#golden trio post war

[delumineight]

do you ever think of the golden trio not being able to sleep alone after the battle and having to wake the others after a nightmare to check if theyre alive and using silencing charms incase they scream in their sleep

yes. yes i think of this so much. immediately after the battle they sneak off and go to sleep, all in one bed together and sprawled out all over each other. at the burrow they all sleep in ron’s room. molly doesn’t say anything or try to stop hermione from being with the boys. she somehow knows they need it (after all they were all alone together for however many months). i think when ron and mostly hermione have nightmares harry is filled with horrible guilt. he has to leave. he makes sure they’re okay and he goes downstairs and makes tea and comes back up a few hours later. he cannot stand to see others suffer for his cause, for something he feels like he did. especially his two best friends. in general i just think they’re all a bit traumabonded i don’t care if it’s “unhealthy” but it’s so true it’s just undeniable. when ron and hermione are like “hey we’re going to australia um” harry’s like… who do u think u are. anyway. side note but i think hermione’s nightmares are actually sleep paralysis because if something is wrong with a character i like i WILL make it worse!

[profoundmakerdreamerss-blog]

I hate, hate golden trio bashing fics. They have such a ride-and-die friendship like bro they raided a bank together then fled on a dragon they stuck together through so much — while having fights like normal friends do, but the best thing about them? They get back together. No matter what. Thus, coming out of a literal war in one piece, together; if that doesn't tell you how much they love each other then I don't know what to tell you.

[ms-snape]

Hi, i see that request are open.

What if Severus survived the war but didn't tell anyone. He moved far away, to another country (maybe Italy). But at home, his wife was waiting for him and she was his biggest support during the war. She refused to believe he is dead. And a few years later she would find out by accident when she bumped into him on the street hand in hand with someone else. Lots of angst. I mean….. lots of angst. 🙂

Title: Moving On

Request: Finally a request I've been waiting for one for like days.... REQUESTS ARE OPENED

Summary: I don't think I can give a better summary than the request so...

Warning: angst.... sad ending...

Word Count: 2305

Masterlist

---

In the heart of Italy, where the sun-drenched landscapes mingled with the whisper of ancient cobblestone streets, YN felt a certain heaviness. It was a weight she carried not just in her suitcase, filled with clothes and hopes for a brighter future, but in her heart, where the memory of Severus Snape lingered like a ghost. The world believed him dead, a casualty of a war that had torn apart the very fabric of their lives, but YN had never accepted that finality. She could not bring herself to mourn him as everyone else had; instead, she clung to the thread of hope that wove through her despair.

YN had been broken when the news of his death reached her—a jagged dagger that pierced her soul and left her hollow. The days that followed were a blur of grief and longing. She had wandered through her life like a specter, lost in the memories of their time together, each moment spent with Severus replaying in her mind like a shattered record. She remembered his quiet intensity, the way his dark eyes would soften when he looked at her, the sound of his voice as he spoke of potions and spells, of love and loss. It was as if he had taken a part of her with him when he vanished from the world.

Ella, her best friend, had insisted on this trip—an attempt to pull YN from the depths of her sorrow. They ventured to the quaint coastal town of Positano, with its colorful cliffside houses and azure waters, where laughter echoed around them like a distant memory. But even in the midst of beauty, YN felt numb. The sun could not warm the chill that resided in her heart. Every breathtaking view of the Italian coast felt tainted by the absence of the one person she could not forget.

As Ella tried to engage YN in conversation, pointing out the charm of the local markets and the deliciousness of the gelato, YN’s mind drifted elsewhere. She found herself staring out at the sea, imagining it was Severus standing there, his silhouette framed against the horizon, waiting for her to join him. The thought was both comforting and torturous, a bittersweet reminder of love that once was.

“YN, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Ella said one evening as they sat on a balcony overlooking the sunset. “You need to let him go. It’s been years.He's gone and you need to accept it”

But how could she? How could she dismiss the love they had shared, the promises whispered in the dark? Each time YN closed her eyes, she could see Severus—his furrowed brow, the way his lips curled into a half-smile when she teased him. The memories were too vivid, too real. They were the only thing that anchored her to the world, the only thing that kept the shadows at bay.

The days passed, and YN felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wandered through the streets of Positano, searching for something she could not name. Perhaps it was closure, or maybe just a sign that Severus was still alive. She explored the narrow alleys, the vibrant shops, and the azure beaches, all while carrying the weight of her unyielding hope.

Then, on a seemingly ordinary afternoon, everything changed. YN had taken to wandering alone, her heart heavy with the memories that haunted her. She meandered through the bustling market square, the colors and sounds swirling around her like a kaleidoscope of life. She paused by a stall selling handmade jewelry, absentmindedly running her fingers over the delicate pieces. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.

But then, as she turned to leave the stall, she collided with someone. The force of the impact sent her stumbling back, and she looked up, ready to apologize to the stranger. But then time seemed to freeze. There, standing before her, was Severus Snape—alive, breathing, and somehow more real than the memories she had clung to for so long.

Her heart raced, a wild tempest of disbelief and hope. But as her eyes traveled down to his hand, the world shattered around her. He was holding the hand of another woman—a stunning brunette with an easy smile and laughter that danced in the air between them. YN felt her heart plummet, the fragile thread of hope she had carried for years snapping in an instant.

Severus looked at her, confusion etched across his features. The moment stretched, the bustling market fading into silence. YN’s breath hitched in her throat, a mix of joy and agony tearing her apart. She wanted to rush into his arms, to feel his warmth envelop her again, but the sight of the other woman kept her rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the pain of betrayal.

“Severus?” The word slipped from her lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for him to explain, to make sense of the scene before her.

The smile faded from his face, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “YN… I—”

But she couldn’t hear him. The world felt as if it were collapsing around her. She had spent years believing he was dead, clinging to the hope that he would one day return to her, and now here he was, a living ghost of her past, with another woman at his side. The anger bubbled within her, mingling with the heartbreak that consumed her.

“Is this why you never came back?” YN’s voice trembled, laced with a hurt that cut deeper than any spell. “You were alive all this time and didn't even come back to me, you wife? Did you choose to leave me behind?”

Severus’s eyes darkened with regret, but YN couldn’t bear to see it. The anguish she felt was all-consuming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing against the fragile dam she had built around her heart. “I waited for you, Severus. I never stopped believing you were out there, that you would come back to me. And now… this?”

“YN, please, it’s not what you think,” he said, stepping toward her, but she recoiled, the distance between them stretching like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Not what I think?” The bitterness in her voice cut through the air, sharp and biting. “You were supposed to be dead! I mourned you! I grieved for the life we could have had, for the love we shared. And now you’re here, holding her hand like I never existed?”

The woman beside him looked between them, confusion evident in her eyes, but YN couldn’t spare her a glance. Her world had narrowed to just Severus, the man she had loved with every fiber of her being, the man who had shattered her heart without a word.

“YN, I had my reasons—”

“Reasons?” She interrupted, her anger boiling over. “Was it worth it? Was it worth leaving me in the dark while you built a new life without me? I thought you loved me.”

“I did love you!” Severus’s voice rose, desperation lacing his words. “And I never stopped loving you or thinking about you, but I had to survive. The war… it changed everything. I thought you were safe, that you could move on without me.”

“Move on?” YN’s laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “You think I could just forget? You think I could just pretend that you didn’t mean the world to me? You left me with nothing but the ghosts of what we could have been, and now you stand here, alive, with someone else?”

The bitterness spilled from her lips, a torrent of pain that had been building for years. She felt raw and exposed, like a wound that had never healed, and now it was laid bare for him to see. The anguish in her heart felt like a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.

Severus’s expression twisted with regret, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought you’d be better off without me. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” YN’s voice cracked, the pain evident in every syllable. “You didn’t protect me; you abandoned me. I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart while you… you moved on.You found someone else...”

The silence that followed was deafening. Around them, the world continued to buzz with life—laughter, music, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore—but for YN, everything had come to a standstill. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into an abyss of despair.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the noise. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

“And I thought you moved on,” Severus replied, his voice heavy with regret. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“But it did happen, Severus.” The tears she had held back for so long began to spill over, a torrent of grief and rage. “You’re here, with.... her, while I was left to drown in my sorrow. You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect me to forget the pain you caused.”

Severus’s expression faltered, a mixture of guilt and longing etched across his features. The woman beside him shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. YN felt the heat of anger mixing with the chill of betrayal, a volatile concoction that threatened to consume her.

“I can’t change the past,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “But please, YN, don’t push me away. I still care for you. I always have.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and memories that felt like a lifetime ago. YN looked at him, at the man she had loved fiercely, and felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wanted to believe him, to reach out and bridge the gap that had grown between them. But the reality was too painful, too raw.

“And what about her?” YN’s voice trembled, the bitterness creeping back in. “What am I supposed to do with that? You’ve built a life without me, Severus. It feels impossible to reconcile that with the love we once shared.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said, anguish etched in every line of his face. “I was lost, and I thought I was doing what was best for you and me.”

YN shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You think abandoning me was what was best? You think I wanted to live in a world where you weren’t there? I was lost too, Severus. I was lost without you.We made a vow, we promised to laways be there for each other, but apparently it meant nothing to you”

The hurt between them was palpable, a chasm that felt insurmountable. YN’s heart ached with the weight of memories that threatened to drown her. She wanted to scream, to rage against the universe that had torn them apart, but all she could do was stand there, feeling the walls close in around her.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones, YN felt the flicker of hope extinguish. The world around her was beautiful, but in that moment, it felt like a cruel joke. She had come to Italy seeking solace, but instead, she found herself face-to-face with the man who had become both her salvation and her tormentor.

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t pretend that everything’s okay when it’s not. I loved you more than anything, but I have to let you go. I have to move on, even if it breaks me... I wish you a really happy life... perhaps better than the one you once had with me....”

With that, she turned away, an instinctive reaction to shield herself from the pain. She couldn’t bear to see him with her, the woman who had become the embodiment of all her fears. It felt like a betrayal—a cruel twist of fate that had stolen her love and replaced it with a bitter reminder of what she had lost.

As she walked away, the tears streamed down her face, each step feeling heavier than the last. The streets of Positano, once vibrant and full of life, felt suffocating, closing in around her as she retreated from the scene that had shattered her world anew.

Behind her, Severus called her name, desperation lacing his voice, but YN didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had given him everything, only to be left with nothing but the echoes of what once was. The colors of Italy faded into a blur, and as she walked away from the man she had loved, she felt the weight of her heart breaking all over again.

As she reached the edge of the market, the sounds of laughter and joy faded away, replaced by the haunting silence that had become her constant companion. YN had come to Italy to escape her pain, to find a semblance of peace, but instead, she was reminded of the love she had lost and the life that would never be.

In that moment, as she stood alone in a foreign land, she realized that some shadows lingered long after the light had faded. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into darkness, YN felt the weight of her despair settle heavily upon her shoulders, an unshakeable burden that would follow her wherever she went. She was lost, and the echoes of Severus Snape would forever haunt her heart, a bittersweet reminder of a love that had been both her greatest joy and her deepest sorrow.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

don't blame the stork

Harry feels a little adrift after the war, so Magic decides he needs a baby, Magical Britain decides he needs to be Minister, and Voldemort decides he needs some company.

@daddymortfest 2024 submission! Prompt: "Minister for Magic Harry has his hands full with raising his son, Tom, while also looking for a potential partner as a good influence on Tom. He needs someone Tom could look up to and respect, not like the failed relationships that Tom has terrorized out the door. Well maybe they've both finally met their matches when time-traveler Voldemort comes into the picture."

Rating: Teen; No archive warnings apply | 10,432 words (complete)

Tags: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Voldemort, post-war, EWE, accidental baby acquisition/mpreg (kind of; you'll see...), Harry raises Tom, Minister for Magic Harry Potter, horcrux handwaving, Golden Trio friendship, silly, fluff, crack treated seriously, a little angst, blood, time travel, a very chill sexuality crisis (happy Pride!)

[albondiguilla007]

Wanted to share this Golden trio fluff:

Who was Harry Potter anyways? The Chosen One? The Boy-who-lived? The Saviour and Golden Boy of the Wizarding World?

Did the press actually got it right when they wrote pieces about him? Could they know what kind of person he was by amounting together the major events on his life?

Could he?

Did Hermione and Ron knew who his best friend was? During those nights filled with dread when the dead became living and the living bled to death, did they know?

When they took his hand and slept right there besides him, whispering sweet nothings until he fell asleep again—could they describe who he was with the same certainty one would talk about the lush and green hills in Scotland?

Mione watched him with that look of hers; one of unwavering faith. Her eyes softening as she lulled him to sleep.

The moonlight filtered through the tiny gap between the curtains back in his room in Grimmauld Place, illuminating the seven freckles scattered in her nose and cheeks. A hundred years could pass and he’d still be able to trace those freckles to memory, like one traces the starts and constellations in the nightsky. She’d stay there for hours, stroking his hair and drawing silly patterns in his skin. Like a mother would. Soft fingertips and soothing lullabies.

With the tenderness of a mother, the devotion of a lover and the undying loyalty of a friend.

In those moments he could be sure of one thing: Hermione Granger knew exactly who Harry Potter was: His best friend, the person looking back at her with grief and open adoration.

And Ron. Ron held him while Mione grounded him and brought him back to Earth. Soft breath tickling his neck. He was too tall for the bed, so most times his feet stayed dangling from the edge.

Ron was home, Ron was family.

Ron was the first person to ever say I love you, chubby cheeks bouncing as he smiled. Honest in his love like only kids are.

There wasn’t much of that Ron in the 6’2 ft tall man that layed besides him. Except maybe his eyes. They were blue, blueblueblue, round and big and completely sincere. Every emotion Ron felt reflecting back on them.

Violent but oh so soft. Harry had never seen the ocean, but he reckoned that’s how it looked like.

His presence was enough to make the world stop spinning, so he stayed with them: A hand in his arm or a leg tangled between Mione’s.

Always touching.

His silence saying more than a million words could.

I’m not going anywhere Harry. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever again.

But so they knew? Did they even care?

You’re every Harry love, the ones you like and the ones you don’t

Harry Potter was the guy that passed the Auror official test in record time. The one that spent a year hiding the clues of his slow descent into insanity under red leather robes and tightly wrapped bandages.

Harry Potter was the man who stayed alone in New Year’s Eve changing napies and falling asleep besides his godson as he burnt in fever.

It was the five year old boy that one day came home from school with a carefully written card he’d dedicated to his aunt on Mother’s Day.

It was the boy who loved to fly. That felt more free in the air than any place on Earth. The one that enjoyed the breeze against his hair and the feeling of wood under his fingers.

It was the man that spent half a year in muggle parties with his best friend’s sister fucking his way through London. High with the thrill of anonymity and pissed out of his mind.

The man more scared of his own shadows than he was of any threat out there.

The one that stood in front of Voldemort when he was 17 and killed him like he was born to do so.

Harry Potter was the man scared of dark and cramped spaces. The man that fell apart in his best friends’ arms and sobbed for hours like he couldn’t do with anyone else.

It was the little boy who looked just like his father, that had his mother’s eyes.

It was the man who loved with every fiber of his being, that loved and loved like it was a race. That burned and consumed and desperately wanted to be loved back. It was the man that remembered Molly’s favorite way of taking her tea, that visited Goerge on the weekends at the shop—the one that discussed muggle phones with Arthur. It was the man Andy could always remember his daughter with.

Harry Potter was the boy that walked to his death on a cool May evening because he loved. Because he pictured a future where his friends could laugh and breath freely again, even if he wasn’t a part of it.

And so Hermione stroked his hair, and Ron hid his face in the crook of his neck, and so they’d remind him.

I love all of them Harry, each and one of them

You’ve carried enough burdens mate, leave some of them to us alright? We’ll carry them too

Harry Potter was Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley’s best friend. And sometimes, that was enough.

[diana-bookfairchild]

@hinnymicrofic

September Prompts Day 21: Murderous

Harry was the Man Who Conquered. The Head Auror.

And he had never faced a situation quite so tense.

Ginny fixed him with a murderous gaze before slowly moving her eyes to her brother. “Which of you was it,” she said in a low, dangerous voice that typically preceded hexes, most likely the Bat-Bogey variety. “I want the truth. Now.”

Harry was used to making decisions on the fly, but this was ridiculous.

“Answer the question, boys,” Hermione said disapprovingly, perching on the couch, her book closed for once.

Harry made an executive decision.

“It was Ron,” he threw his best mate under the bus with no small amount of remorse.

“Harry!” Ron cried out in betrayal as both women honed in on him with murderous gazes and flared nostrils akin to bloodthirsty hellhounds (he ought to know; he had a case related to them not two months ago).

“Did you do it, Ron?” Ginny asked, now very calmly. Somehow, this was worse than the angry tone. Hermione was fingering her wand as she stood up, also very calmly.

Harry loved his girlfriend and best friend. He really, really did.

He was just also extremely scared of them, as any sane person would be.

“I cannot believe this,” Hermione intoned lowly. “From you of all people. I would’ve expected this kind of impulsivity and short-sightedness from Harry—”

“Hey,” Harry cut in broodingly, because doing suicidal reckless things was kind of in his nature, but shut up when Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“But not from you,” Hermione shook her head sadly, ignoring Harry completely, which he was grateful for, but also a little offended by. “How could you?”

“Hermione, c’mon, I didn’t mean to do it!” Ron cried out desperately, confirming his guilt and sealing his fate.

Then he proved just how little Harry’s friendship meant to him.

“Harry was the one who brought it up, anyway.”

“Ron,” Harry said hoarsely, disbelievingly, as the girls’ murderous looks were trained once again on him.

“You started it, mate,” Ron shook his head sadly too, proving he spent far too much time with Hermione.

“Harry,” Ginny said slowly. “Did you bring up the party to Mum?” Hermione stared at him incredulously.

Harry saw his life flash before his eyes.

He could lie to the press, the whole world, his coworkers, the Weasleys, even Ron and Hermione and Teddy, but he couldn’t lie to Ginny.

He took a deep breath. Steeled himself.

“Yes. I did.”

“How could you?” Ginny whispered. Harry could swear there were tears in her eyes, but Ginny Weasley never cried. “Do you realize what this means for us, Harry? What the next three months of our life are going to be like?”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Hermione sighed. “Of course you didn’t,” she murmured.

Ron made an indignant noise. “Why is it when Harry’s to blame you two go all soft and when I am you look murderous?” He complained.

The girls threw scathing looks at him. “We haven’t forgotten that you’re the one who dealt the final blow, brother,” Ginny said threateningly.

Ron gulped and shut up, because he had a sense of self-preservation.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, because despite how ridiculous it sounded, he could display some self-preservation too. Occasionally.

“I know you are,” Ginny said soothingly, murderous expression disappearing, as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. Hermione sighed and sheathed her wand.

“I hope you know we’re leaving all the work to you,” Hermione informed them.

Harry and Ron blanched, exchanging looks.

“We know nothing about party planning,” Ron said flatly.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before promising Mum our help,” Ginny smiled, showing all her teeth. “Unless you’d like to also be the one to tell her we can’t.”

Harry would, quite frankly, rather face Voldemort again.

Ever since the extended Weasley family (which consisted of most of the Order and the DA along with the actual blood family) had started marrying and having children, getting together on days such as Christmas and birthdays had become nigh impossible.

Mr. Weasley had discovered the American holiday of Thanksgiving, and his wife had decided that was the one day every single person of their acquaintance would sequester themselves in the Burrow and celebrate.

It was the most exclusive event of the year, according to Witch Weekly, and Mrs. Weasley’s mania regarding it exceeded even her grief after the war and the craziness of her children’s weddings.

And Harry and Ron had just promised to help her plan and organize it, something the others took literal vacations to avoid (George and Angelina were currently in Botswana; Percy, Audrey and Oliver were pretending to be sick while definitely not being so; Bill, Fleur and Victoire had escaped to France; Neville was apparently swamped with work at the office while Harry knew he was tending to plants in his terrarium all day; Teddy had suddenly started throwing tantrums with destructive accidental magic again according to Andromeda; Kingsley was assigning himself paperwork, which was truly desperate).

“We’ll do the work,” Harry said defeatedly, Ron nodding morosely beside him.

Nothing for it, after all.

Ginny smiled and kissed him, which made his outlook a lot more positive.

She was worth the entire world.

Even spending his days buried in invitations, letters from various great-aunts and fifth and sixth cousins, gifts, catering orders and décor options.

[ronsharry]

lavmione headcanons

— their first kiss was impulsive

— harry was the first person lavender told she had a crush on hermione. ron was the first person hermione told

— lavender LOVES to braid hermione’s hair

— hermione fell first, lavender fell harder

— after the dom hermione had nightmares and lavender heard and helped her

— physical touch and acts of service is their love language

— lavender has little freckles on her nose and it’s one of hermiones favourite things about her

— lavender is one of the only people that can actually get hermione to put her book down

— lavender makes little heart bookmarks for her

— like ron, lavender isn’t scared to call out hermione about something. like her hatred for divination, if she needs a break, etc..

— they both get jealous very easily

— they officially got together in hbp after the whole ron fiasco and then broke up in dh bc of the war and etc. they got together two years after the war when hermione couldn’t stop thinking about her and showed up at her doorstep and then lived happily ever after<33

[thedrarryobsessed]

Drarry Cat Cafe

One shot: Harry stops by the local Muggle coffee shop every day before he goes to the Ministry, where he heads the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Every day, that is, until one day it is shut down.

Three months later, the building opens again, but it's not an ordinary coffee shop anymore, it's a cat cafe. At Hermione's urging, Harry decides to drop in to see if she and Ron can bring Rose for a visit one day.

It's filled with rescued cats, fluffy Persians, a skinny little thing with an ear missing, a tabby that is trying to climb a mesh door, people laughing and talking...

And a familiar, pointed face. Pushing his chin length blonde hair behind his ear and setting up a new climbing frame, an employer's badge on his very simple, very Muggle t-shirt.

Harry freezes.

Draco Malfoy turns around, his composure slipping into a startled step backward.

They stand there, facing each other, for an awkward minute. Harry hasn't seen his ex-archnemesis since the hearing.

They don't have any longer to stare, though, because a black cat with a scratched up face runs up and claws its way up Malfoy's jeans. Jeans. Malfoy is wearing jeans.

And then Malfoy laughs. Picking up the cat, who has bright green eyes, and holding it at eye level. "Did Tumble steal your spot again, Scarhead?" he says lightly to the cat, before pausing and giving Harry a horrified look.

Scarhead.

"Is... is the cat... named after me?" Harry manages, unable to think of anything else to say.

Malfoy appraises him, and Harry feels more awkward than ever, until the former Slytherin relaxes and those thin lips pull into an all too familiar smirk. "Well, Potter," he drawls. "You can't deny the resemblance is uncanny." He holds out the cat - Scarhead, bloody hell - to Harry. "Would you like to carry him? He's a lazy fellow, doesn't enjoy walking around on his own."

"What?" Harry says eloquently.

"Scarhead the cat, Potter. Would you like to hold him?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I own this cafe."

"You own a cat cafe," Harry says dubiously.

"Our saviour's wit and perception is sharp as ever, as you can see, Scarhead," Malfoy says to the cat, who looks dolefully at Harry.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Draco, please," he says, all professional charm suddenly, grey eyes glinting like he knows exactly how strange he's being. "Welcome."

It felt like they were back at Hogwarts a few seconds ago, and now it's weird again. This is ridiculous. But this time, Malfoy's smirk, Draco's smirk, is more amused and less mocking.

"I have to go to work," Harry says, forgetting it's Sunday, and runs out of the cafe. He ignores the weird stares, they can all bugger off.

He thinks he can hear Draco's laughter follow him onto the pavement, and back to Grimmauld Place when he apparates.

[oxydiane]

Hermione cries when she finally moves out of Grimmauld Place, after the war, into her own home.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to find a new couple to cockblock.” she sobs and Harry’s eyebrows shot up as Ron groaned.

“What—“

“I have already told you this a million times! The beds are just too big! It’s totally platonic!”

“Uh, yeah, total friend cuddles,” Harry mutters quietly a ‘friend snogging, too, I guess’ but it goes unheard.

[cloudywerewolf]

[daantihero]

Headcanon: Personally, I don't headcanon Astoria being all sweet and dove-like innocent. Sure, she would be a decent and remarkable human being but I'd rather think of her being a no-nonsense and highly mature indivial without falling on the bossy pants and mom-like trope. Protective and fiercely loving only for those of her kin, like Daphne, then Draco and of course Scorpius.

[padfootastic]

my unpopular opinion is the whole ron weasley and weasley family bashing in the fandom is so wild to me??? with the same old argument about molly/ron/ginny stealing money from harry is so gross. i literally cannot stand that!! just because the weasleys are not rich and affluent does not mean they only care about harry for their money???! it all seems so classist and bigoted to me tbh. ron is my most favorite character and it personally offends me whenever someone bashes him unnecessarily, he's literally THE most nuanced and well rounded character in the entire hp series, more than snape, more than dumbledore, more than harry himself

ooooh this one is interesting!!

so, in the interest of fairness, i'm going with neutral on this bc ive def enjoyed my share of fics with all these tropes in it. it's pretty big in the indy!harry circles and i used to gobble those up like nobody's business.

but like, i do see where ur coming from too. from a canon perspective, yeah, i don’t think it has any basis, at all. i won’t ever argue that the weasleys were gold diggers or dumbledore was an evil overlord in disguise or wtv. and the way the weasleys are talked about in those specific circles are. well. let’s just say it’s not a space for people who like them lol

that being said, is it possible to take their actions and twist it that way? sure. u can do that with anyone for anything, really. and then it becomes a matter of how well it was written to convince me. purely headcanon territory and i’m ngl, it’s kind of fun to see how outlandish a theory can be lol

but honestly, end of the day, i sympathise with u friend! i can never ever touch a fic where james and sirius are demonised, and i absolutely hate how they’re conceptualised by most people so. i get it.

[carniferous]

marauders fans who REFUSE to read golden trio fics are kind of scary to me like. That much tragedy/tragic undertones cannot be good for you. you need some whimsy by god

[shiviswriting]

Dishes and decision making

First time posting in archive of our own makes me feel accomplished!

[uncertainwallflower]

So this is the opening paragraph to a very old WIP that I've never finished/published but kinda wanna get back into and start publishing...

[albondiguilla007]

sneak peak of this new fic I’m working on hehe:

She was wearing a pink t-shirt that hugged her shoulders tightly but didn’t quite cover her tanned stomach. Her jeans were looser than they’d should’ve been, and her wild hair and sunburned cheeks couldn’t hide the thinness of her face, but she was getting there.

We all were.

Sometimes, we would call her name and she’d look up almost frightened, lost in the memories of cold winter months and grim, bleary walks through the forest.

Those days she’d sneak into our rooms and without saying a word we’d push our beds together to lay down, hugging tightly. She’d pretend Ron and I weren’t coiled around each other before she even knocked, and Ron would pretend she didn’t sigh my name in her sleep as much as she sighed his.