#RonWeasley

[syrcinus]

one of my favourite duos fr

[the-colourful-witch]

Hopping on the bandwagon with the @toorumlk DTIYS challenge 🥹✨

I had a lot of fun with this one. Something to go back to my love of collage✨ Congrats @toorumlk on reaching 55K🤩 You deserve it!

[addictiontohp]

Harry: Hermione right hand red.

Hermione: *ends up on top of Ron*

Ron: okay you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

Harry: I stopped spinning like fifteen turns ago, honestly I'm surprised you didn't notice sooner.

[fanficwritinggirl]

So High School...

“Harriet… Harriet are you listening to me?” her eyes widened as she snapped out of her daze. “Did you hear anything that I just said?” Hermione’s eyebrows were scrunched together as she looked confusedly at her friend. Harriets eyebrows raised as she stumbled on her words.

“Uhm, no sorry, I’m still half asleep,” it was a lie, she had a cup of coffee that morning and two cups of tea so tired was the last thing she was. No, her attention had been to drawn to that of Oliver Wood, star quidditch player and literally the most attractive boy that she had ever laid on especially when he was sitting further down the Gryffindor table with that annoyingly attractive smile on his face, his head rolling back every once in a while as he laughed at whatever his friend were saying.

“I’ll get you another coffee. We have a long day ahead of us. With classes and studying for end of term exams. And we have still have the quidditch game later on,” Harriet smiles at this. It was Gryffindor vs Slytherin today, the most important game to date, it was all that everyone had been talking about for months.

“Well, we are going to crush Slytherins arses, can’t have Malfoy or any of the other sleezy snakes bragging,” Hermione rolls her eyes at the thought.

“Oh imagine. They would never let us forget it. But with Harry on the team we won’t lose,” Harriet raises an eyebrow at this.

“Alright Mione, you do know there are other players on the team,” Ron comes up behind them, planting himself next to Harriet, his plate filled to the brim with sausages.

“Thanks for the confidence Mione,” Harry thanks into Hermione’s ear as he sits down next to her. Hermione smirks shaking her head.

“I’m just saying, Harry is the seeker. It’s one of the most important positions in the game.”

“And the seeker needs help from everyone else on the team, they all have their own roles to play. I mean look at Oliver, he’s our keeper, who would defend the goals without him. And I mean Fred and George are beaters, who would attack the other team,” Ron’s rant makes Harriet laugh to herself. Ron and Hermione really did bicker like an old married couple.

“Well, my statement still stands,” Hermione’s statement ends the conversation, causing them all to fall into a silence as they eat their breakfast.

Screeching and the flapping of wings come over head as owls start flying in dropping mail. Banging comes as they hit the hard wooden tables causing Harriet to jump. “Could they do it more gently,” she grumbles. A letter falls in front of both Hermione and Ron, unsurprisingly the pair usually got letters unlike herself and Harry who never received anything.

Turning back to her food, she passes no attention to the mail falling around her until a large, wrapped gift falls in front of her. Hermione looks up from her own letter, confusion on her own face.

“Who is that for?” she asks, standing up and leaning across to lift the tab on it. A smile paints her friend face.

“Harriet, its for you,” shock washes over her. Who on earth sent her something. Standing up herself, she takes the tab out of Hermione hand, seeing her name written plain as day, HARRIET MATTHEWS.

“Well go on then open it,” Harry tells her, both he and Ron were now standing. Hesitantly, she pulls at the lilac, fabric ribbon that was tied around the thin, white rectangular box. As the ribbon falls, she curls her fingers under the lid, pulling it upwards. Her heart jumps as she investigates the box, wrapped carefully was a bouquet of flowers.

“Wow, they’re…” she cuts off Hermione.

“Hyacinths. My favourite flower,” Ron raises his eyebrows and laughs.

“Well, you clearly have caught the eye of someone,” Harry nods.

“Yeah, but who?” carefully Harriet lifts the bouquet out, Harry and Hermione looking between the box and the ribbon that was tied around the stems of the flowers.

“Doesn’t say,” Hermione says as she leans up, looking at the flowers. “Do you have any idea who it could have been?” Harriet lost for words, shakes her head.

“No… no idea.”

“Well, he has to tell you soon, I mean he must like you enough to give you a big gesture like this,” Ron says as she sits down next to him, flowers still gripped in her hands.

“Yeah, maybe…” her voice trails off.

Harriet loved the quiet of the hallways as she strolled down them, rarely were they empty, no loud, chatting teens filling them, now it was just the occasional echo of frantic footsteps as students run because they are late to class. As she walks towards the girl’s bathroom a hand wraps around her forearm pulling her into a nook in the wall causing her to yelp in surprise.

“Shhh… its just me,” her body relaxes when she hears his voice.

“Oliver,” she groans in frustration, causing Oliver to smirk at her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she huffs, looking up him with a pout on her face. Oliver sighs leaning forward. “God, I’ve missed you,” before his lips are on hers. Harriet smiles into the kiss, wrapping her arms around her neck, his hands trailing down to her waist, gripping slightly. He pushes her further into the wall, causing her to groan, her hands moving to grab a handful of his hair giving it a slight tug, his mouth leaving hers as he groans at the sensation. “You are perfect,” he whispers. Harriet smirks, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Mr anonymous,” Oliver huffs at the nickname before moving his head into the crook of her neck, his lips meeting the skin. A gasp leaves her mouth as he sucks. “Hyacinths? How did you know they were my favourite,” he pulls back looking at her with a smirk.

“You took a few back with you after our date a while back. Have been meaning to get you a bunch sooner just haven’t had time,” she smiles at this, a hand falls from his neck to caress one of his cheeks.

“And having them delivered in the mail? I thought we were keeping this between us for now,” Olivers hold on her loosens as he takes a step back from her, his eyebrows knitted together.

“I know that’s what we agreed on, its just…” he trails on, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “I want people to know about us,” that statement causes her to freeze.

“Oh,” is all she can say, her head falling to look at her feet. Oliver looks at the girl before him and he sighs.

“I’m sorry, I know you wanted to keep things private because of everything that happened with that ex of yours but…” leaning forward he takes her chin in between his fingers, pulling it so that her eyes meet his. “Sometimes when I am with you, I can’t believe how lucky I am to call you mine and I just… want to shout it from the rooftops,” Harriet giggles at this, a smile painting her face. “You are the most amazing person Harriet Matthews, I’m not like Peter, whatever that arses last name is,” Harriets head falls back as she laughs, her arms wrapping around his neck once again. “Unlike him, I don’t want to hide this, and as long as you are okay, I want to be able to hold your hand as we walk down the hallways, and kiss you whenever I want without the fear of someone catching us,” Harriet lifts an eyebrow, her smile turning into a smirk.

“Well… we might have to practice more PG type kissing, I don’t think everyone is going to want to see a lot of the stuff we do,” Oliver chuckles.

“So… are we done hiding?” Harriet looks into his eyes and her heart can’t help but melt. Oliver wasn’t ashamed of her, not like Peter, and it causes her to feel giddy.

“Yeah, we’re done hiding,” his lips meet her frantically, giggles leaving both of them as they move their hands around each other.

“You know, I would say that I have about 10 more minutes until McGonagall really starts to question where I am,” he chuckles.

“10 minutes… I can do a lot in that time,” his hands run up her thighs, trailing under her skirt causing her to moan.

“I know you can, so do it. Fuck me,” and who was he to argue with her.

“Look at them, its like they have already won,” Hermione looks over across at the Slytherins who all are standing, grinning like they have just found a pot of gold.

“Hermione they are Slytherins, what else do you expect,” Hermione nods her head.

“True. Well, I just mean that it will be all the more satisfying when we beat, they’re arses,” Harriet and Hermione look at each other and laugh.

“God, I love quidditch,” just then the trumpets start, and everyone starts standing up cheering. Hermione and Harriet grin standing up and cheering alongside them. One by one the teams start flying out, the cheers getting louder and louder.

“Also where were you earlier?” Hermione asks causing Harriet to lift her eyebrows.

“When?”

“Earlier on, you asked professor McGonagall to go to the loo, you must have been gone for 15 minutes,” Harriets heart stops as she remembers, Oliver saying that he wants to tell people, his fingers trailing down her, being inside of her and then his penis, how they used their mouth to muffle their cries of pleasure. Harriet feels herself warm up.

“Are you alright, you’ve gone really red,” Harriet clears her throat, loosening her scarf.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just got really hot there for second, think its just with everyone being around.”

“Do you need a minute, we can leave if you want,” Harriet shakes her head.

“No, I’ll be fine,” with that they’re attention turned to the game.

 They crushed them, absolutely crushed them, the Gryffindor’s were going absolutely mad, drowning out the boos of the Slytherins who all were giving out, being the sore losers that they were. Hermione and Harriet had massive grins on their faces as they run down to the teams changing room. “Oh, that was amazing, did you see the Slytherins faces. Oh, they were so mad,” Harriet bursts out laughing.

“Hermione I’m starting to think you are a bit of an evil minx,” they reach the Gryffindor tent, members pilling out, their faces euphoric. Harry and Ron come barrelling out spotting the girl, walking over.

“That was some game,” Ron says, taking off his hat.

“You can say that again, I didn’t know if they were trying to win or go for our blood that time,” Harry says shaking his head.

“They are Slytherins. They are always going out for our blood,” Harriet says causing the trio to nod, chuckling to themselves.

“Did you see how Oliver defended that goal, it was insane.”

“If he hadn’t stopped that from scoring, we would have lost.” Harry replies causing Ron to nod.

“Thank you, Oliver Wood,” Harriet smiles at that. Over Rons shoulder she sees Oliver coming out of the tent, they’re eyes meet. Oliver smiles at her, picking up pace and jogging towards her. Harriet grins, pushing past Ron. Harriet walks forward meeting Oliver who lifts her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as they hold onto each other, laughter coming from both of them.

“You did so good. That was the most amazing thing that I have ever seen,” Oliver laughs at that, bring her face before his.

“That I know is not true,” Harriet shakes her head, grinning.

“Top five,” she offers.

“Top ten,” Oliver offers causing Harriet to sigh.

“God you are insufferable,” she brings his lips to hers, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly bringing him as close as possible.

“Do you know…” Oliver mutters as they pull back. “I love you Harriet Matthews,” her heart explodes.

“And I love you Oliver Wood,” they couple kiss again. Letting the world around them fade away.

“What the bloody hell is happening?” well almost fade away.

[moekonoira]

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

[jupiterpp]

PROLOGUE | 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞. -𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

important note; This is the first time I'm posting my stories on Tumblr. My mother tongue is not English so expect grammatical errors ahead.

word count: 6.3k words

MASTERLIST | CHAPTERS

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your expression blank and unremarkable. As you continued to absentmindedly work on your hair, a sudden realization struck you, causing your eyes to widen in shock. You couldn't quite comprehend the reason behind your reaction; after all, you were simply tending to your hair.

"What in the world?" you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. You blinked before taking a closer step to the mirror, tapping the glass with the tip of the comb. The sound reverberated softly, a hollow echo in the quiet room. You huffed before placing the comb down to the table before exiting your room.

Descending the staircase, your face adorned with a radiant smile, you beheld your father meticulously adjusting his tie before the mirror, while your mother gracefully organized her belongings into her handbag. Her eyes met yours with a tender smile as she approached the foot of the stairs.

"Mum!" You exclaimed.

"Someone's eager," she chuckled, lifting you effortlessly into her embrace. "Eager to visit the orphanage today, [Name]?"

"Is this the first time she will accompany you in your work? Are you certain you can manage her on your own, my love?" your father inquired, casting a concerned glance towards your mother.

"Thaddeus, you know I can't leave her alone, and my brother is unavailable to look after her," she responded, setting you gently back on the floor. "Plus, It will be good for her to see what I do, and besides, she might make some new friends."

"Okay, Alright." your father conceded, approaching to place a tender kiss on your head.

"You're not coming with us?" You asked, tilting your head.

"No, Daddy has to go to work. Perhaps next time, yes?" he chuckled, ruffling your hair before kissing your mother on the cheek and whispering something in her ear. Your mother smiled, then took your hand and led you out of the house.

You climbed into your father's car, and he reminded you to fasten your seatbelt while your mother locked the front door. As the car began to move, you rolled down the window to observe the passersby on the sidewalk. Your gaze settled on a man walking his dog, a smile playing on his lips as he strolled.

His smile disappeared quickly when an unseen force pushed him back, causing him to slip and land on his back. You laughed at the sight, unable to help yourself. Ever since your parents knew you could do things such as magic with your hands, they planned to get into the muggle world and you are forbidden to use magic or else you will face punishment.

Well, of course, you do it as a secret.

"She's already eleven, Thaddeus," your mother said, her voice tinged with worry.

"I know, dear," your father replied in a hushed tone. "But we've done everything possible to keep her hidden. It's for her own safety. We can't allow her to become entangled in that world."

You furrowed your brow, curiosity piqued. "What letter? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," your mother said quickly, "Just grown-up matters. You don't need to worry about it."

Your father gave her a pleading look to maintain silence. "Yes, [Name], it's merely grown-up business. Nothing for you to concern yourself with."

You frowned, sensing their unease but deciding not to press further. Deep down, though, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important they weren't telling you.

As you arrived at the Wools Orphanage, your father parked the car and turned to face you and your mother. "Alright, have a good day, you two," he said, forcing a smile.

Your mother leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "Thank you, darling. We'll see you later."

You climbed out of the car and waved goodbye to your father as he drove away. Turning to your mother, you couldn't resist asking once more, "What letter were you talking about?"

Your mother hesitated momentarily, her gaze flickering with uncertainty. "It's just something we'll discuss when you're a bit older, sweetheart. It's not something you need to worry about right now."

With a final squeeze of your hand, your mother led you toward the entrance of the orphanage.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cole," your mother greeted warmly as the woman opened the door for both of you. The early morning sunlight streamed through the open doorway, casting a golden glow over the entrance hall of the orphanage.

Mrs. Cole, a kindly-looking woman with black-streaked hair pulled back into a neat bun, smiled warmly at you and your mother. She appeared to be a little older than your mother, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Good morning, Mrs. Delacroix," she greeted, giving your mother a small hug before her gaze fell upon you. "And you've brought your little one! What a beautiful young girl."

"This is my daughter, [Name]," your mother said, gently nudging you forward. "Say hello, dear."

Feeling shy under Mrs. Cole's kind gaze, you stepped forward. "Hello, Mrs. Cole," you greeted, offering a small smile.

"Hello, sweetheart. Oh, how much you resemble your mother," she chuckled, lightly pinching your cheek before extending her hand to you. "Come along, dear, I'm sure the children will adore you."

You took her hand hesitantly, glancing back at your mother, who gave you an encouraging nod. As you ventured further into the orphanage, the sounds of laughter and playful chatter grew louder, filling you with a mix of curiosity and slight apprehension.

Mrs. Cole led you and your mother through the hallways, pointing out various rooms and introducing you to some of the staff. "This is the common room," she said, gesturing to a spacious area filled with cozy sofas and bookshelves. "The children often gather here for storytime and games."

You glanced into the room, taking in the lively scene. The children's energy was palpable as they laughed and played. It was almost overwhelming, and you flinched when you saw a young boy trip over his own feet, sprawling onto the floor. Mrs. Cole immediately and gently scolded him to be more careful.

Noticing your unease, Mrs. Cole's expression softened, and an idea seemed to occur to her. She crouched down to your level, her eyes kind and understanding.

"[Name], tell me, do you prefer quiet places over busy ones?" she asked gently.

"I do," you said, nodding earnestly. "I like to read books, Mrs. Cole. I have hundreds of books at home!" you added proudly, causing her to chuckle.

"It sounds like you're quite the bookworm," Mrs. Cole said with a warm smile. "I know someone who also prefers quiet over busy places."

"Really? Who?" you asked, tilting your head curiously.

Mrs. Cole's smile turned playful as she took your hand gently. "Come with me."

She led you through the hallways of the orphanage until you reached a room that you assumed was one of the dormitories where the children slept. The room was filled with neatly made beds, each one with a small chest at the foot for personal belongings.

She led you through the hallways of the orphanage until you reached a room that you assumed was one of the dormitories where the children slept. The room was filled with neatly made beds, each one with a small chest at the foot for personal belongings.

"Tom?" Mrs. Cole knocked on the door before opening it. Inside, you spotted a young boy sitting on his bed, engrossed in the book he was reading. A small collection of rocks was arranged neatly on the windowsill beside him. He glanced up from his book, his sharp, dark eyes meeting yours.

Mrs. Cole nudged you forward. "This is [Name], she's the daughter of Mrs. Delacroix." She smiled at the boy. You wondered if he knew your mother; perhaps she had taken care of him once. You glanced at Mrs. Cole, who gave you an encouraging nod before you took a step forward. The young boy set his book aside and stood up, his posture poised and somewhat guarded.

"Hello," you said nervously, extending your hand. "I'm [Name] Delacroix. You are?"

He eyed your hand warily before accepting it with a firm grip. "Tom Riddle."

Mrs. Cole was delighted at the sight. "Can you accompany her for the rest of the day, Tom?"

Riddle stayed silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he gave a small, almost perfunctory smile and nodded. "Of course."

Mrs. Cole seemed pleased. "Wonderful! I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Remember, [Name], if you need anything, I'll be just outside."

With that, Mrs. Cole left the room, leaving you alone with Riddle. You glanced around the room, taking in the neatly made beds and the small collection of rocks on the windowsill. The atmosphere felt heavy with an unfamiliar tension, and you couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive.

"You're Mrs. Delacroix's daughter?" Riddle suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "My mother works here."

He didn't say anything more and simply returned to his bed, reopening his book. His demeanor turned even colder, and you stood there, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do next. The silence in the room seemed to grow heavier.

Gathering your courage, you decided to try again. "What are you reading?"

Riddle glanced up from his book, his eyes narrowing slightly. Without a word, he tilted the book so you could see the title on the cover: The Fox and the Boy

"Oh," you said, recognizing the name. "I've heard of that book. My mother used to tell me stories from it when I was younger."

Riddle's eyes flickered with a hint of interest, but his expression remained guarded. He didn't respond, instead returning his gaze to the pages in front of him. He let out a huff before standing up and facing you. He was quite tall for his age. Just as he was about to speak, a familiar figure appeared behind you.

"Oh, Tom, I see you've met my little girl." It was your mother. She placed a hand on your head with a smile. "Are you two getting along?"

"I think so," you said unsurely.

"Looks like I don't need to clean your room, Tom. It already looks tidy," she chuckled.

Riddle's demeanor softened slightly at your mother's presence. "Yes, Mrs. Delacroix. I like to keep it neat."

"Mhm. I see," she said, patting your head and looking at the young boy. "You see, my daughter loves books. How about you show her to the library, Tom?"

Riddle hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering between you and your mother, then nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Delacroix. I can do that."

Your mother smiled warmly. "Thank you, Tom. [Name], I'm sure you'll enjoy the library. Tom knows it well."

You exchanged a quick glance with Riddle before stepping out of the dormitory with him. You could swear you saw an annoyed look on his face as if he didn't want to be disturbed. Once outside, you turned to face him, curiosity bubbling up inside you. He continued to walk, and you followed him from behind with a small smile.

"Did Mrs. Cole show you the library?" he asked, peering over his shoulder.

"No, she didn't," you replied eagerly. "I didn't even know there's a library here."

He didn't respond and continued to walk, and you eagerly followed him with a smile on your face. As you passed a few of the children, you noticed their attention was mostly on Tom, with whispers here and there. Tom's lack of response to your eager question didn't go unnoticed, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at his cold shoulder.

The library was located at the end of a quiet corridor, a small wooden door marking its entrance. Tom opened the door and stepped aside to let you enter first. Inside, the room was lined with bookshelves filled with an array of books of different sizes and colors. A few comfortable chairs were scattered around, creating inviting reading nooks.

"This is the library," Riddle said, his tone neutral.

He opened the large door, and you followed him inside. Your mouth fell open at the sight of the bookshelves. You glanced around the library, taking in the peaceful atmosphere that enveloped the space.

There were only a few people scattered throughout the room, their heads buried in books as they immersed themselves in the world of literature. The quiet hum of turning pages and soft whispers filled the air, creating the perfect ambiance for reading and reflection.

You couldn't resist the urge to run your fingers along the spines of the books as you walked through the library. You stopped when you felt a presence behind you. It was Riddle, holding out a book in front of you.

"I'm only doing this because I owe your mother a favor," he said in a monotone voice, causing you to look at him. "Tell your mother that I've repaid my debt."

"A favor?" you asked, tilting your head in confusion.

"She took care of me when no one wanted to," he said firmly.

His words hung in the air, laden with unspoken emotion. You looked at him, trying to understand the layers behind his stoic facade. "I didn't know that," you replied softly, feeling a pang of empathy for the boy in front of you.

Riddle's expression remained unchanged, his eyes flickering with a hint of something vulnerable before he quickly masked it. "Well, now you do," he said before grabbing a book from the shelf beside him. You watched him silently as he pulled out a book. "I recommend you read this book," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You glanced at the book he was offering, curiosity piqued. Taking it from his hands, you studied the cover, noting the title and the intricate design on the front.

"It's one of my favorites," Riddle continued, his tone softening ever so slightly. "I daresay you'll enjoy it."

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you looked up at him. "Thank you," you said sincerely, grateful for his gesture.

"You're cold, you know? Are you always like this to everyone?" you asked him, a gentle curiosity in your tone. He glanced at you, raising a brow in confusion.

"Cold? I'm not sick," he replied, narrowing his eyes.

"No, not physically cold," you clarified, a gentle smile playing on your lips. "I meant emotionally."

"And why does that matter to you?" he asked, his tone guarded as he met your gaze. You nervously held his gaze, feeling a lump form in your throat.

"...Sorry. I was just asking," you played it off with a chuckle, taking a seat on the chair. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his scrutiny hanging between you like a tangible barrier. Then, with a small exhale, Riddle's expression softened slightly, the hard lines of his features easing into a more neutral expression.

"You're a peculiar girl," he remarked, before taking a seat across from you. You raised a brow at him. "You ask too many questions instead of simply accepting things as they are," he continued, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance.

"Do you not?" you asked. "Do you not like getting your questions answered with every detail?"

"I prefer to find answers for myself," he replied after a moment, his tone measured but tinged with a hint of defiance. "Asking questions only reveals what others want you to know."

Okay. He does have a point.

The next day, you returned to the orphanage and played with the other kids since you couldn't find Riddle in his room or every other part of the orphanage.

"Seriously, Delacroix? Why are you so worried about someone like him?" Dennis Bishop, his arms crossed over his chest, confronted you as a small crowd gathered around, with Dennis appearing to be the leader of this small group.

"Why wouldn't I? He's my friend," you replied a note of defiance in your voice.

"Well, does he consider you as his friend, though?" Dennis retorted, his tone edged with skepticism. "He's a good-for-nothing kid."

"Don't say that," you interjected sharply, narrowing your eyes at him, a flicker of anger in your gaze. Dennis and his cronies laughed, but you refused to back down.

"Don't say that," Dennis mocked, mimicking your voice. "Oh please, you don't know him that well-"

He suddenly shrieked as his gaze fell upon a serpent slithering just behind you. Your eyes widened as you glanced over your shoulder, spotting the snake hissing menacingly toward Dennis.

You instinctively took a step back at the sight. The snake practically threw itself against Dennis as he screamed for help. Not a moment longer, Mrs. Cole and your mother came onto the scene.

"Oh my goodness!" Mrs. Cole exclaimed in terror. Mrs. Cole swiftly sprang into action, grabbing a nearby broomstick and wielding it like a warrior against the snake. "Back, you foul creature!" she cried, her voice trembling with fear and determination.

As you observed more closely, it became evident that the snake wasn't truly intent on harming the boy. Its actions seemed more aimed at instilling fear rather than inflicting harm. Perhaps it was merely startled itself and reacting defensively.

Once again, a week had come and gone. Accompanied by your mother, you returned to the orphanage to meet Riddle and fulfill the promise of returning the books he had recommended.

You peered on the door of your father's small office in the house. Sensing that there is no one there, you slip in and close the door behind you. Your eyes caught the books related to the wizarding world and the spells.

It was very dark so you had to raise your hand and mutter the spell; "Lumos." a soft glow emanated from your palm illuminating the dimly lit room. The light revealed shelves upon shelves of books, their spines adorned with intricate designs and titles.

Carefully selecting a few volumes that caught your interest, you tucked them under your arm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling within you. With the soft glow from your palm casting shadows around the room, you made your way out of your father's office, the door creaking softly as you closed it behind you before going back to your room.

You excitedly open the book, Your eyes immediately catch the word 'alohamora'. You read the description before your eyes landed on your door. You smirked and stood up, opening the door and lock it from the inside.

Based on the book, Alohamora is a charm used to unlock doors and other locked objects.

You raise your hand, pointing it towards the doorknob, and with a confident flick of your wrist, you whisper, "Alohomora."

To your delight, you hear a soft click, and the door's lock disengages. With a triumphant grin, you push the door open.

"Yes!" You punched the air happily. "I did it! Yes! I've done it!"

"[name]?" The sound of your father's voice broke through the euphoria, causing your heart to skip a beat. You scramble to hide the book, kicking it underneath your bed with a sense of urgency.

"Yes, Dad?" you replied, striving to maintain composure as he entered your room.

His gaze swept over you, his expression curious. "I thought I heard a noise," he remarked, a furrow forming on his brow. "Are you alright, [name]?"

"Oh, just searching for something," you reply, forcing a smile as your father's gaze lingers on you. "Nothing important, just a little misplaced item."

Accepting your explanation, he nodded and turned towards the door. Holding your breath, you prayed he wouldn't notice anything amiss.

"Very well," he said, his tone gentle as he cast one final glance your way. "Early to bed tonight, alright?"

"Okay."

He pauses at the doorway, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. You can sense the weight of his concern, even as he tries to maintain a reassuring demeanor.

"I love you, [name]," he says softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

"I love you too, Dad," you reply, a lump forming in your throat at the sincerity in his words.

With a final nod, your father leaves the room, closing the door behind him. You let out a sigh of relief and sit on your bed.

"Hello, Riddle," you said softly, approaching him inside the small room adjacent to the library. He sat by the window, a book in hand, his demeanor guarded yet with a hint of curiosity as he noticed your presence.

Tom looks up from the book he's engrossed in, his expression guarded yet curious as he sees you approaching. His eyes, sharp and calculating, meet yours for a moment before he offers a nod in greeting.

"Hello," he replies, his voice cool but not unfriendly. Despite the distance he often maintains, there's a flicker of interest in his gaze as he regards you. You were about to speak when muffled voices and laughter interrupted, causing both of you to turn towards the door. It trembled as if someone was trying to force it open, the sound of laughter seeping through the cracks.

Grasping the doorknob, you attempted to open it, but it remained stubbornly locked. Worriedly, you glanced at Tom, who wasted no time in trying to force the door open himself.

"Riddle—"

"They've locked us in!" he exclaimed, pushing you aside as he applied more force to the door. With a frustrated click of his tongue, he turned to look out the window, where Dennis Bishop and his friends could be seen, their laughter carrying through the glass.

With a deep breath, you refocus your attention on the task at hand. Despite the frustration of being locked in, you know that panicking won't help the situation.

"those bastards..." You heard him say.

"Let me try something," you say to him. He glances at you, watching with furrowed brows as you nudge him slightly aside, leaning towards the door and whispering, "Alohamora."

There's a moment of tense silence, broken only by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, with a soft click, the lock disengages, and the door swings open. A satisfied smile plastered on your face before you pushed the door fully open. You then look at Tom, about to say something but the look he's giving you prevents you from doing so.

You hold his gaze for a moment, uncertainty flickering in your own eyes as you search for words that might bridge the gap between you.

"What did you do?" He asked.

"I, um..."

"You couldn't have unlocked it. The lock was outside," he presses, his tone edged with skepticism.

"I used a spell," you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's a spell to unlock doors."

"A spell?" he repeats, his tone edged with skepticism as he takes a step closer to you, his curiosity palpable. "Magic? You can do magic? How?"

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his scrutiny, unsure of how much to reveal. "Well—" you start, but before you can elaborate, you're interrupted by the hurried approach of Mrs. Cole.

"Tom! [Name]!" Mrs. Cole exclaims, her face etched with concern. "Are you both okay? The children said someone locked you in there? How did you get out?"

Mrs. Cole bombarded you with questions. You hesitated, unsure of how to explain without revealing your secret. You can feel his eyes on you, assessing the situation. Before you can come up with an answer, Tom steps forward, pulling something from his pocket and holding it up for Mrs. Cole to see.

"It's an old hairpin," he says smoothly, showing her the small, bent piece of metal. "I was the one locked inside, and she happened to pass by. I gave her the pin to use on the lock. It was a bit tricky, but she managed."

You're momentarily taken aback by his quick thinking, impressed by his ability to come up with a plausible explanation on the spot. As Mrs. Cole nods in understanding, relief floods through you, grateful for Tom's cleverness in diffusing the situation.

Wow. Very clever, Tom.

"That's...clever, Tom. I'm glad both of you are safe." Mrs. Cole said. Tom nods, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cole," he says. "If you'll excuse us now."Before you can react, He grabs your hand and leads you away, his grip firm but not uncomfortable. The suddenness of his actions leaves you momentarily stunned.

"Where are we going?" you asked, trying to keep up with his brisk pace. "You're not gonna kill me, are you?"

"if I wanted to do that, you'd be long gone by now," he replies shortly, rolling his eyes at your jest. He continues to lead you through the winding corridors of the orphanage, his determination palpable.

He continues to lead you through the winding corridors of the orphanage, his determination palpable. Eventually, you find yourselves at the back of the orphanage, where the dim lighting casts long shadows, making the place dark and sketchy.

Riddle finally stops, releasing your hand as he looks around, eyes scanning the area. You glance around nervously, unsure of what to expect. The silence is almost eerie, broken only by the distant sounds of the orphanage.

"Riddle, what are we doing here?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You'll see." He said lowly before taking a deep breath. He let out a hiss, like a snake as if he was calling out for something.

There's only silence for a moment, the air heavy with anticipation. And then, almost imperceptibly at first, you hear it—the faint rustle of movement, the soft slithering of scales against the ground.

Your breath catches in your throat as several small shapes emerge from the shadows, their sleek bodies gliding gracefully across the ground. Snakes, you realize, watching in awe as they gather around Riddle, their movements fluid and mesmerizing.

You instinctively step back but hear a faint hiss behind you, causing you to yelp in surprise. Without thinking, you grab Tom's shirt for support, your fingers tightly clutching the fabric.

"Snakes!" you exclaimed, pointing at the animal.

"Don't," He hesitates for a moment before continuing, "she's with me."

The snakes seem to respond to his words, their hisses softening as they slither closer to him. You feel a surge of relief at his assurance, loosening your grip on his shirt as you begin to relax slightly.

"They can understand you?" you ask, your eyes not leaving the snakes. "Are you a snake whisperer?"

"I can make animals do what I want without training them," he replies, his voice matter-of-fact. "I can also make things move without touching them." He crouches down, extending his arm to one of the snakes. It slithers around his arm, its movements smooth and controlled, as you watch in awe.

"You're amazing," you murmur, unable to tear your eyes away from the scene. Tom's gaze snaps back to you, his eyes widening slightly in shock.

'Amazing.' It's the first time someone has called him that, rather than finding him strange or weird for his abilities. He expected you to run away the moment he brought you here, but you surprised him. He didn't respond and you excitedly walked closer to him, hesitantly petting the snake in his arm who looked at you with a faint hiss.

"That's so cool! I want to speak to snakes too!" You exclaimed.

"You can't do that?" He asked.

"No, I can't." You said as he watched you interact with the snake. Curious thoughts began to form in his mind. Despite your differences, there was an undeniable similarity between the two of you. You both possessed unique abilities that set you apart from the rest of the world.

"We're not so different, you and I," he mused silently to himself.

"Hm?" You glanced at him hearing him mumbling words under his breath. "Come again?"

"Teach me," he says abruptly.

"Huh?"

"Teach me magic," he repeats, his tone more insistent. He turns to you, his eyes intense. You blink, glancing down at the snake wrapping itself around your leg.

"I'm just learning myself, secretly," you mumbled the last word, feeling a sense of uncertainty creeping in. "I'm not sure I can teach you... and my parents don't want me involved with magic."

"You have a unique gift," Riddle says, stepping closer to you. "Just like me. So what if your parents don't want you involved with magic? You've been learning it secretly, haven't you?"

A knowing glint in his eyes, taking your silence as confirmation. "Then you already know more than you realize,"

THIRD PERSON POV

Thaddeus's heart raced as he pounded on his daughter's door, his voice echoing through the empty halls of their home. Panic gnawed at his insides as he checked every corner of the house, his frantic search leading him to even scour his own office in desperation.

"[Name]!" he called out again, the worry evident in his tone as he realized that she had been missing since morning, and now the clock showed noon. Time stretched on, each passing moment feeling like an eternity as fear gripped his heart.

"My brother hasn't seen her either! what are we going to do?!" Genevieve, his wife, said worriedly as she put a hand on his shoulder, her own anxiety mirroring his own.

"She's done it again..." Thaddeus ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident as he muttered under his breath, "She's done it again..."

She was like a human time-turner, capable only of traveling into the future, and with no control over it. They couldn't predict when she would return.

While some might view it as a gift from the gods, for the Delacroix family, it was a curse. The last person known to have possessed such an ability was hundreds of years ago, and now it seemed to have resurfaced in their bloodline.

Adding to their concerns were their daughters already displayed extraordinary talents, like wandless magic, at such a young age. It only served to deepen their worries about her well-being and future.

That's why the Delacroix family had made the difficult decision to live in the muggle world, to keep their daughter away from the wizarding world. They wanted her to have a normal childhood, to be a normal child, away from the dangers and complexities of magic.

Two weeks had passed, and everything was a mess. Their daughter still hadn't come back, and Genevieve was suggesting to her husband to seek help from the Ministry, which he refused immediately.

This is the longest she has been gone.

"Mrs. Delacroix," Riddle's voice cut through the air, startling her. She swiftly turned around, only to be met by the intense gaze of the young boy.

"Tom? Do you need something?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, though she couldn't shake off the unease his presence brought.

"I've noticed that Delacroix hasn't been accompanying you here at the orphanage for quite some time," Riddle inquired softly, tilting his head slightly. "Did something happen to her?"

Riddle's curiosity was well-known among the children, though his aloof demeanor often left them wary of him. Accidents had become somewhat common in the orphanage, and many of the children couldn't help but suspect Tom's involvement, given his mysterious nature and the way he distanced himself from others.

"She's... she's unwell," she finally replied, choosing her words carefully. "She's staying home for now until she feels better."

Riddle's gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable. "I see," he said simply, though there was a glint of something in his eyes that made Mrs. Delacroix's stomach churn with unease.

Returning to his room, Tom twisted the doorknob and shut the door behind him. He narrowed his eyes as he opened his wardrobe, reaching inside to retrieve a small box. Carefully opening it, he revealed the contents within items he had stolen from the other children at the orphanage.

He's not stupid. A human being can't be sick for two whole weeks.

From within the box, he extracted a smaller container, lifting its lid to reveal a delicate bracelet he had pilfered from one of the children. He had been planning to give it to her once she returned, hoping to impress her with his "gifts" and further entice her into sharing her knowledge of magic.

It had been about three months since he had met her.

FIRST-PERSON POV

I let out a loud groan as I collapsed onto my back, the impact jolting me awake. Rubbing the back of my head, I slowly open my eyes, blinking in confusion at my surroundings. Ah, the living room of our house. I release a frustrated huff and glance at the clock. What just happened? It feels as though I've been teleported.

Uh oh.

Oh no, I've done it again. Oh, my parents are going to be so displeased. This is the second time it has occurred. A loud engine noise draws my attention outside, and I quickly stand up, peering out the window to see a familiar car parked outside. My father freezes when our gazes meet, his expression mirroring my own concern.

As the realization sinks in, a knot forms in my stomach. How will I explain this one? I can't control my ability. Is it my fault that I randomly time-traveled?

My father immediately rushes to open the door, dropping his coat on the floor as he pulls me into a tight embrace.

"Dad..." I mumble, overwhelmed by guilt and uncertainty. My mother enters the house and gasps at the sight of me. "I-I'm sorry, Dad—I don't—I can't—"

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart," my father murmurs, holding me even tighter. "We'll figure it out. You're home now, that's what matters."

✦

"Professor Dumbledore," Thaddeus greeted and let the man inside the house. Another week had gone by and his daughter kept herself locked inside her room.

"How is she?" Said Dumbledore.

"Not well, I'm afraid. She's been isolating herself ever since the incident. She won't talk to us, won't come out of her room." Thaddeus sighed heavily, leading the Professor into the welcoming embrace of their living room.

Genevieve, seated on the sofa, looked up with an expression of genuine worry etched upon her features. "Professor, we're at a loss. She's frightened and confused."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, taking a seat. "Thaddeus, Genevieve, I understand your concerns. Your daughter possesses remarkable abilities, but without proper guidance, these talents can become a burden rather than a gift."

"We've tried to keep her away from the wizarding world—"

"While your intentions are understandable," Dumbledore began gently, "She requires training and understanding of her powers, and Hogwarts can provide that."

He paused, his expression growing more serious. "There is another matter I must bring to your attention. The Ministry of Magic has detected disturbances in the Muggle world. They are aware that something unusual is happening, and it is only a matter of time before they start investigating in earnest."

Thaddeus's face paled. "You mean... they know about her?"

"We're not certain yet," Dumbledore replied gravely. "But the Ministry is becoming increasingly aware of disturbances. If [Name] remains untrained and unable to control her powers, she may inadvertently draw attention to herself. The consequences could be dire."

A heavy silence fell between them as they contemplated the gravity of the situation. Dumbledore let out a sigh before rising from his seat. "May I talk to her?"

"Of course, Professor," Thaddeus said before leading the man upstairs. Upon reaching [Name]'s door, Thaddeus hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorknob. He glanced at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance before finally rapping gently on the door. "[Name], someone wishes to speak with you."

Thaddeus twisted the doorknob open, allowing a sliver of light to spill into the dimly lit room. Dumbledore peeked inside, his gaze immediately drawn to the girl standing beside her bed, her posture tense and her features etched with worry.

Sensing Dumbledore's presence, she narrowed her eyes, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. As the door began to swing shut, Dumbledore extended a hand, gently halting its movement before it could close completely. His gaze remained fixed on [name], his expression soft yet determined as he sought to convey a sense of reassurance.

"Please leave us," he said to Thaddeus, his voice gentle yet firm.

SECOND PERSON POV

"That's not how you greet a guest," he remarked softly, closing the door behind him. You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. This was the second time you'd met him. He stepped further into the room, his movements measured and deliberate. His eyes, though gentle, held a depth of knowledge and wisdom that seemed to pierce through your defenses, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

You remained silent at first, the air thick with tension as you sized each other up. Then, an idea sparked in your mind, and you glanced up, meeting his gaze.

"Are you here to take me back?" You asked eagerly, tilting your head. He stared at you for a moment before a low chuckle escaped his lips. He took a seat on your bed and your eyes followed his every movement.

"Are you here to take me back?" you asked eagerly, tilting your head. He regarded you for a moment before a low chuckle escaped his lips. Taking a seat on your bed, his every movement held your rapt attention.

"Your parents seem to be considering it," he replied. "But, do you truly wish to return to the wizarding world, [name]?"

"I do," you affirmed, your voice steady and unwavering. "I want to go back. Sir."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, his eyes sparkling with a warmth that was both reassuring and encouraging. "You are a remarkable young witch, [name]," he began, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I believe Hogwarts would be delighted to welcome someone as special as you, [name]. Your talents are unique, and with proper guidance, you have the potential to accomplish great things."

Your heart swelled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension at Dumbledore's words. The idea of attending Hogwarts, the school of magic, filled you with a sense of longing, unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

"But," Dumbledore continued, his tone growing more serious, "it's important to remember that with great power comes great responsibility. Hogwarts can offer you the tools and knowledge to harness your abilities, but it will be up to you to use them wisely."

As you nodded silently, you couldn't help but wonder what life at Hogwarts would truly be like. The thought of studying magic, mastering spells, and making new friends filled you with both excitement and trepidation.

As Dumbledore rose from the bed, his presence seemed to fill the room with a sense of purpose. "I will make the necessary arrangements for your enrollment at Hogwarts," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "In the meantime, I encourage you to prepare yourself."

[brujadejunio]

Compré hamma beats 🤭

[aliceemersonwrites2]

Figuring It Out (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/389662599-figuring-it-out?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=AliceEmersonPart2 Dramione/Harmony 

"Times have changed. They are all a bit older, wearing their best crimson and gold 'nice Muggle clothing.' Their eyes are a bit wearier, their skin is a bit more lined, and their smiles are much more forced. 

Times have changed; the Golden Trio is tired of the scrutiny. The circus. The adoration and the hate. And on their faces, you can see the wear and tear of being the most famous people in the wizarding world. 

Times have changed; instead of finding Horcruxes, they supported each other in being picked apart by reporters. They didn't have long talks. No chess games. No Quidditch matches. No sneaking about the castle. They were three parts to a puzzle of grief and grim determination to grin and bear it." 

Post-war Hermione Granger is attempting to figure out adulthood. When she is thrown into the atmosphere of a former rival and cared for by a close friend, she begins to remember who she is and what she wants. Slow burn, Enemies to lovers, Friends to lovers, Friendship, PTSD, Funny parts

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

[watsonfrance]

[the-colourful-witch]

I’m starting to get a hang of these couple sketches! This one is my favourite so far🥰

🧡Romione!🧡

[addictiontohp]

Hermione: how come no one in your family has blue eyes except Ron?

Ginny: Charlie, twins and I got mum's brown eyes. Bill and Percy got dad's dark eyes Ron is different. His eyes are the same color as our late grandpa Septimus.

Hermione: Ron's eyes are such a beautiful shade of blue... I haven't seen that shade anywhere. I mean blue eyes are common...

Ginny: Really?

Hermione: but his are just different. It's neither ocean blue nor cerulean blue. It's like a mix of both.

Ginny: Hermione...

Hermione: and you can see when he stares at you, you feel like you are just drowning... The way his eyes get dark whenever he is angry...

Ginny: ahem! Hermione I really don't wann-

Hermione: his eyes are so damn sexy I want them to roll back while I am on top-

Ginny: OH MY GOD. PLEASE SHUT UP. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR FANTASIES ABOUT MY BROTHER. GROSS.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Guilty as Sin?

Thank you for this song, Taylor <3.

Read on ao3

------------

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox

I'm seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

The energy that permeated The Three Broomsticks on a Saturday night was one of students that had been cooped up all week. Hermione could barely hear Ginny’s voice through the noise, and even if she could, she probably would have struggled to pay attention. Of course, she was thankful for the invitation even though Hogsmeade weekends weren’t really her thing these days.

Ginny liked to talk about Quidditch and boys. Hermione loved Ginny, but conversations about Quidditch and boys grew tedious after some time. Not that Hermione never thought about Quidditch or boys — in fact, she spent most of her time trying not to. 

Hermione stared at the glass in front of her, the honey-like hue of its contents matched the dim light of the bar. She didn’t even like butterbeer that much, but it was something to do with her hands. She reached for the glass, and her fingers made an imprint in the condensation, sending shivers down her spine. Then, she brought it to her lips and took a swig. 

The smooth buttery flavor made her mouth water in a way the butterbeer itself couldn’t satisfy. 

Unsatisfying. Maybe that’s why she didn’t like butterbeer. It wasn’t quite enough. 

Hermione placed her drink back down on the table and turned back to Ginny, only to find she had stopped talking. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” said Ginny. 

Hermione frowned — it was no secret that she hadn’t been a perfect friend lately. Distracted was an understatement. Ever since Ron and Lavender had gotten together, nothing could cheer her up. Ginny was usually pretty understanding, but maybe her patience was finally running thin. “Sorry, my mind was just wandering.”

“Oh,” said Ginny. “No, I was just looking behind you.”

“Behind me?”

“Yeah.”

Hermione nodded. She didn’t need to look to know what Ginny was referring to. And yet, as if someone else was controlling her body, she swiveled in her chair to confirm. 

His bright red hair was unmistakable. It always was. That was usually one of the things Hermione loved about him, but not recently. She couldn’t not see him even if she didn’t want to. 

He sat at a table for two near the bar’s entrance, with Lavender across from him. She had clearly styled her hair — her curls looked fresh and sleek, unlike Hermione’s wild and untamed mane. Her face glowed underneath perfect makeup, and her feminine clothing revealed just enough to catch the eyes of men sitting at surrounding tables. But Ron’s eyes seemed glued to the butterbeer in front of him, not Lavender. 

Maybe Hermione’s optimistic side was just imagining that. 

“Sorry,” said Ginny. “I wouldn’t have suggested The Three Broomsticks if I knew they’d be here.”

“I know,” said Hermione. “It’s okay.”

She couldn’t avoid him forever. Not in person, and definitely not in her mind.

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

That boy had been living in Hermione mind for as long as she could remember, and especially since Lavender laid her paws on him. In fact, that had only made it worse.

It started in their fourth year, when Hermione wondered what would have happened if Ron had asked her to the ball, and not in a last-resort kind of way. As she danced with Victor and felt his hands grace her lower back, she imagined they were Ron’s. She hadn’t meant to, it just happened. She kept her eyes transfixed on Victor’s face, hoping that could erase Ron’s image from her mind, but later that night, when Krum led her out to the gardens, it was too dark to make out the color of his hair. So when he tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers, it might as well have been Ron. And of course, she closed her eyes, and let her stomach erupt with butterflies — just like it had every time Ron’s gaze had ever lingered on her for a moment too long.

The daydreams intensified in their fifth year. Prefect rounds became a test of her sanity, especially when she was paired with him. Exploring empty classrooms and wandering the dark corridors at night paved the way for fantasies. Every time they opened a door to find a broom closet, she imagined him pulling her in there, pushing her against the wall, his lips on hers, his hands roaming her waist and toying with the hem of her shirt. She wondered what it would feel like to be entangled with him, the heat of his body and breath a delicious contrast to the cold stone wall against her back. 

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

The heat of the following summer was a blessing in disguise. As the sun beat down on the Burrow grounds, Hermione had the perfect excuse to wear her shortest shorts and sleeveless tops. She relished in Ron’s gaze on her thighs as they sat out in the grass. She noticed how his eyes grew wide when she stripped down to her bathing suit for a swim in the pond. He spent the entire summer with a glowing sunburn, but Hermione had a feeling that his face would have been crimson red either way. 

She spent those summer nights in the camp bed in Ginny’s room, wondering if she’d made a mark on Ron’s mind. She laid awake remembering how his hands trembled when he hugged her, the way he stood closer than usual, and the feeling of his arms as they wrapped around her bare waist when he pulled her off the dock and into the water with him. 

Then that split second underwater when their bodies made contact, and his arm stayed locked around her. It took everything she had to resist wrapping her legs around him, and sometimes she wished she hadn’t even tried.

Would he have responded positively? He might have slid his hands up her legs and pulled her tightly against him, before crashing his lips into hers when they resurfaced. She blushed thinking of the way his hips would have felt pressed against her, their mutual desire clear as day. 

During those nights at the Burrow, as Hermione’s hand wandered to the drawstring of her pajama bottoms, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was also lying in bed upstairs, wide awake, replaying the summer’s events in his mind. Maybe, like Hermione, the fact that he wasn’t alone in the room was the only reason his hand behaved, unmoving, leaving him to wonder what it would feel like to have her in bed with him.

It was entirely possible.

These fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me, we've already done it in my head

If it's make-believe

Why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

It wasn’t until she was alone in her dorm one night that she let her mind wander even further. She’d had enough of the lingering glances and the pure torture of wandering the halls with him, resisting the temptation to touch him. Hermione could have exploded when Lavender waltzed into his life. How could she contain the years of built-up fantasies, now that everything she wished would happen could only play out in her head?

So she let it play out. When her roommates were out one night, and the lights were dark, she drew her four-poster curtains shut and cast a silencing charm. She imagined him lying there, under the covers, sidled up next to her with his clothes nowhere to be found. When her hand slipped into her own knickers, it could just as easily have been his. Why should she have to wonder how his fingers would caress her, how his tongue would pave a trail between her legs, or what it might feel like with him fully inside her? She deserved to know. 

And once she knew, a dam had been broken. It happened in the shower, in broom closets they’d discovered on prefect rounds, and in empty classrooms when persistent thoughts of Ron wouldn’t leave her alone during a study session. 

The Ron that lived in her mind — the one that was hers, not Lavender’s — did well with practice. It didn’t take long for him to learn her body, how to make her breath hitch and her eyes roll back in her head. The Ron of her fantasies knew how to elicit a gasp and a moan. He took pride in making her scream his name.

Somehow, she knew the real Ron probably would too.

My bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name

Building up like waves crashing over my grave

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

Hermione took another sip of her butterbeer, which effectively brought her back to reality, even if only for the moment. Her mouth watered, and whether that was from the taste of butterbeer or something else, Hermione didn’t know.

Ginny was still talking, having not noticed Hermione’s eyes glazing over as her mind transported her somewhere else. 

She risked a glance toward Ron’s table to see that he was still there, and his red hair sent a jolt of electricity through her body. How did he have that effect on her even after breaking her heart? It wasn’t fair. Hermione gulped down the remainder of her unsatisfying butterbeer, and the tingle in her spine strengthened.

There was really only one way to quell the heat that seeing him ignited, and even then, it wasn’t never quite enough. It had already happened in her dorm, the shower, a broom closet and an empty classroom… Why not add a bar bathroom to the list?

“I’ll be right back,” she announced to Ginny as she stood. “Bathroom.”

Ginny nodded and Hermione turned toward the back of the bar, shouldering her way through the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ron looking in her direction, but she didn’t dare risk eye contact to confirm it. He was on a date, and she didn’t want Lavender’s wrath. 

Maybe he still harbored the same thoughts she did. There was something between them before Lavender got in the way, she knew it. Those glances, extended hugs, intense eye contact… did he get butterflies the way she did? Did he think of her at night? And if he did, would seeing her across the bar remind him of what could have been?

Hermione pressed the door to the loo open and slipped through, her heart pounding at the possibility.

A girl could hope.

[moekonoira]

[anamunchkins]

RIP Regulus Black, you would've loved swimming classes.

[charlotte-stant-romanzi-disney]

Station

The roar of the train exploded in my head. I was late. How long was it to the station? I tried to run faster, my muscles burning. How could a Malfoy be like this? It was…

I tripped. A pothole in the sidewalk. I lost my balance, cursed, grabbed a lamppost.

Laughter. I glared at the two Muggles who were laughing at my misadventure. -You know I could turn you into toads if I wanted to-

A boy with black crew cuts gave me the finger.

-Be thankful I have time- I started running again, my lungs hurting, every breath agony.

She could have already left.

The thought made me sick. Her and her damn idea of ​​finishing her last year at Hogwarts. Nerd. What was her problem? She never gave up. And I couldn't give up on her. My breathing was coming out in labored gasps. And I was drenched in sweat. I grimaced. The station appeared around the corner. Muggles dragging enormous suitcases, eager to undertake stupid journeys. I cursed, almost got run over, punched the hood of a car.

-Watch where you're going- the owner shouted at me.

I had no time for a fight. I continued my run. Memories of the past overwhelmed me. The thousand times I had been there. My feelings for Granger. Always different, changeable like snakes shedding skin. I saw her as a child again, the determination in her brown eyes. A girl, waving to Potter and Weasley, ignoring me. Almost a woman, so beautiful that my breath was stuck in my throat.

Platform 9 and ¾. My heart skipped a beat. Two. Three. What if the train had already left? I waited too long.

Draco Malfoy wasn't the type to do that. He wasn't the loser who runs after a departing train to stop a Mudblood. A Malfoy doesn't make a fool of himself. Because since I met her… things have taken a different turn.

I threw myself against the wall. It was all Granger's fault. Was she the one who had made me so… soft? Was that… wrong?

The platform was full of adults. Parents, including with a sinking feeling in my stomach. There were no students in sight. Had they gotten on? I headed for the train. If it had left while I was on it… well, we would have had plenty of time to talk. I elbowed my way through.

Someone cursed at me. I continued on, head down, heart pounding in my chest. Only a few steps. I was almost there. It was… the train shot past me. The curse exploded between my lips. I wasn't going to let my life slip away from me. The thought struck me. I staggered, my legs suddenly too unsteady. Was Granger my life? The girl I had despised for years? The girl I had never considered good enough for me, but could never stay away from? The other half of a story that was only now becoming clear to me.

My knees gave out. I felt like I had been struck by lightning, electricity coursing through my body. Every cell. I trembled. It hurt. There was an invisible dagger in my stomach. Because it hurt to know I was so tied to her.

-What are you doing kneeling on the floor, Malfoy?-

Everything stopped. -Granger?- would I have seen her if I had turned around? Or was it just a trick of my mind? I stood up, my legs barely holding me up.

-Maybe you would have preferred someone else?- sharp as a needle.

Never. I had understood that being with Hermione was natural. Like breathing. I swallowed. My throat burned. Admitting it out loud wasn't going to be easy. Granger, as always, hit me right in the heart and made it bleed.

-You have something to tell me?-

-You should tell me… you didn't take the train?- I turned around. Calmly. She shouldn't have known how much I cared.

My stomach turned. Would I ever get used to seeing her? To those brown eyes of hers that entered me like knives? That dissected me? In front of her I was naked. Skinless, organs exposed. I smiled. The aggressive smile, the one I used when everything was too much and I was floundering. Every time that intense face of hers appeared in front of me. Thinking about Granger made every part of my body tremble. Not that I intended to tell her. Better not to overdo it. I couldn't risk her getting strange ideas.

-What are you doing here?-

I looked up, searching for air, a moment to catch my breath and think about how to behave. Some of the people there were watching us. All those eyes on me were bothering me. I felt judged. Me, a Malfoy. I bit my lower lip. It should have been the other way around. Me judging those people, those wizards who were nothing compared to me. A Malfoy, a Pureblood.

-Shall we go for a walk?-

I jumped, taken aback. Had I understood correctly? Hermione crossed her arms. Did she know how hard it was for me to be there? How those eyes were blades inside me? How much it had cost me to run to her?

-You didn't answer my question- I muttered.

-If you answer mine, I'll answer yours-

-Granger, Granger- I reached her, my hands sweating without knowing why. I didn't wipe them on my pants, I was afraid that if someone saw it they would take it for a sign of weakness. -Always the same old games?-

Hermione turned her head, her hair sliding down her cheek. I envied that hair. I wished it were my fingers that touched her like that. To feel her skin. To taste her little imperfections that made her as splendid as a star. -You're the one playing with me-

-Liar- I stopped next to her. They were watching us. I wonder what those people were thinking. -Yes, I'll walk with you, but only if you answer my question, why did you stay?-

Hermione frowned. -I've changed my mind-

-That's not an answer-

-It didn't seem that important to me anymore to finish my senior year-

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it.

-What's wrong?-

-You who don't want to take boring classes? Are you an alien? Have they switched you?-

She blushed, her cheeks turning an adorable red. -You're the same old braggart-

-I'm not changing, Granger- why did these words have the bitter taste of a lie? Was it true that I wasn't changing?

-Would it be too much to hope for- was I wrong or was there a strange nuance in her voice?

-Do you want me to change?-

-I don't want anything from you- her gaze skimmed the asphalt and I felt a scratching desire for her to look at me. I wanted to take her face in my hands and force her to look at me. Because she had to say certain things to my face. And her eyes were the only ones I wanted on me.

-Why didn't you leave?-

-I answered you- a twitch of the lips. Almost a grimace.

-Why?-

-For you- two words that exploded in the warm late summer air. Something inside me staggered. I felt dizzy, drunk, unstable. For me. Was it too… beautiful? Unnerving? Impossible? It couldn't be true.

-You didn't leave for me?- a hot spike in the heart.

Hermione snorted, clenched her fists, glared at me with those brown eyes of hers that burned with anger. -Yes, idiot, for you, a problem?-

I stared at her, the anxiety that slipped off me. -Should I take this for a declaration?-

-Take it for whatever you want- she turned, in a whirlwind of hair.

I took her wrist, that thin wrist of hers that adhered perfectly to my palm, as if it was born for this. -Wait- I walked in front of her.

Hermione growled, her eyes shining like diamonds. And she was so damn beautiful that my breath caught in my throat. -What do you want?- a groan.

-What do I want? What do you want, Granger? Because I don't understand, I can't understand what you feel-

I saw her hold her breath, her body tense. Ready to run or fight. -You really are stupid-

-Always full of good words for me, huh?-

-What should I do?- she shook her head. -I never know what to do with you-

-Weird, it's my same problem-

We looked at each other. Animals ready to bite each other. Or lovers who could have kissed. I couldn't decide. I bit the inside of my cheek.

-Shall we go for a walk?- she lowered her eyes and kicked the air.

-Yes, let's go- I let go of her wrist, a feeling of emptiness tightening my stomach, and I put my hands in my pockets so as not to touch her again.

Without a word we walked down the street, under the curious gaze of those present.