#pov ron

[handledwithgloves]

‘an ode to ron weasley’ by hermione jean granger 🩷

[thatsoanjie]

When the wind settles

Sebastian Sallow x reader

Summary : After Ranrok was ended, a Goblin rebellion happened. This is 5 months after the rebellion, and everyone thought you were gone for good. Sebastian revisits Feldcroft in an attempt to find traces of you again, not knowing what's to come.

Word count : 1.5k

Notes : This one was a little heavier to write! Just had to get this one out of my mind.

TW : Mentions of su!c!dal ideation... read at your own discretion.

Read my disclaimer and fair use notice here

The ruins of Feldcroft lay still, a silent testament to the war that had ravaged the land. The village, once vibrant with life, was now a graveyard of memories, its cottages reduced to charred skeletons, its streets choked with debris. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and ashes, a grim reminder of all that had been lost. Snow had begun to fall again, soft and steady, as if the sky itself was mourning.

Sebastian Sallow stood in the center of what had once been his home, his heart as cold and lifeless as the stones scattered around him. It had been five months since the final battle of the Goblin Rebellion, five months since he had lost almost everything that mattered. Ominis and Anne were safe, and for that, he was grateful, but the knowledge did nothing to fill the void inside him.

Because you were gone.

The thought was a knife in his chest, a pain that had become as familiar as his own heartbeat. You had been his anchor, his hope, his everything. And now you were nothing more than a memory—a ghost that haunted his every waking moment. They had told him you were dead, that you had been lost in the chaos of the battle, your body never found. He had refused to believe it at first, had scoured the wreckage for any sign of you, but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the terrible truth had settled in.

You were gone. And there was nothing he could do to change that.

The guilt was a constant companion, a weight he could never shake. You had been the best of them, the light that had kept him going through the darkest times. And now that light was extinguished, leaving him to stumble through the shadows alone.

He had come back to Feldcroft because there was nowhere else to go. The world outside was trying to rebuild, to move on, but Sebastian was stuck in the past, trapped in a moment that he couldn’t escape. The ruins of Feldcroft were all that was left of his old life, a desolate reflection of the emptiness he carried inside him. 

He wandered through the village, his steps slow and heavy, his mind lost in the memories of what had once been. He could still see it, as if the echoes of the past were imprinted on the air—the laughter of children playing in the streets, the warm glow of lanterns in the windows, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the cottages. But those memories were like ghosts, insubstantial and fleeting, impossible to hold on to.

Just like you.

Sebastian’s breath hitched as he reached the edge of the village, where the land sloped down toward the river. This had been your favorite spot, the place where you had always come to find peace, to escape from the burdens of the world. He could almost see you there, standing by the water, your hair catching the light as you turned to smile at him.

But it was just a memory. Just another ghost.

He closed his eyes, the ache in his chest unbearable. He didn’t know how to keep going without you, didn’t want to keep going. The world was a darker place without you in it, and he was so tired of stumbling through the shadows, of trying to find his way in a world that no longer made sense.

But then, through the silence, he heard it—a sound so soft, so faint, that at first, he thought it was just the wind. But it came again, more distinct this time, a footstep crunching in the snow behind him.

His heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat. He turned slowly, afraid to look, afraid to hope. And then he saw you.

You were standing just a few feet away, your figure half-hidden by the falling snow, your eyes wide with shock and something else—something that mirrored the grief and yearning that had been eating away at him for so long.

For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, to reconcile the image of you standing before him with the brutal reality he had been living in. It couldn’t be real. You were gone. You were a ghost.

“Sebastian,” you whispered, your voice trembling as if you, too, were afraid that this was just a dream, that you might wake up at any moment and find yourself alone again.

He shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re not real,” he said, his voice breaking as he took a step back, his hands trembling at his sides. “You can’t be real.”

“Sebastian, it’s me,” you insisted, your voice thick with emotion as you took a step toward him, your hand reaching out as if to reassure him, to prove that you were real, that you were here.

He flinched, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at you, his mind screaming that this couldn’t be happening, that you were just a figment of his imagination, conjured by his grief and longing. “You’re dead,” he whispered, his voice raw with the pain that had been festering inside him for months. “They told me you were dead.”

“I almost was,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath. “I was hurt, Sebastian—badly. But I survived. I made it to one of the camps, and they healed me. After that, I helped wherever I could—healing, rebuilding, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. But my work there was done, I had nothing keeping me there. I had to find you.”

He stared at you, his heart breaking all over again at the sight of the tears in your eyes, the grief and love that shone in them. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. “I thought you were gone, and I didn’t know how to keep going without you.”

You took another step closer, your hand brushing against his arm, warm and solid and so achingly real. “I’m here now,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet, unshakable determination. “We’re both here, Sebastian. We survived.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight with the tears he had been holding back for so long. “It should’ve been me,” he choked out, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to suffer like that. I should’ve been the one to die, not you.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice laced with a fierce, desperate kind of love. “Don’t you ever say that, Sebastian. We both fought, we both survived. And now we’re here. Alive.”

He hesitated, his heart warring with his mind, his grief and guilt battling against the overwhelming relief of having you in his arms again. “I thought I’d lost you,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he finally let himself believe what he was seeing, let himself believe that you were really here, that this wasn’t just a cruel trick of his imagination.

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, your touch grounding him, anchoring him in the reality of the moment. “I’m right here,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the depth of your emotions. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you, Sebastian. Not now. Not ever.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. With a broken sob, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could, as if he could somehow make up for all the lost time, for all the moments he had thought he would never have with you again. You clung to him just as fiercely, your tears soaking into his shirt as you buried your face in his chest, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to steady yourself.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words spilling out of him in a rush, as if he had been holding them back for too long. “I love you. I should have told you before, but I was too scared, too afraid of what might happen. But I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “I always have, Sebastian. And I’m not going to let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, pouring all of his love, all of his grief, all of his yearning into that one kiss. It was a kiss filled with the promise of tomorrow, with the hope of a future that he had thought was lost. And as he held you in his arms, surrounded by the ruins of Feldcroft, the wind swirling around you like a shroud, he knew that he had found you again.

And that was enough.

***

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Requests are open.

[starlingflight]

Harry is Ron’s best mate. They’re inseparable. They’re practically brothers. So if Harry was seeing someone, Ron would definitely know about it.

Or so he thinks, until a game of truth or dare and a definitely-not-platonic text message suggest otherwise…

A/N thank you to @ginnyw-potter for her graphic design skills!

[lilithofpenandbook]

Can we talk about how Ron just saw Draco's son, just saw the child, and immediately told his daughter she had to beat him in everything?

He didn't even speak to him. Just straight up planted the competition in Rose. Why? Because it's Draco's son. That's it.

I mean, it kinda makes sense, when you consider how Malfoy was like during their time at school. It makes sense Ron automatically decides that his son's probably bad news too, based on that experience.

Now take that and put it to Snape. That's exactly how Snape reacted to Harry. He formed his opinion of him based on his experiences with James. James, who treated Snape much worse than Draco ever treated Harry or Ron.

But when Ron does it, it's okay.

And yes, I know Ron probably will never interact with the kid, but we know he's not gonna be as nice as he should because of Draco. If Ron can react this strongly to Draco's son, why is it wrong for Snape to react like that to James's son, when James was so much worse than Draco.

I just feel like if the story was told entirely from Snape's pov, more people would actually understand him. Because there's no way he wouldn't have been going through several different levels of hell just looking at Harry and having to see James Potter.

[remusawoooo]

one look under ronarry tag in tiktok and most comments are

"YES BEST FRIENDS"

"BROTHERS FOREVER"

"PLATONIC SOULMATES"

when the edit is clearly shipping them romantically

[the-ace-with-spades]

this is part two of this angsty post about Baby Bradley (you might wanna read it first, just to make sense of this part) - Slider POV

It’s late, too late, when he hears the front opening. He is instantly on alert — Shay’s been sleeping for two hours now, conked out by a whole day at work and cooking up a baby inside her — because it’s too late for visitors.

He almost hits Baby Goose with a baseball bat.

Bradley is taking his shoes off, the spare key they have in the flower pot at the front stairs lying near his backpack. His hands are covered in dirt and he’s looking at Ron with his doe eyes wide.

Everyone says he’s Goose’s mirror image but when he stands there, curly hair getting too long again and messy, with those innocent big eyes and head tilted back, all Ron sees is Carole.

It always makes him melt into a puddle, too.

“Do your folks know you’re here?” Ron will take the dead silence as a no. “How did you even get here?”

Bradley is allowed to take the bus on his own, now that they live in one, stable place and Mav had gone on the three major routes with him — the bus to school, to Ron and Sarah’s house, and to the base.

Ice still insists on driving him around everywhere, just because he is such a control freak.

Bradley’s voice is barely hearable and he isn’t meeting Ron’s eyes as he admits, “I walked.”

They don’t leave that far away — less than two miles — but an eleven-year-old should not be walking around alone on the streets past nine.

Ron takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to call Ice—”

“He’s at work,” Bradley interrupts, because of course he does — he always has an answer, growing into the mini Maverick that he is.

“Then I’ll call Mav,” Ron counters.

“He’s asleep.”

“Then you shoulda thought about that before you walked here at one in the morning,” Ron points out before he steps back into the kitchen to grab the phone off the wall.

Midway through the kitchen floor, still in the dark since he forgot to turn on the light, Ron feels a weight hanging onto his pajama sleeve. “Do you have to call him?”

“Buddy,” Ron says because he’s so weak against those big brown eyes but can’t just let Bradley get away with everything. What he did was dangerous. He could have gotten hit by a car, kidnapped, or lost, or—Ron doesn’t even want to think about all the things that could’ve happened.

“I promise I’ll go back home before Mav wakes up,” Bradley pleads.

That’s really not the problematic part in the whole situation. “And what about when Ice comes home and goes to check on you and you’re not there?”

Bradley turns his head away and mumbles under his breath, “He won’t.”

“He won’t what?”

“He won’t do that,” he says, eyes on the floor.

And Ron doesn’t know what it is but there’s just something in his voice, in the way it cracks despite being so quiet, and in his posture, the way he raises his shoulders like a guard — and it’s make something under skin crawl.

“Bradley, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, turning away from him.

Ron is weak. He is getting bigger and bigger but he is still so tiny it feels like Ron could fit him in the palms of his hands. He looks even smaller, now, coiled up against Ron’s leg like he wants to turn invisible.

“Okay, you can stay the night—”

“Really?”

Ron would scold himself for falling for it, again, but Bradley’s eyes, even with the excitement in his voice, don’t lose the sad tinge completely.

“But only on the condition that I’ll call Mav anyway and tell him where you are,” Ron says, kind of proud of himself for not giving in completely. “And you have to get up bright and early tomorrow—today, so we can take you to school on time.”

He waves his hand, just so those doe eyes go away before he caves in completely. 

“Go get your jammies and make those pearly whites—”

“You’re talking to me like I’m five again,” Bradley says and Ron holds back a smile.

“You gotta deal with it, kid,” he says, shushing him upstairs. “Go, I’ll call Mav.”

Ice’s house (and Mav’s, no that he’d call it that, ever, Maverick will never be his brother-in-law, even if they actually get married someday, he's going to be at best a menace-in-law) is on their speed dial as number one.

He’s expected to wait a few minutes on the line, until Mav wakes up and strides huffing and puffing into the kitchen to pick up the phone, but he barely gets the second tone and hears, “Hello?”

“Mav—”

“Slider, this isn’t a good time, Bradley is—”

“—here,” Ron finishes for him. “He’s here, Mav, showed up about ten minutes ago. Says he walked here.”

“What?” Mav spits out. “I was about to call the goddamn police! Ice, I was about to call Ice!”

Ron’ll never admit it but he agrees that Ice probably would throw a bigger manhunt than the police if he found out Bradley was missing.

“Look, he doesn’t want to go home—”

“Oh, hell no, he’s coming home now, I’m getting my keys—”

“I already promised him he can stay the night,” Ron cuts in, feeling a headache coming.

“You can’t promise him stuff like that!”

Ron might be a dad-to-be only, but he can understand why Mav is pissed off. He certainly would prefer if his kid that he thought was missing came back home so he could at least see that he is safe and in one piece and maybe so he can ground his ass but Bradley—there’s just something off.

“What, do you want me to send him home so he runs off again to some unknown place in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, he can try,” Mav says. “Even if he somehow managed to sneak out again, I’ll now know where he is. I’m going to take my chances.”

“I don’t think he’ll come back here again, not knowing I sold him out to you and let you take him back home,” Ron says. He can hear Mav groan into the phone in frustration and he gets it, he really does, but— “He looks upset, Mav, okay, I don’t know what happened but he wouldn’t have sneaked out on a whim, you know that.”

It takes him fifteen minutes and about a dozen promises to talk Mav into letting Bradley stay the night — he knows Mav probably won’t sleep a blink anyway — but finally, Ron settles on making them some tea so they can have a talk about safety and not giving his parents a heart attack.

And about whatever made Bradley act out like that.

He comes back downstairs and the ginger tea is already lukewarm enough to drink — they only have ginger tea now because Sarah is still nauseous despite being well out of the first trimester. Bradley sits down with him at the table, his Spiderman pajamas on, takes a sip and promptly grimaces.

“That’s yacky,” Bradley says.

“Believe me, I know, kid. It was two against one,” he says, feeling sleepy out of a sudden. “Your aunt would bite my head off if I said anything, anyway.”

Bradley still drinks more because he’s a good kid that never complains. Or maybe because he doesn’t want to talk to Ron.

“You want to tell me why you left home so late?” he prompts. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Bradley crosses his legs on the chair — Ice would’ve told him to sit properly but he’s not here so Ron lets it slide. Bradley shakes his head, wordlessly.

“Did you argue with Mav?” Ron tries again. Bradley looks away, at their fridge and the family photos and their collection of sonograms, and shakes his head, eyes not present. It scares the shit out of Ron. “Bud? Did someone say something? Do something, to you?”

“No,” he says, finally, barely hearable. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Ron weighs his options. Bradley's always been a kid with lots and lots of emotions but usually, he wouldn't mind displaying them raw — he could push but he isn't sure whether that would help or harm the situation more. He doesn't want to pressure him but he also doesn't want him to feel like he's alone with whatever made him act like this.

“You want to sleep in your room? Or do you wanna sleep with us, today?”

"Could I—" he begins and then closes his mouth. Ron lets him think through whatever is going over in his head, waiting, until Bradley asks quietly, "Could I sleep with you?"

"Of course you can," Ron says straight away, still feeling unsettled, like he's missing something. "Just try not to wake up your aunt, she's really grumpy in the morning lately. Don't tell her that I said that, either."

*

Bradley’s been—quiet.

The night visits became frequent. Frequent enough that after the fourth time Ice, like the insomniac he is, woke up and went to check on Bradley to find him missing, Mav and Ice bought him a bike. It was safer if he had lights and a helmet on, and the trip to Ron and Sarah’s house took him less time that way. It still isn’t safe but Bradley hasn’t even tried to wake any of them to take him to Ron in a car, like they promised they would, so any alternative was better.

Ron can’t exactly pinpoint what changed aside from how Bradley’s no longer bubbling a mile a minute and how he seems both clingy and unusually detached from them. He’s been staying vaguely around them but never close enough to touch, like he used to.

Today’s been especially strange. Bradley hasn’t even let Sarah cuddle with him after dinner. He helped her prepare the food, quiet and way too focused on tasks for the bouncy eleven-year-old he is, just asking her what to do next and not even humming along to the radio in the kitchen.

Ron, if this was any other kid, would say he is jittery about the parent-teacher meeting and what his folks would hear while talking to his teacher but in all honesty, Bradley doesn’t have anything to worry about — he has perfect grades, and aside from that fight he’d gotten into a couple weeks ago Ice and Mav already know about, he is a sweet, a bit shy kid who isn't much trouble.

Ice and Mav show up to pick him up at half-past eight. Sarah’s already gone for a nap that will turn into nine hours of sleep and Ron and Bradley are quietly sitting in the living room, each reading their own book. Their faces are turned into a grimace from the minute they step in to greet Ron and Mav is observing the kid like a hawk.

Bradley curls his legs closer and gives Ron a very short look, the big doe eyes telling Ron he is about to ask if he can stay the night. Ron shakes his head before he does it long enough he’ll give in.

“Go say bye to your aunt, buddy,” Ice tells Bradley which is a code for an adults-only conversation.

Ron doesn’t like it.

“She’s asleep,” Bradley points out.

It’s the truth, but Mav still hasn’t said anything, just staring at Bradley, so Ron says, “You can wake her up for a minute, she’ll probably want to know you’re going and will give you a kiss goodbye.”

Bradley hesitates, looking between Ron and Ice like they're tricking him into something. He and Sarah didn't have the greatest of starts — she moved to California not long after Carole got diagnosed and was the least familiar face during that hard time, often completely omitted when Bradley sought out adult comfort. It's been getting better and better the more time they spent together, and Bradley's been especially warming up since they told him about the baby — Sarah would talk to Bradley about the pregnancy often, explaining different things, taking him to shop for baby clothes, letting him think of baby names, letting him touch the baby bump. Ron has thought that maybe Bradley finally felt included enough by her to include her in his little trusted family.

Ron sometimes wonders if it's because Bradley knows he'd almost become his stepdad before he and Carole called it quits — they never told him they were together, tried to test it out before Bradley became attached but maybe they hadn't done a good job of it. Maybe when they broke up when it kept on feeling weird with Goose's memory still in both their heads, they should've explained it to him. Maybe he felt like Sarah took Ron away from him and his mom when he started dating her not long after she moved to San Diego.

"You go, bud, you're probably the only person that won't make her grumpy," Ron encourages.

Bradley jumps off the couch and meticulously puts his bookmark in his book and closes it, careful not to crease the pages or the spine — in a mirror image of Ice, because of course — and walks away to the corridor.

They listen until the bedroom door closes behind him, Ice picks up Bradley’s book and puts it in his jacket’s inside pocket, and Ron turns back to the adults-only conversation with a heavy heart. 

“He’s apparently been asking about adoption,” Maverick finally says, barely audible.

“I thought you already adopted him. The guardianship was switched to custody after a year, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, he, uhm—”

He doesn't continue and it's scaring the shit out of Ron. He looks like a wreck of a person.

“He’s been asking whether we can give him up,” Ice supplies, voice perfectly leveled, his hands tucked into his jean pockets. Just, expressionless, really.

“For adoption?” Ron asks. Ice nods. “Jesus Christ.”

Even with how withdrawn Bradley's been, he'd have never gone into that territory with his theories.

No wonder Bradley didn't want to say a goddamn word about what was bothering him.

Ice takes a deep breath and says, voice urgent, "Look, he comes to you a lot when he's upset, did he say anything? Anything that could explain where all those questions came from?"

“No,” he denies instantly. “Do you think someone at school could, you know, be a bit too nosy again?”

They had that problem before, in Lemoore, straight after Carole's death and before they moved, when some concerned parents had started asking too many questions about who Mav was and how he was managing Bradley's childcare and who was Ice and why was Ice so involved. It was the whole reason CPS has even bothered to look at Mav's custody agreement and put Bradley in foster care for so long.

“Bradley barely talks to the other kids, still, even if someone’s parents—” Mav stops and his gaze gets all wet and it doesn't go away even when Ice grips his hand. "I don't know."

"Come on, you know it's not—You're doing everything the right way, Mav, he's been through a lot but you could see he is dealing with it now and he's been happy, it's not—"

Ron doesn't know what he wants to say.

"Just talk to him," he says in the end. "He's your kid, just make sure he knows that."

When he looks at Ice, he doesn't know how to react — he's never seen him looking so lost.

"Where's he anyway? He should be back by now—" he grumbles. Maybe actually having Bradley within their range of sight, unharmed and present and not at some strangers house god knows where would make them feel better. "I'll go get him."

Ron walks to their bedroom like a robot, trying to school his expression by to calm so his helplessness doesn't show.

"Buddy, what's taking so long, did you fall asleep too—"

He stops talking at the view he gets when he opens the door — Bradley is curled up around Sarah’s baby bump, his hand under her t-shirt, and Sarah is dozing off again with her fingers in his curls, blinking sleepily at Ron.

"The baby is kicking," he says and he's whispering like anything louder would spook the baby into hiding again.

“I’ll come back in five minutes, buddy,” Ron says, keeping his voice low.

*

Ron's been baby-proofing the house for what feels like weeks now and Sarah is still insisting it's not enough, finding new boops and beeps to improve. And Ron loves her, really, but he also still works about fifty hours a week and the kid is not going to even be moving much for at least six or seven months after they pop out.

They're certainly not going to let the kid out alone on the terrace for longer than that, he's sure, but he's also sure if he told that he's nine months pregnant wife, he'd be sleeping on the couch. 

So he's modifying the terrace, so they have baby doors to the steps and the spaces in the little fence around the elevation is baby-proofed with a bouncy mesh net that their baby can smash their face all they want and not fall off.

It's almost eight already and Ron is still going at it, knowing he won't have the time later in the week but also running on about five hours of sleep, when he hears Bradley's bike rattle on the gravel on their driveway.

"Hey, kid," he says, not turning around from the task and trusting that Bradley is not going to run over Sarah's pansies again. Ron really doesn't want to find her planting new ones while nine months pregnant and he knows she would. "You here for anything in particular or just passing by?"

Bradley stops the bike, getting off and carefully avoiding the flower rows, thankfully. He is walking the thing now, to leave it next to their ugly garden shed.

"I was sick the whole week and now I don't understand my science homework," he tells him. "Mr. Kraig said I should come to the extra classes but we have a test before that."

Ron doesn't look from where he's measuring the stupid tiny fence. "Isn't this something you usually do with Mav and Ice?"

“I didn’t want to bother them.”

“So you thought you’d bother me?”

It’s just a joke — if Ron was a little less tired, he’d have remembered that Bradley’s already been feeling fragile around all the adults in his life and not having the greatest of times in general. He’d have been less snarky or maybe he’d have said nothing or maybe he’d prodded a little bit about why Bradley doesn’t want Ice’s or Mav’s help with homework anymore.

It’s just a joke but he doesn’t even manage to turn around and he hears the bike’s chain rattle as the kid starts biking off god knows where, not looking back.

“Bradley—”

He stands up to go over him but the stupid baby doors are in place and he trips when he tries to jump over them, knocking down the roll with the mesh net. It unrolls on the grass and by the time he's untangled from it all, he can't see Bradley on either end of the street.

"Sarah—" he calls out as soon as he's back in the house. "Call Ice and tell them to call us if Bradley turns up back home."

"What? Ronnie, where are you going?"

He's grabbing his car keys because like hell he's just going to sit and wait.

Bradley didn't say a single thing, just ran out. He's not coming back to them, he knows, and he's not sure how long it'll be before he caves in and goes back home.

He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it all.

He keeps on driving around in circles between theirs and Ice's house, looking out for Bradley's bike anywhere on the road, turning up back to check with Sarah that Ice hasn't called every twenty minutes or so.

It's getting dark when he notices Bradley's bike on Ice's porch.

"I'm going to call Sarah, tell her you're here already," Mav says and he dips into the kitchen.

Instantly, Ron's eyes search for Bradley and he's there, in one piece, in their living room, still getting scolded by Ice.

When he notices Ron and their eyes meet, he looks away, stepping to the side enough that he's well hidden behind Ice's legs.

Ice turns around. "Slider—"

Maybe he's too big, too old, for that, but never for Ron — he grabs Bradley under his arms and hugs him, one hand on his back, another under his thighs. It's as easy as it's always been despite what everyone says.

"Jesus Christ, kid," he blurts out. "You scared the living shit out of me."

"I’m sorry,” Bradley says and his voice is hoarse.

“No, I am sorry, kid,” he says, adjusting Bradley in his arms so he can flatten his cheek on Ron’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear, you’ll never — never, all right? — bother us, I just—It was a bad joke, okay?”

“I know,” Bradley mumbles into his collarbone. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, kid,” Ron insists.

He maneuvers him in his arms, detaches Bradley’s hands from around his shoulders so he looks at him and his eyes are shiny and red, and god, Ron just wants to take it all back, take it all away.

He doesn’t know what is going on with Bradley lately and he isn’t telling them but he wants them to have a safe place in them, he wants him to keep coming to them until he finally lets them help with whatever is happening.

“Promise me you know that, promise me you know you’ll never ever bother us, no matter what.”

Bradley doesn’t reply anything to that, instead saying, “Can you put me down? I’m not five.”

“Bradley,” Ice reprimands and Ron doesn’t care if he has a tone when he speaks to him, he just cares that—

“Promise me you know,” he repeats.

“I know, I promise,” he says.

He’s still not looking at him or at Ice, and he still seems so small, like he’s trying to take the least space he can, but he’s—he’s promising and Ron has to let go off him at some point, as heartbreaking as it feels.

He sets him back down on the carpet and Bradley curls into himself even more.

Ice opens his mouth, probably to continue the scolding and use Ron’s worry as a leverage, but Ron catches his eyes before he says anything. He shakes his head.

*

Juliette Nicole Kazansky Kerner was born on Friday, just a few minutes after three in the morning, after about twelve hours in labor and delivery.

They've decided early on that it was just going to be the three of them in the delivery suite and then for another twenty-four hours. Ron's mama was coming from Minnesota in about a week and that left just Ice and his little family.

They know the plan so they come in on Saturday, after breakfast, after Sarah slept off the exhaustion and is finally ready for visitors.

There are congratulations and hugs and then Julie crying and asking for food. There is the moment Maverick gets to hold her when she doesn't want to burp and gets her to do just so like it's the most natural thing and the moment after when Ice is looking at him with that smitten expression that Ron used to make fun of, before it became almost constant on him whenever Maverick is around.

There's a moment when finally, Bradley gets a very close look at Julie and stares at her with his mouth open and eyes wide and Sarah asks him, "Do you want to hold her?"

And then he's listening like his life depends on it when Sarah and Mav explain to him how to hold a baby and how he needs to be very careful with her head and not make too many movements not to drop her.

“She’s so tiny,” Bradley says and Ron is pretty sure he's repeated it at least three times now.

“That’s why you have to be really careful with her, buddy,” Ice says, adjusting Bradley's arm so it's holding their little Julie closer to Bradley's chest.

They're safely sitting in a big armchair with a pillow underneath just in case, but Bradley seems to have taken the cautions to heart and is holding Julie's limp head up and coconing her with his arms like it's a mission.

“She looked bigger in Aunt Sarah’s belly,” he says, still sounding awed.

Sarah laughs because truly, Bradley was the only one who could indirectly call her big and not unleash a hormonal wrath.

Maybe he said it too soon because Sarah starts crying instead, her lips are trembling when she looks at the two of them from where she's lying in bed still and next thing Ron knows, there's a waterfall.

She's smiling so he isn't too worried. He gets a whiplash because in less thirty seconds, Ice is crying to, still hovering over Bradley like the control freak he is, and if Ice is crying, that means Mav is not far behind.

Bradley lifts his head from where he was gazing at Julie and okay, Ron is a bit teary-eyed, too, by the time Bradley asks innocently, “Why is everyone crying?”

Those big doe eyes just make him weak. He's just praying he'll have more restraint with his own kids.

The nurse comes in to check on both Sarah and Julie, telling them she's probably going to be discharged tomorrow morning if their obs keep on being so good.

"We probably should grab something to eat," Ron supplies. "There's a buffet nearby."

Sarah had refused hospital food. And he's not going to be refusing her some good food when she's just popped a whole human into the world.

Bradley, realizing that standing up would mean letting go of Julie, asks, “Do I have to go with you?”

“No, but remember Mav is going to be picking your food if you stay and you know how he feels about vegetables,” Ice says.

“It’s fine,” Bradley decides and wow, the kid is really smitten, too. “Can I stay?”

They switch Bradley from the armchair to sitting next to Sarah in bed, just in case, and he's pouting the whole two minutes he doesn't have Julie in his arms.

"That was adorable," Ron says as soon as they leave the room. "I didn't think he'd take so well to her."

“I kinda wish we could have another kid just so he could be a big brother,” Mav says and he sounds like he's still melting inside.

“Yeah,” Ice agrees absently and he sounds so dreamy Ron snorts. “What?”

“Tom ‘I Don’t Like Kids’ Kazansky wanting more kids is never not going to be amusing,”

“It’s different when it’s your kids,” he protests, not ashamed at all.

And Slider supposes it is, at least for Ice because Ice is so good with Bradley, loves him so much, that he sometimes wonders if Ice's aversion to kids was just some way to protect him from heartbreak when having kids seemed impossible, given who Ice tended to love.

*

"Our three-month check up is on Friday, do you think you will be able to go with us? It's at six."

He's unpacking groceries in the kitchen, late after getting back from work, and Sarah is sitting in her rocking chair, nursing Julie for the last time before they put her to sleep for the night — she's going to wake up at least twice, but she seemed to have faded into tiredness as soon as Ron got to hold her for five minutes.

He's pretty sure he's only got paperwork to do on Friday so he should be fine, but—

“Thought it was going to be on Saturday?”

“Tom mentioned Bradley’s match is on Saturday, I thought you’d probably like to be there, too, so I made the switch,” Sarah says.

“He didn’t say anything about a match,” Ron notes. “Baby Goose, I mean.”

“We missed his last two so I thought we should probably start going to them again,” Sarah explains gently, her voice going quieter as Julie starts to fall asleep mid-feeding again. “He’s apparently banned Ice and Mav from coming because he’s embarrassed when they come, you know Tom is a bit of a soccer mom and—Ronnie?”

He—He feels it again, the feeling that something is wrong, but he can't really explain what is wrong with Bradley's behavior — kids do grow, get embarrassed by parents and uncles and want more independence. It just doesn't sit right with him.

“He didn’t tell me about his matches,” he realizes. It’s baseball season, it’s been for weeks. “He hasn’t slept over in four months, Shay.”

“He’s almost a teenager, he’s bound to start thinking you’re uncool,” Sarah says and it doesn't—

She isn't saying anything that doesn't ring true, Ron himself had those thoughts when he was much younger than Bradley. But it doesn't sit well with him. Bradley's been so off before Julie was born, for months, and now suddenly he seems to be not only fine, but fine without any of their support.

Sarah bumps Julie's nose, putting her shirt back over her arm and grabs the towel to put over her shoulder—

“At least you’ll have this one thinking you can save the world for a few more years," she says. "Can’t imagine how Mav and Ice are feeling right now.”

some people requested tagging so here you go hons: @callsign-hummingbird, @happypopcornprincess, @nearlynadin, @strangelove97, @pollyna, @heartthyshark

i know it's been a long time so let me know if you don't want me to tag you for the next part

[pockets-full-of-roses]

Small Touches of Affection

brief summary: ron weasley really likes when your hands touch his, such a warm feeling to remember

[i honestly don’t romanticize this boy, but i wanted to have something for him here! not my best work]

divider credits here !!

Ron Weasley was pretty overlooked by everyone. His family was too large for him to make his mark. His own friends overlooked his clever moments. Hell, his ex-girlfriend overlooked him too! All she wanted was a boyfriend. Not him.

You were his escape. You met him through your book buddy, Hermione. When you were in dire need of studying while Hermione was busy, Ron came to your aid.

He let you teach him everything and anything, from Care of Magical Creatures to Astronomy. It helped you out greatly. Your marks were higher than ever. So high your parents actually wrote you a letter to congratulate you. (I wish.)

It helped Ron out too. He liked the way you explained things, even if they didn’t make sense to others. He just liked the fact that you cared enough to do that for him.

Soon after exam season was over, the two of you would hang out constantly.

That made him begin to like you. Because he liked you, he wanted to feel your skin against his. He wanted to hold you close and never let you go.

It all started with a slight touch of the hand. While you were talking to him about your newest interest, he was building up the courage to graze his hand against yours while both of you were walking.

Ron’s breathing got heavier and heavier, his heart pounding out of his chest. You saw these, but decided it was nothing. He brushed his hand against yours.

He was scared of what you might’ve done or said. But all you did was look down, smile, and gently brush your hand back.

Ron realized he loved you a lot more than he thought at that point. He smiled back to you, motioning for you to continue.

He tried his luck again in the Great Hall, a much riskier place to touch you. You were seated at your designated table, eating peacefully with a couple selected people.

Ron took in a sharp breath, walking over to you.

“Hey..” he started in a quiet tone.

“Hey!” you replied, smiling your best smile at him.

His heart fluttered in his chest while his confidence grew and grew.

“Can I sit with you? Hermione and Harry are out doing Merlin knows what.”

You had laughed with a nod, patting the seat beside you. He had smiled proudly. Phase one, done.

“So what’s up?” Ron asked, waiting for your daily rant. He loved hearing you talk. He loved your voice.

While you started your rant, he moved his hand right beside yours. Slowly, he inched closer and closer. Then, without warning, he put his hand on top of yours.

Your words came to a complete stop. He looked anxious and was worried he took a step too far.

Before he could pull away, your fingers interlocked with his.

“I quite like this,” you muttered quietly.

“Me too,” Ron smiled with his reply.

It became a daily thing for you two to hold each other while you spoke.

Ron would hold your hands, while you, with a rather flushed face, would talk about all sorts of things. He’d respond, adding his own rant to you.

You loved each others’ voices. And that was enough.

all writing by pockets full of roses. please do not repost without permission. likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[tulipe-rose]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¶~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Promise.

Muichirou tokito x f!reader angst.

Tragic, seriously grab some tissues.

Time line -> post Swordsmith village arc

He ran into the estate, without a care to his surroundings. His mind was running a mile a minute, and his ears were ringing. His expression was fixed into one of panic, and hurt. He zoomed through the hallways, trying multiple doors. He had to get to you.

The moment Ginko came to him with news, he dropped everything to see you. She said you were in critical condition due to your latest mission, and that you might not make it.

He tried a few more doors, before stumbling upon a nurse, who told him that she was still in treatment, which took place in the ground floor, first door to the entrance. Not so much as sparing another glance, he bolted towards the stairs, frantically looking for the said description, before spotting the door and sliding it open, only to stare in horror, eyes as wide as his sword's hilt.

There you were, barely breathing, face contorted into a wince of great pain and anguish. You were placed on a stretcher, being attended to by the head of the estate herself, and a variety of helpers. The kakushi were trying to ward him away, as you were quite fragile, and teetering on the thin line of life and death. The head doctor was moving rather quickly, scattering commands and instructions left and right. She was sweating with worry, trying her best to save you. She wouldn't forgive herself if she didn't at least try.

Muichirou made it past the kakushi, kneeling down by your side, clutching your hand gently. He couldn't bear to see you like this, and hated how little he could do. He was on the verge of tears. He trusted the butterfly lady's capabilities, but his heart wouldn't rest.

You looked around, at all these sad expressions, they were all people you loved, and you couldn't bear to see them like that. You felt your end nearing, as much as you hated it, you were aware. You didn't like dying so young, you still had many things to try.... You had so many loved ones that you'd be too pained to leave, but it was too harsh to give them hope.

You slowly reached to Shinobu's trembling fingers, urging her to stop. She gave you a panicked and greatly irritated look, but before she could scold you, Muichirou overtook her, crying, begging, for you to let her continue, he tried to assure you this could be fixed, however before he could continue, you interrupted him, gazing deep into his eyes, tears flooding yours.

'' Please... Let me go... I can feel myself going numb. I'm dying. ''

'' No! Please, listen to me- ''

'' Mui... Stop. I love you... But there's no changing what is... ''

You smile solemnly, recognising his denial, and feeling Shinobu back at work. An idea pops into your hazy mind, and you decide to act on it.

'' How about this, Mui? I'll promise myself... to you as a bride, but in another lifetime... If you let me go in this one... And become the best person you could be... I'll let you take me as yours... ''

Your breathes were getting shorter and more shallow, your essence slowly fading.

'' No. I want you here with me! I don't even know if we'll ever cross paths in some supposed lifetime! ''

He was growing pale and desperate, grip tightening around your hand.

'' But... This... Is my last wish... Please... Promise?... I wouldn't want another... ''

You stick your pinky finger out towards him, before he hesitantly intertwines your fingers, tears falling harder than before.

'' This life is now complete... I hope... for the next... to be better... ''

You smile contently, before turning your gaze to look to your friend and comrade, flashing her one last smile, before all goes numb.

'' Shinobu... Take care of yourself and him for me, will ya? ''

Your finger falls from Muichirou's hold, and sad stillness befalls the room.

😁

[dramioneasks]

Curses and Compromise by ummltu83 - M, 30 chapters - In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy find themselves bound by personal curses that neither can break alone. Hermione, enduring relentless pain from her Mudblood scar, seeks Draco's assistance in breaking the curse with blood magic. Draco consents to offer his assistance on the condition that she grants him a year of her platonic companionship. Unbeknownst to Hermione, Draco harbours his own concealed affliction, a hidden torment that is slowly consuming him. Considering a year with the irksome man to be a manageable compromise, she agrees to the arrangement, little anticipating the burgeoning feelings that would arise.

Nuisances and Negotiations by ummltu83 - M, 22 chapters - In the sequel to 'Curses and Compromise', the once-controversial Malfoy family has now become a high-profile fixture in the public eye, their every move scrutinised by media and critics alike. Known for their outspoken views on social and political issues, the Malfoys have inadvertently made themselves the prime target for radical factions eager to silence their influential voices. Compounding their troubles, a new antagonist emerges who has personal vendettas against the Malfoys and their allies. As tensions rise, alliances are tested, and the family's unity is pushed to its limits.

Conversations and Revelations by ummltu83 - M, 10 chapters - They would spend their days immersed in reading, tending to the garden, and engaging in meaningful conversations and lively debates. Mornings began with a quiet ritual of tea and books, each absorbed in their own literary worlds before sharing insights over breakfast. Their afternoons were dedicated to tending the garden, enjoying the simple pleasure of working side by side in the fresh air. Evenings were reserved for deeper discussions, exploring a range of topics from pureblood philosophy to magical healing with arguments often centred around discussions of their favourite opinion columnist, Ursa Major (clearly a nom-de-plume), from The Discerning Digest. A further delve into Draco and Hermione’s conversations that occurred in the beginning of ‘Curses and Compromise’ when they slowly fell in love. This is a supplementary story with excerpts taken from the first story of the series. Feel free to read the full stories in Curses and Compromise and the sequel Nuisances and Negotiations. SPOILERS in this fic.

[jomiddlemarch]

they two play out the game 

“Be honest—”

“What do you want me to say, Hermione? That I fell in love with you at school, when you loathed me, when you loathed me because I made you feel that way because I couldn’t bear your pity or worse, being beneath your notice, a shrug of your shoulders, an eyeroll? That the Amortentia I brewed in Potions smelled like ink and rose geranium soap and the bloody catnip you must have grown for your Kneazle in the greenhouses because you never would have nicked it from Sprout? That I envied Weasley for his family loving him and welcoming you, when my father wanted you dead and my mother refused to remember your name?”

Draco paused, lifted a hand from where he’d been gripping the railing and loosened his tie. It was dark blue, because they were no longer children, defined by Houses. He wore his robes open, like an Oxford don, and she could see the suit he wore was Savile Row, not Wizard-tailored. His brogues were polished to a shine short of a House-elf’s efforts.

“Should I tell you I’ve dreamt of you for years, in that periwinkle petal dress and on my ballroom floor, screaming for mercy, and in bookshops, in teashops, in the pub, laughing, smiling at Potter and Longbottom, making a face when you take a sip of your bitter? In the Wizengamot, at my trial, like a Fury. At all the other trials, demolishing their smug assurance, making them cower, making them see? Do you want me to explain how I told Astoria we would marry but I’d never be able to love her and she told me she already knew it, that she understood everything and that if I didn’t mind too much, she supposed we’d do well enough together? You want to hear how when my son was born, I wanted to Owl you, before anyone else, even though you’d have been baffled to receive any message from me, would have probably thought it was a prank from George Weasley, an overture to return to the Weasley bosom after you and Ron ended it ostensibly amicably, except that you’d left England and hadn’t been back in six years for more than a fortnight?”

He took a step nearer and Hermione resisted the urge to fold her arms across her chest or draw her robes closer in some nonverbal attempt at protection. He’d grown taller after the War ended and she hadn’t, not a whit, probably stunted by the stress and starvation of the Horcrux hunt, but he was still a few steps below her on the stairs, so he continued to look up at her, a supplicant. He was still giving her that power, that dominance over him which she hadn’t believed when he’d offered it earlier in words alone.

“Shall I tell you how I followed your career, the papers you wrote, the conferences you attended, collecting clippings like a lovesick groupie with his favorite Quidditch team? How I heard your voice when I taught Scorpius his first spells? How I told him the brightest witch I’d ever known was Sorted into Gryffindor and he was confused because his mother had been a Ravenclaw? How my wife fell in love with my best friend and I didn’t care, or rather, I was happy for her because Theo loved her back and it was nothing for me to look away and let them have the time they could? How I thought if you knew, you’d perhaps admire me for once, for not being selfish, for making some sacrifice, except that you’d be wrong, it wasn’t a sacrifice at all, not when I cared about them both in one way and not at all in another? You want to hear how I thought I’d seen you—at the train station and in the City, in the Prophet, your hair braided, that streak of white like a halo, like a queen’s ivory filet, your eyes, sweet Nimue, your eyes, Hermione—”

“I’m not a saint,” she put in.

He climbed another stair and now he looked directly at her. She could rest her hands on his shoulders if she wanted. She could raise a hand and stroke his cheek, graze the steel temple of his spectacles, the silver hair at above his ears. 

“I know. And I know why you don’t wear a glamour or charm your hair the color it was when we were young. You want me to tell you how my wife died and I wanted you to comfort me? To come to her funeral and hold my hand, to wear the veil for her and to let me fold it back over your head to face the truth? How I wanted you in my bed, fresh from your bath, in a nightdress you’d let me ruck up to your waist, naked beneath me, your skin like silk, arching up into my hands, gasping, laughing when I accidentally tickled your waist. Crying out when you felt my mouth on your breasts, suckling, when you felt my cock hard between your thighs, when I begged you? When I told you to spread your legs, love, when I praised you for being so good, my beautiful, darling, delicious witch I wanted to fuck all night, that there was no one else, there never had been, there never would be, only you, my darling with your dark eyes and your brilliant mind and your magic, your heart, your cunt—You want me to say that I love you, that I’ve loved you to the best of my ability for the best part of my life and that I don’t want you to go, not now, not ever, but I know that’s not up to me?”

There was a slight flush in his cheeks, a gleam in his grey eyes that might be tears, but his voice was steady, restrained, and there was space between them yet that she knew he would not breach. She used the effort required to cast tandem wandless in a duel to the death, more than she’d used when she was eighteen and expected to save the world.

“If it’s the truth—” she said.

“It’s the truth,” he answered. “There’s more, I suppose, but it’s much the same.”

“Then it’s what I asked for,” she said. She closed her eyes for a moment, part of her sure he would not be there when she looked again, a dream, a vision she’d conjured, Nimue and Merlin both, trapped within her desires while the world lived and grew around her. She opened her eyes and there he was, waiting. There was a shadow in his gaze, the expectation of rejection, abandonment. He was not a man accustomed to hope. She’d asked, though, and he’d answered.

“I’ve learned, as I’ve grown older, that I can’t hope for the best. Settle for what I’m given. I must take what I want, with both hands,” she said and reached over, up a little, to cup his face with her palms, her fingers touching the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. He was very still, almost rigid, and she felt a frisson of fear, of being deceived, denied. 

“With both hands,” she repeated a little hesitantly. “Unless, you don’t, after all—Scorpius will not, and you have to put him first, of course—”

“I do,” Draco, beginning to smile. “And I was told not to come home without you, though Scorpius is willing to take my word for your arrival. He’s not waiting there for us.”

“No?” Hermione said, feeling terribly warm, terribly, wonderfully desired. Needed. Accepted.

“No, I shall have you all to myself,” he said. He finally put his arms around her, very carefully as they were still on a staircase and perhaps he was a little unsteady now. “D’you suppose, before we go, I might kiss you?”

“Here? Where anyone might see?” Hermione asked, though the hallway had been deserted for the past hour and the charm on the wall sconces needed to be recast. Though she had let herself look at his mouth, the curve of his lips. Let herself admit her own appetite had gone beyond any curious hunger, to craving, the sweet she had been forbidden for so long.

“Yes. Be honest, would that bother you?” he said.

“Do you think I will say it would? Do you expect me to tell you no when I’ve just said you’re what I want? All that I want?” she said, echoing him. Making him grin, a hint of the smirk she first remembered seeing on his face as a young boy, now subsumed into such tenderness she felt nearly overwhelmed.

“Is it the truth?” he said.

“Yes,” she said and then she didn’t say anything else because they were beyond needing any other word than “Home—” the Side-along as easy as a breath, as waking from a dream into the day.

They named their first daughter Verity, explaining it was a family name.

[honeydukesheroine]

Masterlist

Writings, author and fic recommendations

Multi-Chapter (WIP)

🏔️ The In-Betweens (6th Year)

Multiple POV (Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione). 115k+ words. Harry/Ginny. Ron/Hermione. Canon-compliant HBP missing moments, emotional landscaping, expansion on canon.

Short Fics

💫 One Shots

Missing Moments: The In-Betweens (6th Year): moments outside the main narrative Go With Grace: Ginny HBP/DH missing moment Holy Ground: Hinny, post-DH, Ginny's graduation Hush: Hinny, godfather!Harry

🍬 Microfics

Star: Hinny HBP missing moment Believe: Hinny HBP missing moment Secret: Ginny DH missing moment Stop: Ginny, motherhood Cheer: Potter family fluff Freeze: Potter family fluff

Inspirations and Fic Recs

🥂 Fic Authors & Artists That Inspire

FloreatCastullum GinFizz thegirlwhowrites642 GreenhouseThree Annerb blvnk

🌊 All Time Favorite Fics

Not From Others by FloreatCastullum Might Discuss the Match by FloreatCastullum Quidditch Is For Losers by GinFizz Ginny Weasley and the Half-Blood Prince by RRFang Orchards by Whinlatter Back to the Eclipse by thegirlwhowrites642 Twenty-Two Days by BrightlyBound

Thanks for reading! 🌤️

[thatsoanjie]

Beneath the shadows

Sebastian Sallow x reader

[spoilers, obviously]

Summary : Sebastian meets you for the first time, and invites you on a clandestine quest

Word count : ≈ 2 685

Notes : A differently developed version of Secrets of the Restricted Section. Flirty and SFW!

Read my disclaimer and fair use notice here

You were a mystery wrapped in layers of secrecy and quiet intensity.

You didn’t say much in class, always kept your head down, eyes fixed on your parchment, as if the very ink from your quill was more interesting than the people around you. But sometimes, a flicker of curiosity would break through that cool exterior, especially during Professor Garlick’s herbology lessons—something about the way you handled the venomous tentacula with such care made Sebastian’s mind wander.

He noticed you, of course. Who wouldn’t? There was something about the way you moved through Hogwarts, not fully a part of its chaos, yet not entirely separate from it. You seemed to glide through the castle’s halls like a ghost, seen but not often heard.

Sebastian didn’t intend to get close to you. He wasn’t the type to be drawn to quiet enigmas. No, he preferred the thrill of a good duel, the crack of spells meeting shields, the satisfaction of outsmarting his opponents. But you were different.

The first time your paths crossed properly was in Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Professor Hecat paired you for a duel. Sebastian had smirked, sizing you up. “Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome,” he’d said, a mix of challenge and anticipation in his voice.

You’d met his gaze with a steady calm, no trace of intimidation. The duel was fierce, the classroom alive with sparks of magic and the cheers of your classmates. But it was your skill, your precision, that caught him off guard. You weren’t just holding your own—you were matching him, step for step, spell for spell. By the end of it, he wasn’t sure if he’d won or simply survived.

From that moment on, something shifted. Sebastian found himself looking for you in the corridors, curious about the person who had met his challenge without flinching. He started noticing you in the library, tucked away in a corner, surrounded by books and parchment, your focus unbreakable. He wasn’t sure what it was that drew him in—maybe it was the way you seemed at home in the solitude that others might have found lonely, or maybe it was the memory of that duel, the way you’d met him head-on.

It wasn’t until one night, when the castle was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, that he finally approached you outside of class. You were by the Black Lake, your silhouette framed by the water’s shimmering reflection.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet of the night. You turned to him, surprised but not startled. There was a brief pause before you spoke.

“Sometimes the night is more comforting than the day,” you replied, your voice as soft as the breeze.

He moved to stand beside you, the two of you staring out at the lake in a silence that felt comfortable, unforced. There was no need for words; the connection between you was enough.

“I’ve noticed you,” he admitted after a while, his voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the moment. “In class, in the library... you’re always so focused, so determined. It’s... intriguing.”

You didn’t respond right away, and he wondered if he’d said too much, revealing more of himself than he intended. But then you looked at him, really looked at him, and there was something in your gaze that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t before.

“You’re not what I expected, Sebastian Sallow,” you said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But then, nothing at Hogwarts ever is.”

You can feel the weight of Sebastian’s gaze as you turn away, letting the stillness of the night settle between you. The moonlight reflects off the water, casting everything in a silvery glow, making the moment feel almost surreal.

“I’m not what you expected?” Sebastian’s voice breaks the quiet, a hint of curiosity laced with something else—something almost playful.

You glance at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “No, you’re not. But that’s not a bad thing.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Hogwarts has a way of surprising you, doesn’t it?”

You nod, the words resonating with you more than you care to admit. There’s something about this place, about the people you meet here, that feels like a constant shift between the known and the unknown. And Sebastian, with his sharp wit and even sharper dueling skills, is a part of that.

The conversation drifts, easy and light. It’s not until Sebastian’s expression turns thoughtful, almost serious, that you realize he’s been working up to something.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But it’s not exactly… well, let’s just say it’s not something we’re supposed to be doing.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what might that be?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “The Restricted Section of the library. I’ve got my reasons, but I could use some company.”

A thrill runs through you at the idea. The Restricted Section, filled with books and knowledge that most students can only dream about accessing. It’s dangerous, risky even, but you can’t deny the allure of it.

You remember a certain book professor Fig mentioned- could it be found in the Restricted section?

“How concerned should I be about the librarian?” you ask, trying to recall what she is like.

“Madam Scribner doesn’t take kindly to clandestine activities among her precious books,” Sebastian admits, the playful edge to his voice fading. “She and I have had our… entanglements, but I can hold my own against her. You, on the other hand, you may not be so lucky.”

You weigh the risks in your mind, but the curiosity, the need to obtain a certain book beyond those doors, is too strong to ignore. “All right,” you say, meeting his gaze with a determined nod. “I’ll help you.”

“Good,” he says, his grin returning. “Then meet me by the library tomorrow night. We’ll go after curfew when the castle is quiet.”

·····

When you arrive at the library, Sebastian is already there, his eyes flicking toward the door to the Restricted Section. “See that?” he says, pointing. “That’s the door we need to reach, and those annoying prefects would love nothing more than to rat us out to Scribner. So don’t let them see us.”

“Understood,” you start, your voice hushed but steady. “I can be sneaky. Let’s go.”

Sebastian chuckles softly, grabbing a hold of your arm with equal gentleness, pulling you back from the prefect’s sight. “Hold on now, there’s a spell you should know. The Disillusionment Charm—it’s good for getting into places you’re not supposed to be. Cast it, and you’ll appear as little more than a trick of the light, just as long as you keep your distance and stay quiet.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You mean I’ll actually be able to turn invisible?”

“Something like that,” he says with a smirk. “It’s not as foolproof as a cloak, but those are expensive… and spells? Spells are free. Give it a try.”

You nod, concentrating as you cast the Disillusionment Charm. The sensation is strange, like a ripple spreading across your skin, but when you look down, you see nothing but the faint shimmer of the air around you.

“Not bad,” Sebastian whispers approvingly. “Let’s move.”

“Wait, one last thing,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you point your wand toward the prefects patrolling ahead. With a quick flick, you mutter, “Confundus.”

The spell hits its mark, and you watch as the prefects glance around, confusion clouding their faces. 

Sebastian, standing close beside you, whispers, “Where’d you learn that one? Students don’t usually pick up Confundus until a month before the O.W.L.s.”

You smirk, knowing he can’t see it. “Oh, and you would know?”

“Of course,” he replies, you could hear his smirk as he spoke. “But my question was about you.” 

You turn towards him. “Let’s just say I have a talent for picking up things early.”

“Clearly,” he murmurs, lingering beside you just a moment longer than necessary. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You shrug. “I guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Oh, I fully intend to.”

The two of you sneak into the library, the darkness enveloping you like a protective cloak. But then, as you approach the Restricted Section, Sebastian curses under his breath. “Blast, the librarian’s still here. Quick, behind the bookcase.”

You dart behind the nearest shelf, your heart pounding. You both drop the charm. His cheeks are flushed. “You told me the librarian would be gone by now!” you whisper pointedly.

“I said usually,” he retorts, a hint of tension creeping into his voice. “But it’ll still be all right. Do you see her desk behind me? The key is in the drawer of that desk. Now, here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll create a distraction to draw her away, and you focus on getting the key. I’ll meet you outside the Restricted Section.”

“You distract, I get the key. Understood.”

Sebastian gives you a confident nod. “I said I’d get you in, and I always keep my word. Trust me.”

With a quick glance to make sure the coast is clear, you slip around the bookcase, keeping low as you inch toward the librarian’s desk. You’re hyper-aware of every sound, every creak of the old wooden floors, but you manage to reach the desk without drawing attention. As you carefully open the drawer, your fingers close around the cold metal of the key.

You don’t have time to feel triumphant; you quickly retreat to the safety of the shadows, the key clutched tightly in your hand. Sebastian is already waiting for you, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Nicely done,” he murmurs as you hand him the key. “Let’s get inside before she comes back.”

You slip into the Restricted Section, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and forgotten secrets. Shelves loom around you, filled with ancient tomes that seem to whisper as you pass. You can’t help but feel a shiver of excitement at the forbidden knowledge within your reach.

But as you approach one particularly enticing book, its cover adorned with an emerald jewel, Sebastian’s voice stops you. “Oh, that one’s charmed to look more useful than it is. Fooled me twice. Never judge a tome by its cover, I say.”

You nod, moving past the book as the two of you continue deeper into the section. The eerie glow of ghostly figures catches your eye—Victorian-era spirits gliding silently through the aisles.

“Ghosts,” Sebastian warns, his voice low. “Don’t let them see you.”

You manage to avoid their gaze, slipping further into the shadows until you reach the lower levels of the Restricted section.

As you turn to head back, Sebastian drops his Disillusionment Charm, gesturing for you to do the same. “We should be in the clear now,” he says, his voice returning to its usual casual tone. “No need for us to be skulking about.”

You dispel the charm once more, the cool air of the library brushing against your skin as you reappear beside him. “So, what is it you’ve been looking for?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Sebastian hesitates for a moment, his expression darkening. “I’m looking for a cure,” he finally admits, his voice softer. “For my sister, Anne. She’s been… well, Merlin knows everyone else has given up.”

A pang of sympathy shoots through you. “Why do you think we’ll find a cure in the Restricted Section? Hasn’t the Hogwarts matron helped?”

“We’ve tried everyone—from Nurse Blaine to St. Mungo’s,” he says, a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice. “But I can research on my own. No need to concern yourself with that right now. Let’s focus on what you’re after… which is what, precisely?”

You hesitate, not quite ready to reveal your own secrets. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’re being awfully cryptic.”

Before you can respond, a familiar, mischievous voice echoes through the Restricted Section. “Sebastian Sallow and his new little friend! Out exploring where they shouldn’t be! Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty!”

Peeves.

The poltergeist swoops down, cackling with glee as he threatens to expose you both.

“Don’t you dare,” Sebastian hisses, but Peeves only grins wider.

“I’m going to tell, I’m going to tell!” Peeves sings, darting off toward the librarian.

You grab Sebastian’s arm, panic rising. “Wait! I don’t want you getting into trouble for me.”

Sebastian shakes his head, determination hardening his features. “I have a way with the faculty when it comes to disciplinary matters,” he says with a small smirk. “Besides, I like having friends who are in my debt. Now go! Good luck in your search.”

With a final nod, you slip back into the shadows, making your way out of the Restricted Section as Sebastian confronts Peeves. You can hear his voice in the distance, cool and confident, as he weaves a tale to Madam Scribner.

When you finally make your way back to the main portion of the library, the book safely hidden in your bag, you find Madam Scribner and Sebastian locked in a tense conversation.

“Sebastian! Sneaking into the Restricted Section again?” Madam Scribner’s voice is stern, her expression disapproving. “I had thought we were through with this mischief. Clearly, detentions are insufficient. I’m afraid I must take this to the Headmaster.”

“But—” Sebastian starts, but she cuts him off.

“That being said, Peeves informs me that you didn’t come alone tonight. If someone has coerced you, I would have you tell me. You’re a bright boy, don’t waste this.”

Sebastian glances your way for the briefest moment, but when he speaks, his voice is resolute. “There was nobody else. I came alone.”

Madam Scribner sighs, her disappointment palpable. “Oh, Sebastian, what will your uncle say?”

You slip away before she can spot you, your heart pounding with the narrowness of your escape. But as you head back to your dormitory, you can’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. Gratitude, certainly, but something deeper too—a sense that whatever connection you and Sebastian share has only grown stronger in the shadows of that forbidden library.

Later that night, back in the quiet of your dormitory, you can't shake the thought of what happened in the library. The way Sebastian covered for you, taking the blame without hesitation—it gnaws at you. The least you can do is check on him.

You sit at your desk, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the parchment as you dip your quill in ink. The words come easily, your concern for him spilling onto the page.

Sebastian,

I wanted to make sure everything’s all right. You didn’t have to take the blame back there—I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble. Let me know if you’re okay.

You tie the note to your owl’s leg and send it off, watching as it disappears into the night.

It’s not long before there’s a soft hoot at your window. Your owl returns, a letter clutched in its beak. You untie it, your heart quickening slightly as you recognize Sebastian’s handwriting.

---

Well, well,

Got your letter—nice to know you’re worried about me. I’m fine, really. Scribner gave me a good scolding, but nothing I can’t handle. I did tell you I have a way with the faculty, didn’t I?

But if you’re feeling guilty, I wouldn’t mind if you made it up to me. Maybe a walk by the lake again? This time, I promise not to drag you into any restricted areas… unless, of course, you ask nicely.

Looking forward to hearing from you, Sebastian

***

Thank you for reading! I felt like the whole quest needed a better ending to it hehe

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

a small piece of a bigger whole:

“You haven't hexed him yet?” Hermione stared at him in disbelief. “Harry, that is literally the bare minimum!”

“Well, what do you expect me to do, Hermione?!” She flinched back, and he paused, catching himself. He lowered his voice, “This isn’t just any person. It’s him. It’s Voldemort.”

It was hard to argue that, Hermione frowned. But not impossible. And she was determined. “He will be Voldemort. Not yet. We have time—and he’s so different. So… human.”

Harry’s face crumpled, scrunching into itself like he’d just taken the most painful blow - it was such a terribly sad look on him. “You don’t think I see that?” He asked, but Hermione swore he nearly begged.

The silence that overtook them then was something wholly unexpected, unfamiliar—and she had no idea what to do with it.

They hadn’t had a moment this tense since they were children, just getting to know each other and still testing how delicate the ties of their friendship were. Still learning that not all relationships came ready forged in goblin-made silver - no, but a steady hand and a blaze strong enough could certainly do the trick.

They definitely hadn’t had a moment like this since the start of their Horcrux hunting. At what point are bonds finally unshakeable, if not after that?

How could she reassure him? It was rare for her to be confronted with a problem and have no idea how to fix it. Especially when it should have been easy—an open note exam. Hermione wasn’t blind to what had been happening since they arrived here, and she wanted to tell Harry that it was alright. That anything he decided wouldn’t be held against him, even if he want to befr—

But Harry sighed again, and just like that, the feeling passed. And her chance with it. “He’s already hurt so many. He’s killed Myrtle, Hermione… his family…”

From anyone else, Hermione would have heard the plea in his voice as what any sane person should hear - a yearning for her to come to her senses. After all, Voldemort was Tom Riddle’s past, present, and future.

But she knew Harry better than anyone. Sometimes even better than Ron did.

So she heard deep behind his hushed whisper, the loudest shout. Harry’s voice almost rang in her ears, asking - Is there still hope? After all he’s already done, can he be stopped?

Can he be saved?

Hermione didn’t know. But if anyone could save Voldemort—

[zeb-z]

The thing about Forever and Bad is that they don't know how to deescalate, and they start at 100 straight from 0 every time with each other. They will spend hours arguing about semantics that don't matter. They will go to the extreme ends of pranks (which as fun as the audio remixes were, spending hours trying to find the source was literal hell genuine psychological torment). They will go for the throat just to antagonize the other.

So no, I don't think Forever knows a thing about Dapper or the other eggs whereabouts. He just knows better about the way Bad operates, the way he lies and deflects. He's familiar with his crafty words and how he turns a conversation on its head. He knows that what Bad is being accused of is entirely likely, that he is not who he usually is when the eggs are around. And he knows that Dapper, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is who Bad cares for most of all.

This isn't something he can argue hours about, to chip away little by little like he usually does. For both the safety of the worker, because the longer they're locked up surely the worse off they'll be - and for the safety of Bad, who if he wasn't under extreme watch by the Federation, he certainly is now, after Tubbo very loudly accused him in his Federation office.

He goes for the throat, immediately playing a trump card that he knows Bad won't just brush off or ignore, because as much as Bad can be unpredictable, Forever knows that Bad cares about the eggs as much as he does. As questionable as his morals are, as slippery as he can be to pin down, Bad has always placed the eggs as the highest priority - and he needs Bad to have no choice but to be honest, or to knock him off guard enough that he'll give him something to work with.

Is it fair? Maybe not. But when has Bad ever played fair with him?

[spacewinter]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Top Gun (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw/Ron "Slider" Kerner, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Characters: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Sarah Kazansky, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Ron "Slider" Kerner, Mike "Viper" Metcalf Additional Tags: Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Second Chances, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dorks in Love, POV Outsider, Banter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Developing Relationship Summary:

Maverick knows he and Iceman missed their chance. Too scared, too hesitant, they're left to pick up the pieces of their love. And then Tom dies, and something in Pete dies to. It's no brainer to sacrifice himself for Bradley, at peace with joining his best friend and the love of his life in the afterlife

Only he wakes up somewhere else. Sometime else, actually. Is he alone?

As time goes by, those around him have to scramble to figure out exactly what changed.

 or icemav time travel au with reunions and second chances and mav not being alone. now with sloose second chapter with outside pov of time travellers!

[bluebugsy]

We finally hit 100k words 🎉

Now we just have to get to the ending ☠️☠️☠️