voice belied his despair.

Harry, moved by his conviction, could only nod.

"As long as you know." Sirius began petting Harry's hair again, allowing her to once more brace her forehead against his shoulder.

"Yeah, Pads. I know."

"I love you, kiddo. You're my world."

"I love you too.” Quiter, now, “…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you. You’re a child. Don’t forget that.”

With a final soothing pass of his hand over ink-black hair, Sirius completely relinquished Harry from his embrace and stepped away.

“Is it time…?” Harry asked, once Sirius had rejoined her parents. Lily offered her a sad smile, and James’ eyes held a definitive sheen.

“Yeah, Habibti [8] , it’s time. Be brave. We’ll see you on the other side.”

And, like a soft breeze, all three of her parents were gone, leaving only the impression of their love on her skin. After several moments, the Cloak and the Stone began to pulse again with gentle warmth and impressions of comfort-we-arehere brushed her mind.

 [1]Pluto isn't actually visible to the naked eye

[2] "My heart" is used as a term of endearment here, like Arabic "inti rouhi" (my soul) or Hindi "jaanu" (my life)

[3] no oxford comma because magic and life are supposed to be read as one scent, magic and life are essentially the same thing but magic is a far more present and potent manifestation of it. life is just written to emphasize james' relief that his daughter managed to continue living, even despite the harsh conditions.

[4]harry is remarking on the fact that both she and her parents died far too young.

[5] james believes harry was talking about not growing taller than himself

 [6] Arabic for daughter

 [7] Arabic for beloved one

this is titles "Requiem" because Harry devotes her second life to righting the wrongs of her first, so she lives her entire second life in remembrance of her first. additionally, she is haunted by the trauma of her first life, plagued with battle instincts and anxiety and other forms of ptsd. finally, as the master of death, harry functions both as the god being worshipped, the temple being worshiped in, and the offering being devoted in catholic requiems.

[padfootfest]

PADFOOT FEST 2024

Hello everyone!!!

This is the first official post by PADFOOT FEST!

We are a new Sirius Black fanwork festival that is taking up the mantle of Sirius Black Fest, a festival that celebrates Sirius Black. Sirius Black Fest was a fest that made us, Sirius’ fans, happy for many years, but it has recently been discontinued. We, the mods of Padfood Fest, are very grateful to the original organisers for their long-term hard work and appreciate just how much effort goes into organising a successful festival like this, and that’s why we want to make sure that the tradition of appreciating of one of the most iconic HP characters is kept alive within our fandom.

SO without further ado, we are proud to present

PADFOOT FEST 2024

Check out our rules and FAQ -here-

Prompting: May 25th – June 14th

Sign-up: June 15th - October 19th

Submission: October 20th

Posting: November 3rd – November 17th

Reveals: a week after posting is completed

Please, follow our blog to keep an eye on any announcement or a daily dose of Sirius Black on your dashboard. We are close to the prompting period and we would like to encourage everyone to join in to have as many choices possible when the claiming period starts.

[microficmay]

Microfic May 2024

We are back, folks! Join us for our best and biggest year of microfics ever!! Microfic May is an open daily prompt challenge in which participants write a microfic a day in May. Here's the scoop for 2024!

We define microfics as works of fiction that are 50 words or less. However, this limit is merely a suggestion. We accept all lengths!

Open to all HP characters, ships, ratings, topics, and genres (as long as works are tagged and spoilered appropriately).

Participants must be age 18+ and follow DLDR, SALS, and YKINMKATO. (What does this mean?)

All prompts are optional, can be skipped, switched around, or combined. Just have fun and write!

For an extra challenge, try one of our optional ‘Weekly Challenges’ along with the day’s prompt.

To submit a work, add it to our collection on AO3 Microfic May 2024 or mention us on Tumblr @microficmay AND tag #microficmay2024.

Check the Info and FAQ pages for more info! (if the links aren’t working on mobile, try here)

🫶 Prompt list in plain text under the cut! 🫶

Prompts List 2024

Day 1: Create Day 2: Resplendent Day 3: Horizon Day 4: Decision Day 5: Dreams & Reality Day 6: Flare Day 7: Innocuous Day 8: Will Day 9: Agony Day 10: Rise & Fall Day 11: Curse Day 12: Vivid Day 13: Talisman Day 14: Humility Day 15: Nothing & Everything Day 16: Squabble Day 17: Worthy Day 18: Healing Day 19: Impatience Day 20: Push & Pull Day 21: Unhand Day 22: Precious Day 23: Mistake Day 24: Elation Day 25: Day & Night Day 26: Vex Day 27: Dandy Day 28: Fetching Day 29: Thrall Day 30: First & Last Day 31: Fulfilment

Alternate Prompts

Alt 1: Evolve Alt 2: Superfluous Alt 3: Idle Alt 4: Warmth Alt 5: Life & Death

Weekly Challenges (Optional)

Week 1: POV Challenge ↳ Create a microfic using 1st or 2nd person point of view.

Week 2: ‘A/An’ Challenge ↳ Don't use the articles 'a' or 'an' in your microfic.

Week 3: Format Challenge ↳ Create a microfic using a non-traditional format. Examples: epistolary, text fic, dialogue only, poetry, song lyrics, script, etc.

Week 4: Alphabet Challenge ↳ Include all the letters A-Z in your microfic.

BONUS CHALLENGE ↳ To be announced!

[sysboxes]

[Text: This system has Harry Potter fictives who don’t support their source.]

Like/Reblog if you save or use please!

Images from Canva. No alt

[coldemergency]

Harry: A world without Lord Voldemort is quite dull

Voldemort: Sounds like you have experience

Harry: Yeah, in my third life I sped-ran the whole thing and took you out before my thirteenth birthday. You should have seen Dumbledore’s face, absolutely priceless

[hprecfest]

Harry Potter Rec Fest 2023 ❄️

Harry Potter Rec Fest is a reccing fest celebrating our favorite Harry Potter works! It'll run December 1st - December 31st.

Rules & Guidelines - here or here

There will be a prompt for each day of the month.

◦ You may choose any fanfic that correspond to the prompt. ◦ You do not need to participate every day. ◦ You may combine prompts from another day of the month. ◦ And, you may rec more than one fic per prompt.

Here are the links to the prompts:

Day 1 - Day 16 Day 17 - Day 31

No AI generated content.

All eras, genres, ships, characters, associated Harry Potter media and then some are allowed.

If you are reccing a Mature or Explicit work, you must be 18+. 

If you want the blog to reblog your rec, please tag @hprecfest and #hprecfest2023.

We will not be reblogging posts that link to a Wayback Link/Google Drive/One Drive/and the like. You may still rec and talk about the deleted works.

We follow fandom rules around here - YKINMKBYKIO (Your Kink is Not My Kink, But Your Kink is Okay), DLDR (Don’t Like;Don’t Read) and SALS (Ship and Let Ship). We will not be reblogging posts that talk negatively about another ship, character, and/or writers.

If you have any questions, send an ask! Or you can email at hprecfest@gmail.com

Have fun! Let's gush over the fics and authors we love!

[welcometotheravenclawcommonroom]

I headcanon that Ron is a stay at home parent (who occasionally works part time at Fred and George’s shop, more often after the kids start school), so he’s the one that does Rose and Hugo’s hair. It takes him lots of practice, but he learns from Hermione’s mom and gets really good at working with black hair, and does all the styling for the whole house. Hermione loves having her husband do her hair, both because it’s very intimate and good bonding time, and also because it gives her extra time to read or work while Ron does her hair for her.