#dramione inspired

[softly-potter]

Guilty as Sin¿ for dramione💕

[onebedtorulethemall]

Bad Omens is now COMPLETE!

A Dramione for fans of Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, prank wars, prophecies, and idiots in love.

And with that, my chaotic little passion project is complete! My commenters have called this fic everything from "a classic in the making" to "I have no words for this" to "respectfully, what the actual fuck did I just read?" (Thank you, I love you too.)

Summary:

On the 31st of October, an eleven-year-old girl will bring about the end of the world. According to prophecy, anyway, and everyone knows those are infallible.

Fortunately, the world has unlikely heroes in the form of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, who've selflessly agreed to put aside their mutual hatred and long-standing prank war in order to find the girl and stop the apocalypse. If only they could be certain they have the right child…

For fans of Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, and dramatic irony, a comedy of errors about two people so stubbornly in denial, Fate itself decides to step in.

READ ON AO3

[bloodpatternblue]

˜”°•.˜”°• Prompts closed •°”˜.•°”˜ Thank you to everyone who helped out 🙌💙

˜”°•.˜”°• ---------------------- •°”˜.•°”˜ Help me 🙌 I need some inspiration to get through a chapter I'm stuck on.

Please give me a fic title, then a ship(from below), and I'll write a mini-fic 💙

Kacchako, Vegebul, Dramione, Zorobin, Sasuhina, Chilumi, or Future timeline BulmaxGohan

1st Mini Fic

'Room with a View - Vegebul

2nd Mini Fic Primary and Secondary - Kacchako

[fanfictiondramione]

I'm sorry, I'm crying It's just that the darkness comes down and disappears In frozen time

Disappearing without a trace But why can't I stop it? My last favor

(Make me forget.... no, remind me)

I'm breaking, falling apart Shining in the darkness Living in consciousness within my memory

It's our fate, fate But as fate, it coolly crushes me I'm getting denser in this darkness that has turned red

Empty life, my last wish

Breaking Down by Ailee (letter adapted by me)

[elliebyrrdwrites]

A Dramione thing

This could be a oneshot that I work on after/during The Heist (and everything else).

in which Draco believes he is a scientist working for a top secret research group labeled The Department of Research on the Mystery of Magic who was assigned to study a mysterious briefcase, only to accidently confuse it with his own, taking it back to his apartment.

Draco was frozen.

His mind momentarily blank with his feet planted to the floor. His eyes were trained on his briefcase—or do he had assumed—that was now fidgeting, rocking back and forth in the spot he had left it. Upon entering his one bedroom apartment, he had carefully set his case down before and promptly set himself down on his sofa after a very long day at work.

He had just managed to loosen his tie and collar when his briefcase began to move on its own.

He had stood and taken two strides toward the case when it fell over, forcefully, landing flat onto the floor with a great smack. The force caused the latch to pop loose! And as if that wasn’t odd enough, the lid to the case suddenly flipped open.

Brown, buoyant curls sprung from the case, causing Draco to stutter. Spilling over the entirety of the case as a woman began to emerge.

She didn’t see him, her eyes instead on the door the case had fallen in front of.

Draco continued to watch as the young woman wiggled herself out of the case, exposing a body clad in a blouse the color of sunlight, and a pair of beige, well fitting pants that stopped at her ankles where a pair of brown short boots sat upon her feet.

When she stepped out of the case, her body now fully exposed, and her attention still on the door in front of her and the kitchen that was visible to the left of her, Draco finally spoke.

“Who are you?”

She whirled around to face him and her eyes widened. Big, brown almond shaped eyes that flashed with something that he might have deemed recognition had he known who the hell she was. He had never seen the beautiful woman before in his life. He is certain that he would have recalled seeing her.

No, Draco would have remembered, he thought, the rosy cheeks speckled with freckles and the mouth shaped like a fat little heart.

It had already dawned on Draco that he had in fact not taken his briefcase home. That he had, indeed, accidently grabbed the mysterious one sent to his office that morning.

“You...don’t know who I am?” She asked softly, though skeptically.

He scowled at her. Of course he doesn’t know who she is. She just stepped out of a mysterious, and obviously magically charmed briefcase.

The corner of her mouth kicked up in a gentle smirk as she watched him closely.

“No, of course not. Why? Do you know who I am?”

She regarded him, quietly, for a moment. “Do you know who you are?” She asked, instead.

Draco scoffed and took a step back from her and the case. “Of course I do.”

“Then, who are you?” She cocked her hip to the side, her hand resting on it.

“I’m Draco.”

Her body tensed, just enough for him to notice the shift in her eyes.

“And what are you doing with my case, Draco?”

“It’s—” He started but paused. Yes, this woman came out of the case he was meant to study today. But she was definitely not anybody who worked for the DRMM. “I cannot say.”

“I see.” She nodded, slowly.

“What are you even doing in a briefcase?” He asked and furthermore, “How did you even get in there?”

“I think you know how, Draco.” She started to move, her eyes roaming the small apartment. “Is this your place?”

“Yes.” His eyes tracked her as she observed the barren walls, the bland furniture.

“Not what I would have imagined but,” She shrugged.

“What does that mean? Do you know who I am?” He asked again and suddenly, the question was desperate. He didn’t understand the need for her to deny or confirm his inquiry.

She stopped and slid her hand into her pocket. Draco took a step back, unsure of what to expect. She held up her other hand, signaling that she meant no harm as she pulled a thin, piece of wood from her pocket.

It looked like a small branch that had been pulled from a hawthorn tree and then polished and dyed dark until it resembled something more interesting.

“What is that?” He lifted his chin.

She smirked and lifted her arm, aiming it at the briefcase. The lid snapped shut, latching itself closed and then sprung up into the air before floating over to her.

Draco stumbled back in shock.

“What — how did you do that?”

She held the wand up for them both to study. “It doesn’t work nearly as well as my original but,” She shrugged. “It’s taken to me well enough.”

“What do you mean, taken to you? How did you do that?”

“Magic.” She said simply, causing his eyes to pull from the stick in hand to meet her smug expression.

“You...you have magic.” Draco said, slowly.

“I do.” She agreed and eyed him. “This is a wand, it helps to focus our magic when performing it.”

This, Draco realized with nothing short of excitement, is exactly what he had been questioning! Where had the magic originated? Was it people, like this beautiful woman, that were the creators of the objects? If so, why do they have magic, while everyone else didn’t?

“Your wand doesn’t create the magic?” He asked, rubbing at his jaw, eyes flicking back and forth from her face to the wand.

“No, we are magical and the wand simply assists us. They are magical but they do not create the magic we wield.”

“So there are more of you?”

Her lips quirked upwards again, exposing a row of perfect teeth. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

She was quiet, continued to study him, and then she stepped toward him, holding the wand out. “Would you like to see it?”

He reared back, a bit alarmed by the stick.

“What will happen if I touch it?”

“Oh,” She huffed out a little laugh and shook her head. “Well I imagine it will probably be quite happy.”

“What? What do you mean?” He was started to get irritated by the way his uninvited houseguest avoided giving him direct answers. “Who are you?” He asked again, this time a bit exasperated.

She chewed on her lip for a moment as he studied him. Again.

She looked at the clear sign of irritation on his face before she finally nodded, as if in response to some unasked question.

“I’m Hermione Granger. And this,” She held the wand out to him, “used to be your wand.”

[journalingasher]

Hermione hand over something to Draco

Draco : For the record, I don't like muggle thing

Hermione : *whispering* you will after trying that

Draco : This is awesomee.. hmm I mean it's not bad

[tinyq]

Against the wall.

[villain-connoisseur]

these hollow vows ↪ the ballad of songbirds and snakes (coriolanus snow x oc)

She believed. He lied.

[fleetinginfinities]

Hoax by Taylor Swift is so Dramione-coded in my brain.

“My only one / My smoking gun / My eclipsed sun / This has broken me down

My twisted knife / My sleepless night / My win-less fight / This has frozen my ground

Stood on the cliffside / Screaming, "Give me a reason" / Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in

Don't want no other shade of blue but you / No other sadness in the world would do

My best laid plan / Your sleight of hand / My barren land / I am ash from your fire”

Every time I read any fic where Draco has an ongoing battle raging inside him because Hermione Fucking Granger is changing everything he’s ever believed in, this song starts playing in my mind. It gives Draco’s inner angst (“I’ve broken 300 years of tradition to sit here next to you / don’t ever say you aren’t worth following) in Lionheart. It gives “I’m doing all of this for you and ONLY you because you are All. There. Is” Manacled vibes. It gives Green Light.

[lunnettewrites]

“Are those for me?”

Staring at his watch, Draco knew he had about 2 minutes before Hermione storms into their shared office from her meeting.

Right on time, she stomps in, hair sizzling with magic. With a huff, she sits down on her side of the office muttering under her breath.

Wordlessly, he sets a plate of chocolate croissants and a chai tea in front of her, then retreats behind the safety of his desk. Draco long ago learned not to get in her way.

He watches as she angrily rips apart the croissant before stuffing piece after piece into her mouth. Then she grabs the tea, throwing her head back and draining her cup as if she was taking a shot of muggle alcohol.

Once finished, Hermione takes a deep breath and starts her rant about her meeting with Draco nodding along.

This has been their routine for the past few months since they’ve been assigned the same office.

The first time Hermione came in angry, he had been enjoying some French apple cake that his elves recently taught him to bake. She sat down and he made the grave mistake of asking her what was wrong.

The second time hurricane Hermione stormed into their office, he was taking out homemade banana nut bread. Learning his lesson, he stared at her waiting for her to speak. Unfortunately that was still the wrong thing to do.

The third time, he tried a different approach. He didn’t speak nor did he stare at her. Instead, he placed a plate of orange cranberry scones on her desk.

“Are those for me?” She asked, wearily eying the plate.

He nodded, not wanting to accidentally worsen her mood by speaking.

He watched her inspect one before taking a bite, noticing that some of the magic in her hair began to dissipate. He listened to her humming approval of the pastries. Once her plate was cleaned off, her mood lightened.

Ever since then, Draco’s made it his mission to learn to bake every single recipe he can find at the manor.

[softly-potter]

Still Friends

Summary: After a chance encounter at a party, Wanda and Bucky find they have more in common than they realized.

This fic is heavily inspired by 'Friends' by my lovely friend Poppy. She is aware of this fic and I've been given permission for this marvel-version retelling! If you haven't read her dramione fic 'Friends', I HIGHLY suggest it. I fell in love with the story and couldn't help but wonder, what if it was Wanda and Bucky instead of Hermione and Draco? Thus "Still Friends" was born. Enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 33,068

Warning: smut, drug use, depression

A/N: Find the rest of the chapters here; Chapter 2: Unloading | Chapter 3: Cherries | Chapter 4: Worth the Wait | Chapter 5: Books | Chapter 6: Grief | Chapter 7: Unlikely | Chapter 8: Happy Birthday, Soldier | Chapter 9: A Christmas Moment | Chapter 10: The Best Holiday | Chapter 11: Permission | Chapter 12: Revitalize | Chapter 13: Backstabber | Chapter 14: Luck of the Dead | Chapter 15: Pain Reliever | Chapter 16: Apologize | Chapter 17: Specially Gifted | Chapter 18: New Day

-

Chapter 1: Greetings

April 2, 2023

He isn’t sure he can think or feel or live.

Like a tv in black and white, it was all static. Bucky’s bleak life becoming as horrendous as those old picture shows his ma used to force him to watch with his little sister, and it's suffocating.

His life had been far from easy, even after Thanos, but he had at least been able to feel. He could remember what it had been, how it had felt. How laughing with a skinny Steve would make his stomach burn, or the feeling of a girls hand in his would make his heart flutter.

There had been a goal in him, a want. Fuel to the fire that was his existence but now it burned him. After all the brain swapping, memory loss and aching pain, it withered at his soul, chipping at him, until he began to crack and splinter.

He hates it. Hates his existence, hates the new world he’s supposed to understand. Hates Steve for leaving him alone in it. Hates Tony Stark for being lucky enough to die.

Around him, the heroes he fights side by side with continue living. They move on, get married, and he envies them for their ability to live.

He watches as Pepper Potts lets go, as she sends her beloved down the river bank and bravely takes her daughter by the hand, ready to lead their company into a reborn new wave of prosperity.

He cannot let go when he so desperately clings to the past. Now that he can, he clings to the memories of murder; the ones committed in-front of him, or by him. It’s the echoing of screams that lulls him to sleep, and it's the ringing of sobs that jerk him awake.

There is nothing but the past for him, not a damn thing. With Steve gone, the Avengers became his family, and he tries to act on it, but he keeps them at a far distance.

Reliving is what keeps him going. Feeling the guilt crushing him, it's what gets him out of bed; it's kind enough to grant him a purpose.

He wants to be whole; to feel again. Knowing he’ll never deserve it is punishment enough.

What is happiness exactly? He isn’t sure he remembers.

He feels a great debt to the Wakandens for stripping him of the winter solider programing. At least with that, he knows he won’t cause anymore harm.

The first time he remembers he’s alive is when the love of her life dies.

They were both snapped, so when they both returned, she hadn’t known Vision was dead until after the final fight. When Tony had breathed his last, everyone had been reverent, holding their breath in honor of him.

Expect her.

She’d been looking around wildly, burnt orange hair wiping back and forth, and she’d flown off while the rest of them mourned. He watched her leave, her chaos magic lifting her for miles until she was just a spray of red.

It wasn’t until later that he found out what happened to Visions body, and that she couldn’t have it back.

A part of him felt sorry for her, as she was now alone in the world, with her brother being dead and all. But then Steve had left, taking hope with him, and Bucky had been desperately alone too.

So, he stands here on Wilson’s porch — clutching his glass hard enough it cracks — trying to act. Act like he’s mourned and moved on, like the rest of them.

The music is pumping so loudly it thrums against his back. From inside he can hear them singing along terribly to music in an aroma of alcohol and happiness. It’s like static to him.

He can’t remember why he even comes to these damn things.

He doesn’t really enjoy being around them, constantly feeling like an outsider. Being around Steve had made it easier, the transition not as bumpy. But now, he doesn’t even know why he tries.

He had atoned for the majority of his sins, made amends with those that he could. He had thanked them, specifically Wilson, Banner, and T’challa for putting up with all his Winter Soldier bullshit, and they had been gracious as ever, accepting his mumbled apologies with ease.

After Wakanda, he had purchased a little one bed room apartment for himself, even though he never used the bedroom. He preferred the floor of the living room. He had just finished removing the last of the mattress frame when he got the email to the remembrance party. To honor those who died because thats what they would’ve wanted.

He thinks of Steve, how well-suited Captain America was for these types of things. His lips curl bitterly.

Keeping his face stony is how he keeps himself in check. He does this for them. He owes them that much.

He feels bitter leaning against the wall, hearing everyone have an amazing time, drinking to the memories of those they lost and he knocks back his glass. The alcohol doesn’t burn, and he wished it did. Fishing in his pocket, he removes a flask of his special liquor, the one Thor concocted for him that would actually work on his super solider immune system.

He takes a slow sip, wincing slightly, wishing it was time for him to depart, but he’d only arrived an hour ago, and he had promised Sam he’d ‘stay for a few’, and as he listens to the happiness and the music and the memories, he wonders if maybe he can be redeemed.

Crossing his ankles, he stands on the corner of the porch, waiting until it is polite stretch of time to make his leave.

Pushing open the screen porch, she walks out the front door and gently sits on the steps, feet tucked beneath her. It’s chilly, and she brushes a hand up her arm.

The wind howls furiously, rocking the boats that are docked steadily, the waves lapping up against the cement. She sighs, shrugs her coat off, blowing a raspberry. Bucky watches intently, eyeing her burnt-colored hair as wisps of it escape her braid.

He feels his old, asshole-self emerging before he can stop himself.

"Trying to get sick?”

She spins her head towards his voice, going still in light surprise when she recognizes him. And he’s amazed as to how she looks so beautiful when surprised.

She studies him, eyes narrowed. Bucky is holding his Asgardian liquor in one hand, the other tucked into his jacket pocket. His now-short hair was tousled, the chopped strands unruly. He didn’t know how to style it yet, and he looks borderline amused, eyes crinkling at the corners as she stares back.

She raises her brows.

“April isn’t that cold.”

“I can see your breath, so i’ll take a wild guess and assume it’s cold.”

He isn’t sure why he’s talking to her, but as she gives him a scowling glare, he decides he enjoys watching the way her face contorts.

He chuckles under his breath, taking a sip, then pushes himself off of the wall he’d been hanging on. His steps are calculated, and she gives him no indication of noticing him until he sits beside her. He’s large, their knees bumping as he settles, and she angels herself to the right so they don’t touch.

Turning her head, she stares. She’s close enough to count the faded scars and light freckles that scatter around her face and hands, her body heat exuding.

“Why aren’t you celebrating?” he asks, genuinely curious. He never pictured Wanda to be the type that gets blasted at parties, but he didn’t think her the type to sit them out too.

She’s glaring again, and he avoids her eyes by taking a sip. Maybe she doesn’t want him to speak to her, and while he understands, he just wanted to hear her voice. He’d only ever really heard her cry.

“They’re moving on,” she says after a while. “I can’t.”

Her voice is strong, but the volume low, and Bucky strains slightly to hear her. She shifts her feet, the old wood paneling squeaking with age.

It was a small statement but its meaning was loud, and on a personal level he understood.

He wants to tell her that he gets it, that while the fight has ended there’s a war constantly playing in his mind and he knows it’s echoing in hers too.

He turns away, squinting in the wind, eyeing the dock and the dark water. The silence stretches, aside from the wind and the sea, and Bucky finds himself feeling content.

Almost at peace.

“You’re hurting,” he says. “Which is good. The numbness would be worse.” He knows the feeling all too well, the colorlessness. Knowing that Wanda is feeling that undoubtedly, makes him angry, because she of all people didn’t deserve that empty existence.

She’s glaring at him, he can feel it, her green eyes scorching into the side of his head. “What do you want, did you follow me?” She demands, avoiding his claim. He gets it, understands how she might not be aware that she’s still hurting. Sometimes he’s so numb he forgets it himself.

Perhaps its selfish, using her conversation like a lifeboat when she’s so clearly drowning as well, but maybe it could help her too. They could both stay afloat.

He rolls his eyes, tongue clicking. “I was out here first, actually.”

She rolls her eyes in response, her nose scrunched in a displeased manner, and she’s adorable.

He glances at her again, and she stares back, hard, her nose a light pink and cheeks flushed with cold.

“There's a reason you don’t want to forget?” He posses his assessment like a question, and she looks away.

“I just don’t.”

He can’t see her face, and he panics that she’s grouchy or worse, beginning to cry. He shuffles his feet, knee bumping hers but she doesn’t react.

“Don’t you know we won?” He tells her, eyes trained on his hands and the glass. His metal arm is covered, and the glass slides across the fabric easily.

She looks up, staring straight ahead as her fingers fiddle with one another. “Did we, though?”

The statement catches him off guard. “That's what the news reported.” He counters, and she turns completely, her knee now pressed against his and her face a mix of angst and ferocity.

“Because the news is so reliable,” she snaps, then lets out a sigh. “So many died. So many lost their chances at life, at happiness .”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and she drops her head, chin wobbling slightly. Bucky wants to look away, give her a private moment to collect herself, but he can’t. He wants to comfort her, to tell her its alright, that he won’t judge, but he knows she’ll recoil from his touch, so he keeps his hands wrapped around the glass.

“Families were torn apart, good people lost their lives, and we’re supposed to be celebrating?” She scoffs with a watery laugh. “I can’t.”

He raises his glass, shifting and realizing he should probably slow down. The Asgardian liquor always did the trick.

“I think it's technically remembering.”

She gives a large sigh, turning back to stare ahead. His skin burns through his jeans where their knees touched, and Bucky decides to take the plunge.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He hadn’t attended Vision's funeral because there hadn’t been one. As far as he knew, SWORD had taken custody of the body and no one had seen it since. He’d like to think that, if there had been one, he would have attended. He would’ve shown up, stayed in the back, offer a slight apology towards the end then make an escape.

She turns to him and he pauses, cocking his head to the side. Tears were in her eyes, one escaping down the side of her confused face.

“I don’t need your pity,” she spat, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “I don’t want it nor need it.”

Anger finds his voice before wisdom does. “Not like you fucking deserve it.”

He expects her to pale, to sob or become so angry that she hexes him into the water. What he doesn’t expect is for her arms to drop from her chest, large eyes widening.

“I’m sorry that was…uncalled for.” She swipes at her cheeks. “I just…I feel like an ocean keeps hitting me, over and over again, and no matter how hard I try I can’t stand up. I hate it. I fucking hate it, and I need it to stop.”

He’s taken aback by her confession, thoroughly intrigued. Tapping the heel of his foot, he looks away.

“I hate it too.”

They fall into silence, the wind moving around them in noisy wails, and he wishes they could stay on that porch forever.

“Steve’s an asshole for leaving you behind.” She whispers, standing with a brush of her hands against her denim. Bucky is shocked into silence, jumping slightly when the screen door shuts behind her.

[onebedtorulethemall]

The end is drawing near - the penultimate chapter of Bad Omens is up!

Will Draco and Hermione stop the apocalypse? Will they *finally* move on to the lovers portion of idiots-to-lovers? Will someone, anyone, please put us out of our misery? Maybe!

Chapter 13: The Truth

Excerpt:

Narcissa looked around. “Is your husband in? I won't have Aurors showing up at my home again.”

“Erm, no,” Ginny admitted, regretting the loss of this convenient excuse to get out of doing whatever it was that Narcissa wanted to do. “He’s out at the moment.”

“Good. No curses, you have my word. But we must find a way to get them together. Draco’s closed his Floo and has rejected all my owls.”

Ginny hesitated. “I don’t like this. I’m starting to think Harry’s right and we should just let them work it out on their own.”

“I refuse to allow my son to be unhappy. Get them into a room together, and leave the rest to me.”

There’s this thing called a sunk cost fallacy, which is when it’s easier to go along with a bad idea than to admit to your husband that he was right all along. Ginny reluctantly agreed.

[jomiddlemarch]

WIP Wednesday!

I was tagged by the lovely @tortoisesshells Thank you for thinking of me, friend!

"...Draco had frankly never expected to see Hermione Granger again. He’d caught sight of her at the final battle and then glimpses in the aftermath, rarely alone; she was almost always in the company of Potter or a Weasley, though not primarily Ron, and Longbottom was beside her far more often that Draco would have thought, except for that last year at Hogwarts when it had turned out that Neville was the most indomitable wizard Draco had ever encountered, for all that he still wore Mugglish patterned jerseys under his robes and carried a sprig of gorse in his pocket. Granger had been busy, sorting things out, explaining what she’d worked out to Shacklebolt and the Wizengamot, pitching in at Hogwarts, making sure Snape’s portrait was hung with a view to a reading stand spelled to turn the pages of an interminable series of Potions journals. She’d testified at Draco’s trial in severe dark robes to showcase her Order of Merlin badge, her hair secured with an old-fashioned filet that had to have come from the Longbottom’s vault. He’d seen her from the chair he’d been secured in and watched her enter and leave the private chamber they’d used for her testimony. She’d given him an unreadable look as she left. He’d never been certain whether she meant to be reassuring or quelling..."

Tagging @orlissa @aquitainequeen @nervousladytraveler @asteraceae-blue @amarguerite @trulybetty @ladamedusoif and anyone else who feels like sharing!

[draqo-pctter]

i bet you think about me // a dramione one shot for harry potter fest (taylor’s version) 2023

      Draco Malfoy seems to have it all. Seven years after the War, he lives in Paris with his aristocratic fiancé and nearly has his hands on winning his campaign for French Minister for Magic. His friends are happy for him. His mother is proud of him. His father would approve of how things have turned out.

In the two years since his break up with Hermione Granger, he's done rather well for himself. On the outside, at least. On the inside, he can't seem to shake the memory of her curls, her laugh, or the way she showed him what love was supposed to look like. One morning, after staying up all evening haunted by the life they had, and the future that eluded them, he finds a package on his front porch.

      words: 3.7k tags: post-breakup, non-hea, petty hermione, slightly comedic, inspired by the song i bet you think about me by taylor swift & chris stapleton 

click here to read on ao3

[biirdiee]

Indentations of My Teeth in You

Read on AO3

Part Two of The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories Series: Read The Company of Wolves on AO3

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Rating: Explicit

Hermione isn't necessarily good with her feelings, or talking about them really. As the semester comes to an end, along with the class her and Draco share, she isn't exactly sure how to have the relationship talk. Or if he even wants to have one.

So, Hermione does what she knows best, push everyone away.

_

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a relationship–” Ginny starts, but Hermione cuts her off.

“No, I’ve just got a little sidetracked. Time to refocus on my work and stop worrying about dating.” She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince ultimately, her friends or herself.

The flames of their candle wavered, and perhaps it was time for Hermione to pull back and just let the smoke rise.

[girl-with-goats]

Summary: Hermione and Harry make a vow to each other that they'll never date. So when Pansy Parkinson, a new transfer from Beauxbatons, sets her eyes on Harry and involves Draco Malfoy in her scheming, things are about to combust in flames of gold, and enemies might realise that they don't hate each other at all.

Four hearts. One season of gold.

***

I'm writing a silly warm dramione fic based on 10 Things I Hate About You with hansy on the side and some fluff, so I'm yeeting out the link. Come join 🦄