#slytherin ron weasley | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lazuli-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Son

summary: Molly blames herself for what has happened to her son.

pairing: none

genre/warnings: angst / supposed-major character death / flashbacks pertaining to disownment, disavowal & angry parents / mentions of parents hitting their child / parent mourning the supposed loss of their child

estimated word count: 5200 words

a/n: Hi there, I’m glad I’m at a point where I feel comfortable in reuploadi g my fics here again. This is part 1 of a series so please check out my masterlist for more if you wish. Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

Molly gripped the wand closer to her chest. A cacophony of thoughts ensnaring her mind as she fell to her knees, sobbing, her heart shattering over and over and over again.

Her son. Her youngest son. Her baby boy.

Butchered by the vile and depraved witch of Bellatrix Lestrange. Right before the eyes of two of his brothers. There was nothing left of her son, other than a crater and Ron’s fir wood wand.

No formation of words could describe the pain she felt. No amount of tears could show just how bad it hurt. And no amount of blood she could take, could possibly be enough to sate Molly’s heart.

Her baby boy, her Ronnie, was gone.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Her son was gone, and she could only blame herself.

Molly could only sit there, wailing. Gripping the wooden prize close to her chest as she bared her soul out to the world, mourning the death of her Ronnie. Her thoughts traveling, replaying all of the moments she shared with her son—more importantly, the moments she would regret the most concerning her baby boy.

She didn’t register Fred’s sobs or the way he was gasping out his apologies for not saving his youngest brother.

She paid no mind to the way Percy was shaking almost uncontrollably due to the strength of his crying.

She couldn’t even notice the way Arthur seemed to collapse in on himself. His own pain and culpability eating away at him like a parasite.

Molly was too consumed to watch how one by one—and with the arrival of Bill, Fleur and Charlie—her family caved in on themselves at the news of her sixth son’s demise.

She was just too busy feeling guilty.

Guilt consumed her as she thought of all the ways she failed as a mother.

How many times did she force him away?

Why wasn’t she there to save him from that wretched monster? What was so wrong with her as a mother that she couldn’t help her own child in their greatest hour of need?

•••

There was a time when Ron was only seven. He seemed so happy one morning. But now, all Molly could see in that memory of how she had dismissed him so easily.

“Mummy, wanna play with me?” A seven year old Ron asked, holding his chessboard—courtesy of Arthur’s father, Septimus Weasley.

Molly didn’t even spare him a second glance before returning her eyes to Ginny. The two witches sat on the dining table, the younger learning to play gobstones.

“Sorry Ronnie, but I already promised Ginny I would play with her.” Molly said, laughing out with Ginny as her daughter finally managed to knock the gobstone from the center.

“Could I play with Ginny and you too?” Ron asked lightly, still holding that beautiful smile of his.

“Sorry sweetie, go find your brothers maybe.”

And he was off, and out of Molly’s hair.

Why did she do that? How could she dismiss her baby boy as if he was nothing more than a nuisance?! How could she do that to him!

•••

There was that time she had found out about Ron’s sorting via the twins. And in her shock, she was speechless.

Even after receiving two pleading letters from her baby boy himself. She still was quiet. Molly was too far in her own head to realize that two months had passed before she ever sent a response.

Dear Ronald, I hope all is well and that you are safe throughout your time in school. I apologize for the late response, but I needed some time to recuperate from the news of your sorting. Slytherin. My son, alone in the house of snakes. I will not lie to you and say that I am proud of your sorting. I am not. I am afraid. I am frustrated. I am lost. Are you well there? Are you being bullied? Why did the sorting hat believe you belonged there? What morals did the hat say you have? Did I fail you as a mother? Did me and your father falter in our love for you? I just don’t understand how this is possible, Ronald. Please know that me and your father do still love you with all our hearts, but understand that we are going to talk about this in depth the next time we meet. Your mother, Molly Weasley

It only took her four years to see the fruition of this labor, in how Ron easily found comfort in Gianna Greengrass’ arms. Molly at the time didn’t know what it could have been at the time.

Why was her son so close to his friend’s mother? Why did this other woman dare to call Ron one of her own? Ronnie is her’s… not this stranger’s!

Yet now, Molly knew she was wrong once again. She had thought initially that Ron sought out the materialistic gains Gianna Greengrass could provide that Molly never could. But no… Ron isn’t materialistic. He never has… never was like that. He instead found a mother’s attention, something that he had craved… needed all his life. The attention Molly never gave him.

•••

And then there was when he had formally introduced Daphne—the girl who had stolen his heart—to the rest of the family. Ginny, the twins and Percy had already held their own opinions on the girl who had captured her baby boy’s heart. And though Percy regarded the girl as fierce and loyal, the twins and Ginny had other views.

“She’s as much of a snake as any other mum!”

“She’s so rude to us every time we try to talk to Ron and she’s there.”

“He doesn’t even stop her either! She’s truly mental mum.”

It was comments like this that set the foundation of how Molly viewed the Greengrass girl. Her mind at the time could only center around exactly how this… this… enchantress bewitched her son. Her kind and sweet baby boy. How could he have latched himself to someone apparently so demeaning?

“Thank you so much for supper Mrs. Weasley, it seems Ron was correct in his assessment of you being a goddess in the kitchen.” Daphne announced kindly, honest brown orbs following Molly’s own hazel eyes.

Molly could barely manage a genuine smile to grace her face. Her mind swarmed with less than kind thoughts every time she saw the Greengrass girl graze or touch Ron’s hand or shoulder, or when Ron would whisper in her ear before cracking an adorable grin as she laughed, or every time she saw Fred roll his eyes, George grimace or Ginny glare any time the young couple conversed. It was a true wonder dinner hadn’t been disturbed by her children’s typical quarreling.

“Thank you Daphne, Ron was indeed correct on that part.” Arthur’s cool voice sounded out, cutting off any potential witty comments the twins had prepared. Thank the gods above for Arthur.

“Yeah mum, thanks for dinner! It’s always amazing every time you’re in the kitchen!”

Ron’s cheery voice brought a true smile to the matriarch’s face as she prepared to fret over her sweet baby boy, only to have Ginny, sitting beside Ron, retort first.

“Of course it’s amazing, why wouldn’t it be?”

The ice and malice in the short quip could be felt leagues away, and all it brought about was Ron losing his smile and glancing at his little sister in annoyance.

“What are you on about?” Ginny sneered at Ron’s words. And Molly could only sigh in exhaustion, clearly seeing where exactly this was going.

And apparently, so did the twins.

“Why nothing ickle ronniekins”

“Nothing at all”

“Just a genuine question that’s all”

“From our lovely little sister”

“Nothing too bad, am I right Georgie?”

“Right, you are Freddie.”

Ron could only glare across the tables at the duo, the twins sporting smirks, as Ginny maintained a side-eyed glare towards Daphne and Ron.

Again, Molly gathered her thoughts, with every intention of cutting off any argument to come, and once again, she was just a second too late.

“Must you always antagonize your brother?”

Silence reigned supreme amongst those at the dinner table for a good minute. Everyone, digesting Daphne’s blunt words as both teenage witches stared in a severe contest of wills.

Molly was speechless and yet her mind ran rampant. How did it come to this? It was supposed to be a sweet dinner for this Yule break. Was this the side of Daphne that Ginny and twins were talking about? She had hoped it wouldn’t be true?

“Uh… I think that this has been a long night… best to-“ Arthur began before being interrupted by his enraged daughter.

“What’s your problem Greengrass!? Can’t go a single day without reminding everyone of your self-righteousness!”

Daphne’s severe look broke into one of confused shock, clearly bewildered in comparison to both Ginny’s glare and words, “What are you talking-“

“You think you’re better than us! Always flaunting your better manners and your daddy’s money, it’s all your fault Ron’s become a bloody prat!”

Molly gasped, barely muttering out “language” at her daughter's crude words before Ron turned on to his sister.

“Cut it out Ginny! You’ve been nothing but a crazy bint ever since you met Daph-“

Molly didn’t hesitate to defend her only girl.

“Ronald, stop yelling at your sister! Must you be so crass?!”

And somehow, someway, that line alone set the fire off in her youngest son’s eyes and heart. Looking back, Molly couldn’t really remember how exactly the argument traveled from the dining table, to the living room. But after constant screams of unnecessary wrath, Ron and Molly stood face to face, voices roaring, spitting venom towards one another.

At the time, Molly’s internal fire only seemed to be fueled at the thought of her son being nothing but disrespectful. Yelling at his sister, and later the twins that night. Shrugging off Arthur’s comforting and peacemaking attempts, ignoring Molly’s own shouts in favor of escorting Daphne out for the floo, that was the last straw for the elder witch.

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! You stop ignoring me this instant!!”

“Or what?!”

“How DARE you?!”

Mother and son both held faces as red as their hair, eyes burning, hearts roaring with wrath.

“WHY ARE YOU BEING SO DISRESPECTFUL! YOU WANTED THIS DINNER AND YET YOU GO AROUND SCREAMING AT YOUR SIBLINGS AND YOUR OWN PARENTS!”

“I WASN’T THE ONE THROWING RUDE REMARKS ABOUT MY GUEST AT EVERY CHANCE POSSIBLE!”

“AND THAT SOMEHOW EXCUSES YOUR HORRID BEHAVIOR RIGHT NOW!?”

“AS IF I’M BEING MORE HORRIBLE THAN THEY WERE NOT EVEN TWENTY MINUTES AGO!”

Molly took a breath, fighting to maintain the growing eruption that she knew was brewing beneath her already infuriated stance. The infamous Prewett temper exuded itself in totality from both mother and son.

Molly took another breath. Her voice restraining the lashing it had initially intended to unleash.

“Ronald… I will not tolerate anymore of this behavior. Please escort Daphne back to the fireplace and then go straight to your room”

Ron didn’t even have the chance to intrude on his mother’s fierce command.

“Me and your father will speak to your siblings and then we will be upstairs to talk to you”

She ignored the way his narrowed eyes seemed to challenge her own, almost daring her to strike, to give him casus belli. As unnerving as it was, Molly persisted.

“A conversation concerning your behavior is long overdue Ronald. As long as you remain under this roof, you will retain the respect your father and I taught you to carry yourself with. I am your mother Ronald, and you will do as I say.”

Molly could feel the brief sigh of relief come from Arthur as the smallest of smiles graced his lips, probably glad that Molly had diffused the situation all on her own. The couple however seemed to completely forget about their youngest son—who seemed ready to burst in pure fury. The older witch didn’t think her son could possibly say anything that would conflict with her own final demands.

And yet he did.

And the verbal flogging, the seven words that seemed to spill from her baby boy’s mouth was the final straw. Seven words that broke any restraint Molly had retained only seconds ago.

“Some mother you are, aren’t you mum?”

Time froze for the smallest fraction, and Molly didn’t even register how far and how fast her rage had carried her, but after blinking she had realized that the back of her hand stung viciously. And stumbling back before her was her youngest son.

Grasping at his cheek, eyes stinging with tears, Molly’s breath hitched. She struck him. She hit her own child.

Molly didn’t have time to apologize. She didn’t register the way Ginny and Daphne had shrieked, or the way the twins stood frozen and silent or how Arthur had screamed in shock. She didn’t even have the chance to even move out of the culpable stupor she was in before Ron moved away. Roughly scraping away tears, and the traces of blood from the tiny scratch that now marred his cheek, Ron tugged Daphne away before heading to the floo.

Her mouth ran as fast as her feet after her son. Apologies spilling, Arthur in a similar state, with frustrated pleas for peace coming from his lips.

But her fierce, strong, proud and hurt baby boy left, gone in a flash of green fire along with Daphne. Away from her. From his own mother, who hurt him.

•••

And the worst of it was seen on that disastrous night. That horrible night.

It was supposed to be a peaceful summer hols, Molly and Ron and had made up from their fight back in December. The twins had already left the Burrow to start their shop in London, Ron was entering his sixth year and Ginny her fifth. The only worry on her mind was whether or not Percy was alright, but she had faith in her boy’s strength and tenacity.

Though she would be lying if she still didn’t worry about him every single hour of every passing day. The war had begun in earnest not long after Ginny, Harry and their friends exposed Voldemort to the world. And now she could only hope they would leave her family untouched just a little longer.

But the expected calm shattered when Ginny screamed. Fear held Molly hostage as she bolted into action, racing down the stairs of her home, hoping to any and all higher beings that no monsters had come to her home, for her family.

Imagine her utter disbelief when she had discovered that the monster wasn’t some bigoted pure-blood looking to kill some blood traitors. But rather her own son, who’s eyes were shining with tears, trying to hide the wretched black marks gracing his left forearms. Molly kept herself frozen in utter shock, incredulity, rage and despair.

Ronald had the mark. The dark mark.

The proof laid bare for Ginny, Arthur and Molly, as they stood across from the sixth Weasley boy. Ron was shaking, shivering in fear, silent tears spilling out from his eyes as they graced the floor rather than his own family. And whilst Molly once again was left speechless, her daughter and husband were not.

Ginny raged with both fury and hurt. Hundreds of ‘How could you?’ And words like ‘traitor’ or ‘snake’ spilling out from her mouth. Molly’s eyes moistened as she watched her daughter scream at her ever so silent brother. And the elder witch couldn’t help but silently agree.

How could her own flesh and blood do this? Did she not raise him right? Did he really have no care for others? Was he truly a monster all this time? So many had died fighting to protect the chance for a world of peace and equity, her own brothers Fabian and Gideon, everything they fought for… how could her own child spit on this dream? She didn’t raise her children to be this way. If that was true, then was this boy standing before her… was he truly her son?

After stewing in her thoughts for a moment or two longer, Molly returned to the present as she watched the scene before her. Arthur held a crying Ginny and his face. Oh Merlin…

The look of the purest ire and wrath found itself plastered upon her husband’s face. It was a face she had only seen once in her long life with him. The night she tried to avenge her brothers’ deaths. Arthur raged, shouted and tore Molly a whole new perspective. It was the most terrifying display of his love that Molly had seen come from her husband. She remembers that night, Arthur demanding to know why she thought abandoning their children for revenge was worth it. She had never been so ashamed of herself in her entire life.

But seeing that look again, Arthur, her doting, caring, loving husband… looking upon one of their children that way reawakened the defensive motherly instincts within Molly.

Molly raced, standing between Ron and Arthur, her husband scowling through her as Ron whimpered and hid behind her. Her heart started to crack under the pressure, the waves of conflicted and painful emotions began to drown Molly completely.

Arthur will not break Ron with his words, her baby boy wouldn’t survive such a tongue lashing, especially not in this state! But my son… my youngest son… a death eater… There are no words to describe my utter contempt. Why did he do this? WHY?! “How could you do this Ron?” The eeriness in Arthur’s smooth tone only seemed to smother the other three Weasleys with pure fear.

Molly maintained her defiant eyes as Arthur ignored her, focusing his hard and frozen eyes on the boy behind her. Even Ginny who now stood behind Arthur was quite in her despair, now eyeing her father with the tiniest looks of terror.

Ron could only whimper and sniffle in response, clearly too shaken to even formulate a response.

“ANSWER ME BOY!”

Her son sobbed harder, trying to shrink his lanky build behind her further. Molly didn’t want this. This summer was supposed to be good. Peaceful. A respite from the terrors from the war that was already consuming their community. And yet, the war has already struck her family. And it has stolen another son from her.

“Arthur please-“

“NO MOLLY!”

Molly could barely stop herself from jumping in shock at her husband’s tone.

“Arthur stop!”

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS RON?! WHY-“

“I had to dad! I had to!” Ron mewled out painfully, still withering under his father’s eyes.

Molly turned to her boy. Gripping him by the shoulders, it was second nature for Molly to comfort her children when they were in pain. And despite her lingering disgust at the odious black mark on her son, Molly still held him close. Enveloping Ron into her bosom, leaving no room for her baby boy’s tears to escape.

In that moment, the way her son shivered, the way he let his tears fall free with no care, the way he gripped unto Molly the same way when he was naught but a toddler, the way he inhaled her soothing essence, and exhaled a sigh of genuine peace and content… Molly knew her son was truly her son.

Her son was no monster. Her Ronald was no death eater. Her Ronnie was her baby boy. And she despises that small fraction of time that she doubted such a thing. “Get out.”

Three pairs of eyes found its way to the fuming form of the Weasley patriarch. Molly turned to her husband, her own eyes beginning to match that of her two youngest babies. No Arthur! Please! He’s our son! “D-Dad-“

“GET OUT!”

Arthur’s shout cut off the meek voice of his son.

Molly could only grip her son to her own person closer. Refusing to let him leave. Refusing to let her son fly away from her arms again. And despite the menacing glare her husband shined down upon both mother and son, Molly stood strong, defiant, with all of her will standing against that of the man she loves.

“Arthur. No.”

Molly barely breathed those words out before Arthur stomped forward. Ginny squeak her own terror out, silently crying, falling back against the nearest wall, slowly gliding down to the floor as she watched the scene before her.

Molly hadn’t the time to register what was happening before Arthur began again.

“You bring that disease into this house. You dare to spit on everything your mother and I raised you to believe in”

Arthur ripped Ron out of her arms, ignoring the cries and pleas of his own wife and son as he gripped Ron by the collar of his shirt.

Molly gasped, throwing herself into the fray. “ARTHUR STOP IT!”

Despite her best efforts, Molly couldn’t get around the gangly form of her husband who all but hauled Ron towards the door.

“Your mother and I tried our damn hardest Ronald! Praying! Hoping! That maybe you would still be our son by the time you finished school! BUT FOOLS WE WERE”

Ron began to pull against his father’s arms, pulling free for the faintest second, barely grasping Molly before Arthur grasped him again. Throwing him at the door. And then it happened.

“D-Dad…. Please!”

Molly froze as she heard the sorrowful plea come from her baby boy. There she stood, watching her son, back laid against the door. Arthur between her and Ron, staring down like a beast, with fire, ice, storms and pure wrath and ferocity lingering in his eyes. Face red and fists clenched. Molly had never felt dread and fear like this. Arthur wouldn’t harm his kids in anger. Never. Right?

“Please… let me explain da… please.”

Tears falling down both wizards' faces, Arthur shook his head at Ron’s begging.

“No son of mine would have ever done what you’ve done Ron. You shame the Weasley name. You shame your mother and her family. You need to leave.”

Molly shook as the tears flooded her face. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t have another son away from her. Percy was all alone. That alone was too much to handle. She wouldn’t let her last boy be forced away! He’s not even of age! He’s still a child! Her child!

“Dad…. Please…” Ron sobbed out once more. But it was all for naught because Arthur was too far gone in his anger to care.

“You are no son of mine… You are no Weasley any longer. Get out. And don’t ever return.”

The silence that followed Arthur’s declaration was deafening. Molly was numb. Stunned into near paralysis as her husband’s words sunk in. And in the silence, all four Weasleys’ hearts broke at the patriarch’s command.

The hurt that presented itself in totality on Ron’s face was too much for Molly to handle. His eyes wide, smothered by tears, body shivering, hands pressed close to his chest, as if praying for his father’s words to be a figment of his imagination. Molly’s heart felt like it was getting stomped on, and still she was unprepared for the pain that came from what happened next.

“Please Da—”

Arthur cut Ron off, ripping his wand out from his pocket and pointed it at the face of her baby boy. Molly screamed in fear at the act, charging forward.

“GET OUT!”

For Ron, the sight of his father—the man who he had looked up to all his life, the man who’s love, pride and respect were once Ron’s greatest desire—raising his wand, screaming, with a look almost akin to hate, strangled Ron’s soul with fear. Never in his entire life had the young wizard felt so afraid in his life. The fear that gripped his very being was unparalleled in encapsulating Ron… slithering around his soul like a basilisk, gripping him, strangling him, leaving him a mangled mess. Ron was terrified of his father. And the realization was too heavy a burden to carry.

Ron did the only thing he could do. He fled. Flinging the door open, Molly watched as Ron sprinted for the hills, sobs echoing, tears spilling from his cheeks and snot locking his airways as he ran.

The elder witch initially gave chase, but the sudden grip on her arm brought her to a halt. Arthur, for all the love that she knew he had in his heart, not a single drop of this love made itself present on his face. Despite the tears clashing against his wrathful look, Molly stared into her husband’s soul. She gritted her teeth, almost daring for Arthur to stop her any longer from pursuing her son.

“Molly… don’t. He’s… he’s no so—“

She didn’t even spare him the courtesy of finishing his weak revelation. Cutting off his somber and hurtful words with her own, laced with fury.

“If you even dare to say he’s not my son, Arthur… I swear by all of those above and below…. Let go of my arm RIGHT NOW ARTHUR WEASLEY!”

Arthur’s grip went limp as he remained stock still, aggressive yet aggrieved in his current state. Almost in disbelief at the show of love and loyalty Molly had. And for someone who had spit on everything the old couple had believed in. He couldn’t understand it, yet Molly didn’t care. Her mind focused only on her baby boy.

“Why Molly? Why do you wound us further… what comes from wanting him here?!”

Arthur’s words almost seemed like a slap in the face to Molly. She erupted at her husband’s ignorance… his cruelty… his lack of sight. But most of all, for his refusal to love their son, flaws and all. It hurt her so much to see that this is what it boiled down to—she always knew Ron’s relationship with both Arthur and herself was strained. But love was still there. On both ends of the street. Yet, somehow, Arthur’s love wasn’t there, not for Ron. And it infuriated her to no end.

In that split second, at hearing the way Arthur could be so blinded in his wrath, that he could not even feel the love she knew he had, she felt herself fall back to barely a year prior… to the way Arthur and Percy had fought. In the aftermath, she saw her third boy feel unloved, unwanted, unneeded and divided from his family. How could this current situation be any different? She couldn’t let Ron leave, not now, not ever! She couldn’t lose another one of her babies.

“I WILL NOT LOSE ANOTHER SON ARTHUR!”

Molly pushed past a silent and still Arthur, rushing for her son who bolted out the door only moments ago.

“Ronnie!”

In the distance, she could make out only a tall shadow, racing up the hill, away from the Burrow. The faint silver gleam of the moon granting her a look of the back of her son’s form.

“RON WAIT!”

Molly charged forward, holding her long skirt up as she raced to meet her son. Hoping to any and all that she could stop Ron from passing the wards of their home.

“RON PLEASE!!” THUD

Molly fell forward after she cried out again for her son. Her body giving out as a rock caught her foot. Landing on her hands and knees—which she was sure held bruises and scrapes, littered with mud—she kept her eyes forward, facing the retreating teen.

Molly’s heart skipped a beat as she watched on. Ron had paused, an aggrieved look scanning the scene behind him. Molly could feel his heart break as she saw him witness her injured self recuperate. Standing up and dusting herself off, she could feel the world recompose itself as she gestured that she was alright.

“M-Mum… you’re hur–“

“I’m okay Ron.” Molly called out to the shivering boy some fifteen meters ahead of her.

“Mummy… I’m sorr—“

“I’m okay son. We’re gonna be okay Ron.”

Molly held back her own sobs as she watched her baby boy be consumed by his own tears. It was like he was toddler all over again. Crying for her love, her affection.

One step. Two steps. And another. Molly inched closer and closer to her youngest boy, who stood like a statue, frozen in time, with only shivers and tears as signs to his humanity. She was so close, so close to reaching her son, who stood only a few steps away from the last of the wards surrounding the Burrow. Only a few more bated breaths and a few more soft steps forward and her son would be back in her arms.

Yet, it wasn’t meant to be as she heard the door to her home slam open once more, releasing Arthur and Ginny from its threshold. Molly didn’t need to look behind her to know what had captured Ron’s attention in totality. Arthur, who was still gripping his wand. Molly almost cried out in frustration as she saw the wheels churn in her son’s eyes, his beautiful sky blue orbs, filling themselves with dread, terror, fear.

She only caught his eyes for the smallest second. She could feel the echoing of his silent apologies flow through the air between them. And Molly could only cry further as she failed once more. Running for him once more, the elder witch was too late to take hold of her son as he apparated away after passing the last ward.

And as he was whisked away to a place unknown, Molly finally broke. Collapsing to the floor with her sorrow, she cried as she did herself in.

Why did she stop? She could have easily moved faster! Why didn’t she spare him from Arthur’s wrath? Why did she fail her son again?! What will happen to Ron? What if they hurt him? Did they give him the mark to keep him a prisoner?! How long have they been hurting my baby?! He’s not even of age! They’re gonna kill my baby boy!!!!  She failed again as a mother. And this time, it just might be the one that could cost her her son for good.

•••

It was this truth that broke Molly.

She failed as a mother. She failed her baby boy. She failed her son, her Ronnie. And the proof was right there. Held close to her chest, a survivor's wand who had lost its long and rigorous battle. Forced to survive a world without the support of his family. Without the support of his mother.

She didn’t even have her son’s remains to hold and caress one last time. No physical manifestation for her to beg… beg to come home to her. No corpse to apologize over. No ashes to cry and scream over. There was nothing left.

Only that gods be damned crater and his wand.

This truth screamed at her as she heard her sobs joined by that of her traumatized sons Percy and Fred. She could hear it in the whimpers of George and Arthur as they held each other, in the comforting words that Fleur tried to say to a wailing Ginny. Even in the ragged breathing of Bill who held a broken Charlie close to his chest.

Her family was shattered. And it was all her fault.

She did it. She lost her baby boy. Her little Ronnie… her son was dead.

Molly could only scream louder as that truth nestled into her soul.

#lazuli writes #ron weasley fanfic #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasly imagine #slytherin ron weasley #ron weasley angst #ron weasley #ronald weasley #ronald weasley fanfic #ronald weasley fanfiction #molly weasley #molly weasley fanfiction #molly weasley fanfic

38 notes · View notes

ronnonon · 2 years ago

Text

TW: attempt su!c!de

Slytherin Ron tries to take his own life and ends up in Saint Mungos. He asks someone to write to his parents, they respond by saying they are busy and will pick him up later, assuming he just got in another fight or something. After two days of them forgetting to come get him, he decides to write to Draco. He just say,

“Hey Drac,

I’m in Saint Mungos and my parents can’t come get me, do you think you could come visit or something? I’ll be honest with you, I’m really fucking alone right now and could use a friend,

~ Ron. W”

Draco immediately tells his parents who take him to see Ron. It takes all of five seconds of seeing him for them to realise what’s happened. The large cuts on his wrist, going down to his elbow, aren’t fully healed yet. His tired eyes, shaggy hair and raw knuckles say enough. Ron manages to get out that he wrote to his parents two days before but they never showed before Naraisca is pulling him into a hug as he sobs for the first time in two years. Draco and his parents share a look, all thinking, “he’s only 13, we can’t leave him like this but we can leave him with them.” It takes another four years for his family to realise he doesn’t live with them anymore and they are faced with the confrontation that they lost their brother and son all because of a house sorting

#ron weasley #ron weasley angst #Molly weasley hate sorry bout it #Slytherin Ron Weasley

28 notes · View notes

nottsangel · 29 days ago

Text

ARI’S NAUGHTY LIST ‘24 ੈ✩‧₊˚

welcome to nottsangel’s kinkmas special ! i regretted not doing a kinktober so i am super excited to be participating in kinkmas this year ! to be honest, none of these are christmas related, i just needed an excuse to write a lot of filthy smut … so i really hope you guys will like these !!!! any feedback (reblogs, comments, asks) is highly appreciated and helps keep me motivated to write ! ♡˶

as always, please read the warnings carefully and avoid anything that might be triggering for you. you are responsible for your own media consumption. every single drabble is 18+ only so no minors allowed !

just a heads up— although very unlikely, this list is subject to change. (e.g. order or kinks)

if you want to be added to the taglist for my kinkmas, let me know in the comments !

currently taking a break

nav. more content. // masterlist under cut

ONE .

↳ ♡˶ [10.12] cockwarming — dealer!theodore nott

TWO .

↳ ♡˶ [11.12] handjob — harry potter

THREE .

↳ ♡˶ [12.12] choking — draco malfoy

FOUR .

↳ ♡˶ [13.12] face slapping — brothers bsf!theodore nott

FIVE .

↳ ♡˶ [14.12] scissoring — pansy parkinson

SIX .

↳ ♡˶ [15.12] anal — mattheo riddle

SEVEN .

↳ ♡˶ [16.12] just the tip — bsf!theodore nott

currently taking a break

EIGHT .

↳ ♡˶ [17.12] mirror sex — george weasley

NINE .

↳ ♡˶ [18.12] knifeplay — tom riddle

TEN .

↳ ♡˶ [19.12] forced breeding — toxic!theodore nott

ELEVEN .

↳ ♡˶ [20.12] belly bulge — lorenzo berkshire

TWELVE .

↳ ♡˶ [21.12] double penetration — dragonott

THIRTEEN .

↳ ♡˶ [22.12] lap dance — love island au theodore nott

FOURTEEN .

↳ ♡˶ [23.12] face sitting — hermione granger

FIFTEEN .

↳ ♡˶ [24.12] gunplay — the purge au mattheo riddle

SIXTEEN .

↳ ♡˶ [25.12] drugging — stalker!theodore nott

SEVENTEEN .

↳ ♡˶ [26.12] spit kink — fred weasley

EIGHTEEN .

↳ ♡˶ [27.12] oral threesome — mattheodore

NINETEEN .

↳ ♡˶ [28.12] phone sex — ghostface!theodore nott

TWENTY .

↳ ♡˶ [29.12] thigh riding — blaise zabini

TWENTY-ONE .

↳ ♡˶ [30.12] overstimulation — ron weasley

TWENTY-TWO .

↳ ♡˶ [31.12] voyeurism — new girl au (theodore, mattheo, lorenzo)

2K notes · View notes

incorrectharrypotterblog · 1 year ago

Text

Hermione: why are threesomes only for sex

Hermione: why can’t I join in on a couples argument if I want to

#draco malfoy #fred weasley #george weasley #gryffindor #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #incorrect quotes #ravenclaw #ron weasly x reader #harry potter x reader #draco imagine #draco x reader #draco x hermione #dramione #fred weasly x reader #slytherin #incorrect harry potter quotes

7K notes · View notes

noelan1 · 6 months ago

Text

I can't trust character ai with my fictional crushes because they make them completely different and always say things that aren't canon

¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

2K notes · View notes

heartthrobin · 5 months ago

Text

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

taglist:

@laurenmckiernan-blog @mooneyswife @meyaareads @buffkittenmuscles @emielry @amora-lilly @maximumride1 @sarcastic-nerd @chanyeolsbeloved @pinkb4t @betty13augustine @toadweed-twinklegaze-silverpuff @bella-rose29 @grimm1992 @mortallytenaciousmoon @alanalanalanalanalanna @amane-enama @sosasi521-blog @head-in-the-clouds222 @she-went-that-way @joeybelle @mahidahi @malenk @lillyys-reposts @m626 @rain-echos @meidl @arwn-yng @hotchberry1245 @avatar-lovergirl011 @silverblur @aphroditesanem0ne @angstywaifu @2-blind-2-see @alanatheblogger @ebklsbxgdsworld @gwnwrites @skskskye @girlqrush @cas-planet @thycia-flowers @badonkadork @malachitecorgi-spicy-account @carter-knight @angelic-destiny25 @nyxm0on @saltistic-dumbass @maddsunn @margflower @curlyblaze @ardrhys8 @carolga @my-beloved-fandoms @leaawrites @ilovelilies @ahead-fullofdreams @perciver4ever @amaliarosewood @iamthejam @inkyfairy

1K notes · View notes

the-colourful-witch · 5 months ago

Text

🚂The Hogwarts Express🚂

I loved working on this piece, putting my own spin on the design of the carriage and the candy trolley :) 🍭 The Hogwarts Express scenes are always so amazing and cozy and fun, so I thought it time to do something with it :)

I hope you enjoy this one! Have fun spotting all the little magical details :) ✨⚡️🚂

1K notes · View notes

kind-hufflepuff · 1 year ago

Text

FIRE BENDER RON WEASLEY

#aesthetic #harry potter #harry potter ships #harry potter aesthetic #hogwarts house #ship #slytherin ron weasley #firebender #fire bending #atla au #ron x draco #bi ron weasley #golden retriever animagus #lgbt #fire nation

21 notes · View notes

march-on-26 · 1 year ago

Text

I give you romione silver duo au.

They’re in their sixth year. They’re basically helping Harry out with the whole Voldemort problem as discreetly as they can.

#harry potter fanart #hermione granger #harry potter #hermione and ron #ron weasley #romione #silver duo au #romione fanart #slytherin hermione granger #slytherin ron weasley

117 notes · View notes

daddiesdrarryy · 3 months ago

Text

Ron: Hey, guys, Zabini is doing that thing again

Harry: What thing?

Ron: He just handed me a new chessboard and told me to have a nice day! How weird is that? He’s been doing this for months and I don’t know what he’s trying to do!

Hermione: You don’t know why, Ron?

Ron: I just think he’s being all weird like Slytherins are. Like Draco constantly bickering with Harry and Pansy constantly teasing you, you know, before you got together! Right?

Hermione: Okay, so let me get this straight, you are sitting here with a new chessboard from Blaise, eating chocolates that Blaise bought for you, and a pie Blaise made for you, wearing pajamas that Blaise got for you, and you are…wondering what he is trying to do?

Ron, chewing on a mouthful of pie: I know! How weird is he!

Harry: …I’m less oblivious than this, right?

Hermione: Debatable

849 notes · View notes

weasleyreidstyles · 1 year ago

Text

Serendipity Masterlist

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

series status: currently on hold (but not for long!!🙈)

“serendipity is the phenomenon of discovering something interesting or valuable by chance”

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18. and bellatrix isn't mattheo's mother in this fic (just fyi)

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

general warning(s): 18+ content, angst, fluff, some canon compliance, some canon divergence, typical wizarding world violence, war, torture, drugging, hospitals, familial problems, mean!harry, mean!ron....

** indicates smut warning

~∞~ chapter one

chapter summary: on the trainride to your sixth year, your friends give you a proposition that you can't refuse.

~∞~ chapter two

chapter summary: it's your first day back as a sixth year student. Classes are more intense and your first lesson with Mattheo ensues.

~∞~ chapter three

chapter summary: the first Hogsmeade trip of the year has a rather unpleasant ending.

~∞~ chapter four

chapter summary: after you end up confined to the Hospital Wing, you're surprised when Professor Dumbledore pays you a visit.

~∞~ chapter five

chapter summary: Mattheo has been avoiding you. You find and confront him after a frustrating week.

~∞~ chapter six **

chapter summary: the growing tension between you and Mattheo snaps. He reveals something about yourself that you has scarcely any prior knowledge of.

~∞~ chapter seven

chapter summary: joyful dinner parties and a switch in point of view. Two juxtaposing starts to the christmas holidays.

~∞~ chapter eight **

chapter summary: you're given plenty of revelations: all equally as daunting as the other.

~∞~ chapter nine

chapter summary: Ginny ambushes you in the library and Ron's birthday is off to a delirious start.

~∞~ chapter ten

chapter summary: in the aftermath of Ron's poisoning, Harry learns a thing or two about where your loyalties lie when he overhears your private conversation with the headmaster.

~∞~ chapter eleven

chapter summary: intent on avoiding him, you underestimate just how desperate Mattheo is to be around you.

~∞~ chapter twelve

chapter summary: new friendships are formed and you finally learn to control your abilities. Mattheo comes to a life altering realisation.

~∞~ chapter thirteen **

chapter summary: idk how to summarise this but i will say it's pure smut...enjoy

~∞~ chapter fourteen

chapter summary: friendships are rekindled and you save Draco from certain death in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, igniting your powers in the process.

~∞~ chapter fifteen

chapter summary: now fully recovered, Draco has a task to complete. The fate of the Wizarding World hangs in the precipice of his actions.

~∞~ chapter sixteen

chapter summary: after a startling and gutting discovery. secrets are revealed and alliances are questioned as Voldemort's tyranny begins to fester into the beginnings of another war.

*invisible string fits into the plot here!!*

~∞~ chapter seventeen

chapter summary: Dumbledore's funeral reveals new allies as you navigate a world without its protector.

~∞~ chapter eighteen

chapter summary: with his new role as a secret spy of the Order, Mattheo begins to grapple with the consequences of the horrors that occur at his father's hand.

series oneshots/headcannons:

~∞~ tulips & starlight – valentines day drabble

~∞~ serendipity hcs (mattheo) – a glimpse at his life pre sixth year

~∞~ invisible string – bonus scene from chapter 16 **

~∞~ snippets of navigating fifth year with fred weasley

series taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag, reblogs of the individual posts have an extended taglist)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @hiireadstuff @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23 @y0urm0m12 @sbrn0905 @leona-hawthorne @whatsupb18 @moni-cah @taylorann2013 @unstablereader @gisellesprettylies @nat1221

2K notes · View notes

lazuli-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Outtakes - 100 More Headcanons

summary: 100 more headcanons of Ron after being sorted into Slytherin.

estimated word count: 4400 words

a/n: Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

There were 13 students sorted into Slytherin house in 1991: Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Tracey Davis, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Xander Lofthouse, Draco Malfoy, Lily Moon, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Richard Pike, Ronald Weasley and Blaise Zabini.

Percy was the first person in Ron’s immediate family to accept his status as a member of Slytherin house.

Ron and Daphne first met in the conical crypt. He was hiding in the far off crypt—located in the dungeons—crying because he finally received a reply from his mother about his sorting.

The first major, magical accident caused by Ron’s use of a faulty, second hand wand, was when he accidentally destroyed his desk. His use of Diffindo nearly took his toes off, along with the right corner of his table.

Draco and his close friends back in first year—Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe—had disabled the alarm charm on Ron’s bed in the first week of school. If it wasn’t for Theo waking Ron up most mornings, Ron would have probably been late to class or breakfast every morning.

Theo and Daphne are maternal cousins, with their mothers being sisters of an Italian pure-blood family.

Ron still has two slashing scars that travel across the right side of his chest, from when Theo used sectumsempra on Ron.

When Ron and Tracey met Mr. Bartholomew Greengrass, the duo thought the man was part veela because of his “immense beauty.” When asked by Tracey if such was true, Mr. Greengrass’ response was that he was Welsh.

Nobody noticed, but Draco usually hesitated before making his typical comments about Ron, because he was always hung up on the fact that a Weasley was in Slytherin.

Ron used to play chess against the older students of his house, in an effort to gamble a few sickles into his hand. This habit of his is what prompted Theo to convince Gemma Farley to challenge Ron to chess. Though Ron lost, Gemma gave him the money and extended an invitation for Ron to join the Hogwarts chess club.

Gianna Greengrass adored Ron and Tracey from the moment she met them. She was so happy to see her daughter and nephew making friends. She enjoyed stuffing the quartet and Astoria with Zuppa Inglese.

Tabby the house elf, the head elf of the Greengrass family, thought Ron was part giant the first time they met.

Ron’s crush on Gemma grew into existence during his times sneaking off to Greengrass Manor for Chess club practice. Gemma and he were the only Slytherins in the club. As the two best players, Mr. Greengrass (a former Slytherin) favored spending his time mentoring the two.

Astoria usually spent time with the quartet when they hung out together at the manor.

The first time Ron lied about his whereabouts over the summer so that he could attend chess club meetings, Theo gave him ice cream as both a reward for lying and to cheer him up.

Ron and Theo once tried making one of the abandoned classrooms in the dungeons their secret hideout… it did not last, courtesy of Professor Snape.

When Percy discovered that the Golden Trio had thrown the firecracker that caused Ron to get hit with boiling solution—and later sent to the Hospital Wing, he was furious. Percy was incensed however when he discovered that the trio obtained the firecracker from his twin brothers Fred and George.

Harry and Ron’s friendship began to dwindle after the Boiling potion incident. It came to a temporary end after Ron caught the trio infiltrating Slytherin.

Ron became a suspect for being the Heir of Slytherin after Draco made a joke about it to the Slytherin quidditch team. The team then started spreading rumors around the school.

Mr. Greengrass was initially angry with Theo and Ron for going into the Chamber of Secrets, sending them a howler. However, Mrs. Greengrass later revealed via letter how he was simply upset that the two were in danger. She sent the boys a package of cookies as an apology for her husband’s anger.

Because of his part in saving her life in the Chamber of Secrets, Theo was the only one of Ron’s housemates that Ginny liked. She only started getting along with Daphne during the three months in which Ron stayed in St. Mungo’s Hospital.

Bill was the one to write letters to Ron informing him of Cedrella Weasley and Lucretia Prewett. Two relatives of their parents—both of who were from the House of Black and were both sorted into Slytherin. Ron was astounded with the news and took the time to learn about them. This was where his private connection with Cedrella was born.

He would never admit this, but Professor Snape’s favorite in the Silver Quartet was always Tracey. Tracey was the best out of the four at potions. And when he used light legilimency, she never held negative thoughts in her head about him.

Both Fred and George were upset for the first few days after Ron had locked them in that vault. They didn’t like being upstaged by their younger brother. They felt bad however, when Ron was told he couldn’t go to Diagon Alley with the rest of the family. In hopes of cheering him up, they snuck him back some chocolate frogs.

For his third year, Ron decided to take three elective classes and one extra-curricular class: Ancient Runes, Divination, Muggle Studies & Magical Theory Class.

Ron didn’t take Arithmancy like the rest of the quartet because he had a difficult time handling numbers. Though he could do calculations with ease. He struggled associating numbers with magical nuance.

When Molly found out Arthur allowed Ron to travel to America for a Chess tournament, despite him being on punishment, she cooked dinners Arthur disliked for a week. She only found out after she realized Ron’s clock hand was on traveling rather than school, a day after Christmas.

George was the first to realize Ron had gotten a new wand. He, Fred and Ginny were all amazed at the lore behind the wand. The twins even tried to persuade Ron into allowing them to try the wand out, but were staunchly refused.

When Sirius Black attacked the entrance of Slytherin House, Professor Snape was said to be in a “fury unlike any other” many of his own students remained cautious and weary of the angry potions master for a fortnight.

When Ron and Draco got into an argument over Buckbeak, Sirius Black attacked the two out by Hagrid’s Hut. Black transformed into a human and threatened them both. Despite Black injuring his leg, Ron threw himself in front of Draco. Black only left after realizing that Ron’s pet rat was not with him.

Daphne and Theo intended to hurt Draco when Ron ended up in the hospital wing. This was due to Ron throwing himself in front of Draco before Sirius Black. However, Tracey threatened to hex them when the two cousins had cornered Draco.

For his end of term project for Magical Theory, instead of presenting his findings on attempting Telepathy through Legilimency, Ron presented his information on crafting an original healing spell. These findings would eventually evolve to create his original spell, Dolorem Absolvo: a spell aimed at transferring one’s pain unto the caster.

Narcissa Malfoy was enraged when she learned that her cousin, Sirius Black, had intimidated Draco. She wished to go after him, but Lucius refused to allow her to leave their manor.

The argument between Arthur and Ron at the Quidditch World Cup was the first time Bill and Charlie witnessed their father and youngest brother yell at one another.

Mr. Greengrass was approached numerous times with bribes to restrict Ron from competing in local chess tournaments. He refused, however.

Daphne felt insulted when Tracey told her that Ron had been asked out to the Yule ball by a Beauxbaton girl. Hence why she was adamant in accepting Ron’s offer, when he asked for her help in buying new robes.

Theo was the seventh person to ask Tracey to the Yule ball and the only Slytherin to ask her.

Ron and Daphne were originally going to wear blue to the Yule Ball. But Tracey had stated that “blue clothes on Ron diminishes the blue of his eyes.” So instead, the couple defaulted to wearing silver and green.

Daphne once kissed Ron in front of his siblings in an effort to get them to stop teasing him.

When Theo found out Ron and Daphne had started dating, he gave Ron a hard time in classes for around a month. His attitude only changed when Daphne threatened to tell Tracey he checks her out sometimes.

By the end of his fourth year, Ron had lost his passion for Chess, instead wanting to focus on other matters in his life: mostly his friends and private studies.

When the Silver Quartet snuck out to Diagon Alley in the spring term of their fourth year—to deposit their looted items from the Room of Hidden Things—they nearly got away, but Ron’s brother Bill had caught them sneaking out. Ron got a lecture from Bill, an angry letter from his parents and detention with the quartet from Professor Snape.

Slytherin House was said to have been thick with tension following the announcement that Voldemort had returned. Many refused to acknowledge the possibility while others indulged in the pure-blood mania.

The duel between Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle is what solidified the divide in the Slytherin fifth years. Those who challenged High Inquisitor Umbridge’s reign: the quartet (Tracey, Daphne, Theo & Ron) and Draco’s Gang (Draco, Blaise & Pansy). And the rest of their housemates who joined the Inquisitorial Squad and aided in the tormenting of other houses at Umbridge’s request.

Theo is the only person of the Silver quartet to not have crafted his own original spell.

George initially wished to approach Ron in joining Dumbledore’s Army. But Fred, Ginny and the Golden Trio convinced him otherwise. Ginny suggested Theo, but in the end, the Trio and Fred chose to approach Tracey Davis. She refused to join however after they told her she couldn’t tell anyone. After subverting the jinxes Hermione Granger casted on her to prevent her from telling, Tracey told the Silver Quartet of Dumbledore’s Army. Ron was hurt that his own siblings lied to his face when approached about the subject.

In exchange for Daphne’s aid in avoiding the Inquisitorial Squad, Pansy Parkinson taught Tracey and Daphne how to apparate. Ron and Theo would later learn from the girls. Daphne also got Pansy to translate Aramaic & Sanskrit scripts—this played a part in Daphne’s eventual translation of Parseltongue script.

Throughout all five years of which he attended Hogwarts, Ron found a way to accumulate money. In his first year, he played chess against his fellow Slytherins, winning a couple sickles with every win. In his second year, he won 100 galleons at the national chess tournament. During his third year, he won 500 galleons at an international chess tournament. His fourth year, Ron played two domestic chess tournaments, winning another 100 galleons. Also, the Silver Quartet emptied the Room of Hidden Things, where Ron generated a profit of approximately 70000 galleons. And lastly, when the silver quartet started exploring the Chamber of Secrets in their fifth year, Ron and Theo harvested and sold the remains of the dead basilisk, garnering around 98000 galleons.

After kidnapping them, Voldemort made Ron duel Antonin Dolohov. Waging that should Ron defeat Dolohov, Daphne’s parents would be spared. Ron used sanguisuga on Dolohov, nearly winning the duel. However, Nagini jumped after Ron, distracting him enough for Dolohov to use the cruiciatus curse, incapacitating Ron. Voldemort then proceeded to kill Daphne’s parents in front of the two teens. It was then that Ron took Daphne’s place of receiving the dark mark, after Voldemort made it clear he wished for the Greengrass wealth to aid his cause.

The first person Ron, Daphne and Astoria went to for help was Theo, who had been stuck with his father at Nott Manor and Tracey, who spent Christmas with her parents. Theo and later Tracey, both tried to come up with ideas on where the Greengrass sisters could stay once the school year ended. Ron chose to eventually house them in a muggle inn at Ottery St. Catchpole, deeming Hogwarts and Nott Manor as too risky.

Draco, Blaise and Pansy saved Graham Montague after he was locked away in a Vanishing Cabinet. In exchange for saving him, Montague left the Inquisitorial Squad and owed them a favor.

The Battle at the Department of Mysteries—which led to Voldemort’s reveal and the incarceration of much of his forces—granted Ron and Daphne the time they needed to formulate a plan to evade and defect from being death eaters & sympathizers. In that time, though his status as a death eater was revealed to his family, Ron later denounced his status when he amputated his left arm. He and later the quartet would work together to go on missions, saving muggles and muggle-borns.

Bill and Charlie were the last to learn about Ron’s disownment. Charlie because it took a while for Ginny’s letter to reach him. And Bill because he hadn’t yet read Ginny’s letter when he got a floo call from George about Ron’s disownment and Fred throwing him out of their shop.

Following Ron’s disownment, Ginny sent out letters to the family, hoping for anyone to help Ron should they find him. It’s because of her letter that Aunt Muriel was alerted to Ron having the dark mark. Muriel’s willingness to aid Ron was born from Ginny’s words in her letter.

Voldemort never learned of Ron and Daphne’s active defiance in the war, instead believing that the two were simply hiding from him. He didn’t discover that Ron had moved against his cause until the eventual Skirmish at Malfoy Manor, where Ron and the quartet killed the Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix’s unborn child.

In the Attack of the Bones Family Home, Tracey single handedly saved Madam Amelia Bones, when she dueled Theo’s father for the first time. Sending the death eater flying back into a wall before apparating away with an unconscious Madam Bones.

The Silver Quartet’s saving of Emmeline Vance was an accident. The quartet were aiding Theo in his escape from his father, who intended for Theo to take the dark mark. On their way flying from Nottingham, they witnessed a group of snatchers ambushing Emmeline in the fields of Owler Tor. Rushing to her aid, the seven snatchers were quickly overwhelmed. The event saw Ron kill another living being for the first time.

Emmeline and Madam Bones, presumed dead by the Wizarding public, were initially upset at the assumptions. It was Theo and Tracey that convinced the two witches to use this as an advantage in the war. With this opportunity, the two witches began the operation in creating safe houses for muggles and muggle-borns.

Molly didn’t talk to Arthur for three weeks after Ron’s disownment. When she finally did, she screamed at him and even threw hexes at him. It took Bill, Fleur and the Twins intervening to halt Molly’s rage.

Molly made a promise the day after she screamed at Arthur, “If I have to bury my son Arthur… I will never forgive you. I promise you that.”

Madam Bones used her political connections to open up port key access out of the isles. Basing herself out of the Isle of Wight, she awaited the quartet to bring refugees. Whom she would then send them off to safety in muggle France, Italy and Germany.

The kidnapping of Percy Weasley and Audrey Honywood occurred after Percy refused to aid his brother Ron in fear of death eaters watching him in the ministry. Saving both his brother and his not-yet girlfriend, Ron with the Silver Quartet took them to aunt Muriel’s house where they remained hidden for a time. The two would later join the Silver quartet in their numerous adventures and missions.

The Silver Quartet’s first mission, assigned by Emmeline, was to halt a possible death eater attack in or around muggle Manchester. The mission was a success, with Emmeline and Tracey dueling known death eater Jugson. Halting his gang’s assault on a muggle park.

Ron had two boggarts. His first known boggart being Professor Gilderoy Lockhart attempting to obliviate him; the result of Ron’s duel with the fraud in his second year. His second and current boggart, taking the form of his father, Arthur Weasley, with his wand raised and ready to curse him.

On his 17th birthday—in accordance with wizarding tradition—Muriel gifted Ron a sapphire-encrusted pocket watch. The pocket watch once belonged to her brother, Ron’s great-grandfather. Along with the watch, she also commissioned a magical prosthetic arm made of bronze, to replace his amputated left arm.

When asked, Muriel told Ron many stories of her niece-in-law, Lucretia Prewett, née Black. Ron learned that Lucretia and Cedrella were as close as sisters. They were essentially the Sirius Blacks of their generation. The only difference being that Lucretia was never disowned while Cedrella was. The two women were both anti-blood purists, both were Slytherins, both married a wizard less wealthy then they, and wizards who defied blood purity.

Tracey and Daphne’s first kill was a shared event. They killed Gregory Goyle’s father, who led a massive assault on muggle Edinburgh. The Skirmish at Edinburgh Castle occurred concurrently with the Battle of the Astronomy Tower.

The Order of the Phoenix was divided after the death of its leader, Albus Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall and Alastor Moody led the main faction. Severus Snape, alongside Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini all remained secret spies in support of the main Order. And Emmeline’s faction, who remained unknown and unacknowledged until after the war.

Emmeline Vance inducted the Silver Quartet into the Order of the Phoenix, following the funeral of Albus Dumbledore.

The quartet fought in the Battle of the Seven Potters after Theo, who was undercover in Diagon Alley, witnessed Severus Snape confund Mundungus Fletcher. Aunt Muriel confirmed this after she revealed her home was set to become a safe house. The quartet, alongside Percy Weasley, Audrey Honywood and Emmeline Vance, awaited on brooms in the outskirts of Surrey. Each of the seven were tasked with protecting a decoy and splitting up to grant coverage. It was Daphne who acted as a second shield for Harry Potter. However, she was shot out of the sky by Voldemort, barely apparating herself to safety in time. Percy and Ron both dueled Severus Snape, after he was seen tailing their brother George and Remus Lupin. Percy stepped in the way of a sectumsempra, causing the spell to simply slash the arms of both Percy and George. Following this, the quartet and allies fled north to Audrey’s flat in Coventry as most of the decoys had presumed to have escaped.

At Muriel’s behest, and under disguise, Ron and Daphne attended Bill and Fleur’s wedding. There they met Barney Weasley and later fought in the death eater attack on the reception. Daphne saved Charlie Weasley’s life when she shoved him out of the way of the killing curse. The chaos of the situation caused their disguises to fail, revealing Ron and Daphne to the Weasley Family, who hadn’t seen Ron in over a year. The duo quickly apparated away to Emmeline’s safe-house in Poole.

Lady Augusta Longbottom went on the run after her grandson, Neville, didn’t show up for his seventh year at Hogwarts. She would later be confronted by Auror John Dawlish who failed at apprehending her.

Ginny Weasley and later the Gryffindor House as a whole led the Hogwarts students in defying the Death Eater regime that had taken hold of the castle. Pansy Parkinson played the role as a spy for Dumbledore’s Army, in exchange for Ginny’s aid in protecting the younger Slytherins who were subjected to the same torture as the other houses.

Blaise Zabini worked in contacting Slytherin alumni in potentially defying Voldemort’s regime. He did so under a pseudonym and was successful in securing the likes of Gemma Farley, Graham Montague and Merula Snyde. Together, the Slytherin Alumni worked to give warnings of potential attacks or to smuggle muggles and muggle-borns out of the country. Merula Snyde died fighting off snatchers who chased Dean Thomas and Edward Tonks.

The Skirmish at Malfoy Manor only occurred after Winky alerted Ron that Death eaters had captured Harry Potter. Believing his sister to be a part of Potter’s runaway gang, Ron led the Silver Quartet to assault the manor. They arrived before Potter’s gang however, and succeeded in persuading Draco Malfoy to defect to their side.

Following Draco’s desertion, Narcissa Malfoy and her husband Lucius fled Voldemort’s side. The first place they went to was to the home of Andromeda Tonks. The two sisters had argued, with Narcissa blaming Andromeda's husband for costing Draco’s life.

When the Weasleys went into hiding after Ron’s discovery at Malfoy Manor and Ginny’s “disappearance” from Hogwarts, Molly, Arthur, Fred and George all took refuge at Aunt Muriel’s house. There they reunited with Percy, who chastised his family for their role in Ron’s disownment. From Percy and later Tracey, Draco, Neville and Edward Tonks, Molly, Arthur and the Twins learned the story of how Ron received the dark mark. Aunt Muriel also casually mentioned how Ron amputated his defiled arm. Molly cried for three days straight, stopping only because Muriel threatened to slap her with Ron’s amputated arm.

Following the escape and separation from Malfoy Manor, Ron, Daphne, Theo, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Dobby, Winky, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Garrick Olivander and Griphook took refuge at the abandoned Davis Family flat located in Eastbourne. The majority of them fought together in a few more missions together before the Battle of Hogwarts.

Ron, Daphne and Theo were taught the Patronus charm by Harry Potter, while they hid in Eastbourne. Ron’s Patronus was a bat, Daphne’s a butterfly and Theo’s a fox.

After recovering Ravenclaw’s Diadem and using it to uncover portraiture magic, Tracey had left the artifact in the Chamber of Secrets. This forced the joint forces of the Silver Quartet, the Golden Trio, Draco Malfoy and the Order of the Phoenix to head to Hogwarts to get the horcrux before Voldemort.

Despite once bearing the dark mark, Ron could cast a fully corporeal Patronus. His bat Patronus was used to alert Neville, Draco and Tracey of Harry’s plan to head for Hogwarts to retrieve Ravenclaw’s Diadem.

Daphne was the only member of the Silver Quartet to fight to the very end of the Battle of Hogwarts. With Theo and Tracey both dying after their duel with Theo’s father and Ron’s incapacitation, Daphne remained awake and alive to see Voldemort’s defeat and the triumph of the light.

Of the 13 Slytherins sorted in the year of 1991, only six survived the Second Wizarding War: Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Ronald Weasley & Blaise Zabini.

Daphne was the one to find all the bodies of those she loved. She carried Ron to a cot to sleep, unknowing if he would survive from the injuries he sustained. She found Theo’s body, embraced by Tracey’s body, both having died from bleeding out. She also found Astoria’s mangled body in the Great hall, which she quickly had Winky and Tabby move, to the privacy of the Slytherin commons.

While Ron healed in St. Mungo’s, Daphne had repaired and strengthened her relationship with Ron’s family. It was made easier with the friendship she already had with Percy and Audrey. And Molly’s revelation that Daphne saved Ron was enough for Molly to unofficially adopt Daphne.

Audrey and Daphne usually hung out together at Weasley family gatherings. They became friends after the silver quartet kidnapped/rescued Audrey and Percy. Audrey enjoys Daphne’s company while Daphne loves how kind and thoughtful Audrey is.

Before moving into the Prewett Family Home, Daphne and Ron stayed at the abandoned Davis Family Flat in Eastbourne. This was mainly because Daphne’s home—the Greengrass Manor—had been destroyed during the war, and Ron never felt comfortable staying in the Burrow after his disownment. He also couldn’t travel to his room easily with his limp.

Ron and Daphne collectively have three godchildren: Garrett Weasley (son of Fred & Hermione), Trent Davis (Tracey Davis’ younger brother) and Mira Malfoy (daughter of Draco & Pansy).

Ron’s charisma and Daphne’s assertiveness made them a good duo during their time running the Greengrass family business of magical real estate.

For one of her birthdays, Molly received a snuff box filled with vials and a pensieve from Ron and Daphne. They got it so that she could one day hold all of her favorite memories close to her. One of the vials was already filled with a memory, when Molly watched it, she realized it was the memory of Ron and Daphne’s wedding—an event Molly always wished she was present for.

Other names that Ron and Daphne came up with for their potential children included: Cedrella, Barton, Ally, Tracey, Theon, Astraea, Castor & Emma.

The Silver Grimoire eventually became a Greengrass family heirloom. The only people other than the quartet to read the grimoire were Ron’s siblings.

One of the first things Ron and Daphne said to Molly and Arthur after the surprise birth of their daughter, Astoria II, was “Hey! We beat Bill and Fleur at something!” The young couple then proceeded to high five and laugh as they introduced the Weasley parents to their first grandchild.

Percy and Audrey are the Godparents for Astoria II. Fred and Ginny are the godparents for Nico.

Mafalda Prewett is commonly referred to as Ron and Daphne’s “eldest child” because of their part in raising her.

Ron and Daphne took their kids every year to spend Christmas at the Greengrass Botanical Gardens & Mausoleum. The couple didn’t like Christmas because it was the anniversary of Daphne’s parents’ murder. They would spend the morning and early afternoon paying their respects to their fallen family and friends, then later visit the Burrow for Christmas dinner.

Though Ron eventually forgave Arthur for his disownment, Arthur had never truly forgiven himself.

Molly’s favorite pastime with her granddaughter Astoria II was singing and dancing to Celestina Warbeck songs on the wireless.

Other than his sister and parents, Nico usually spent most of his time with his uncles Fred and George. Despite his extremely introverted, shy, and timid nature, Nico enjoyed just being around his uncles and their shop. He considered the chaos as the perfect environment for him to be by himself.

Luckily, Daphne, her children, and their children would not be affected by the Greengrass family blood curse.

#lazuli writes #hp fanfcition #hp fanfic #hp headcanon #slytherin ron weasley #ronald weasley #ron weasley fanfic #ron weasley angst #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley #ronald weasley fanfic #ron weasley fanfiction #slytherin ronald weasley #ronald weasley fanfiction #ron weasley headcanon #ronald weasley headcanon

21 notes · View notes