alwaysakeeper

Ron- Bathing/showering headcanon    

for @callieskye​: “ Ron Weasley, #6. Bathing/showering headcanon ((you can’t put the possibility of a sketch of this out there and expect me to not ask!))” for this   

I see Ron as loving super long showers, but never really able to do that much at the Burrow since there’s only one (?) bathroom for all those people. At Hogwarts he’d also not get a chance to do that much, since he was always staying up late, then running late in the mornings. As he gets older though, long showers are definitely one of his fave indulgences. He’s not much for baths, mostly because tubs don’t much fit him in a relaxing manner. He occasionally does baths when he’s injured, or an old Auror injury acts up, and he needs to help a muscle relax more- but that’s about it. Exception is giant tubs when he and Hermione are on vacation, in which case, he’s totally fine with taking an excessively long bath with her. He’s down with hottubs. Because he’s so tall, they had to install their shower head a lot higher than usual, because most showers are built for shorties.

For the anonymous asks for Ron hugging, Neville anger and Dumbledore and hagrid hugging headcanons: 

Ron bringing Hermione tea. – Patreon commission for dameintoyland! 

“I would like a Ron and Hermione piece (probably not a surprise). I’d like something showing them during a kind of slice of life moment when they are grown up with some intimacy. An scene I was thinking of recently is Hermione working late in their study and Ron bringing her tea and food. I can see Ron affectionately kiss the top of her head before leaving to let her work more. I’d prefer a black Hermione, but whatever inspires you works for me.” I’ve been quite ill with bronchitis since xmas (thus the lack of art) but finally, for the first time since CHRISTMAS was able to sleep lying down and my body is so happy. Finally able to draw now! Expect more art this week!

Please reblog if you like this! :) 

Rated T/PG-13 for repeated cursing |  Word count- 1,830  | George W. and Angelina J.  A03   ff.net

A short one-shot with George not long after Fred’s death, and how he’s dealing with it. I found it very cathartic to write, as I’ve been very gutted by a death in my family- almost a year ago- but it still makes me burst into tears at times. 

George couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy and breathing felt like more of an effort than usual. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, most likely permanently. He pushed his palms into his eye socket as he let out a deep yawn that made him shiver. The yawn reverberated in his ears like a thunderstorm. Wiping at his eyes a bit more, he rolled over and forced himself to open one eye. The clock read one o'clock in the afternoon. He let out a sigh. It wasn’t really a surprise. He hadn’t fallen asleep til well after four.

He had missed the funeral. He had been planning to, but now that he had, he wondered if it was the right thing to do. Would everyone be disappointed in him?

Rated T/PG-13 for repeated cursing |  Word count- 1,830  | George W. and Angelina J.  A03   ff.net

A short one-shot with George not long after Fred’s death, and how he’s dealing with it. I found it very cathartic to write, as I’ve been very gutted by a death in my family- almost a year ago- but it still makes me burst into tears at times. 

George couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy and breathing felt like more of an effort than usual. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, most likely permanently. He pushed his palms into his eye socket as he let out a deep yawn that made him shiver. The yawn reverberated in his ears like a thunderstorm. Wiping at his eyes a bit more, he rolled over and forced himself to open one eye. The clock read one o'clock in the afternoon. He let out a sigh. It wasn’t really a surprise. He hadn’t fallen asleep til well after four.

He had missed the funeral. He had been planning to, but now that he had, he wondered if it was the right thing to do. Would everyone be disappointed in him?

Rated T/PG-13 for repeated cursing |  Word count- 1,830  | George W. and Angelina J.  A03   ff.net

A short one-shot with George not long after Fred’s death, and how he’s dealing with it. I found it very cathartic to write, as I’ve been very gutted by a death in my family- almost a year ago- but it still makes me burst into tears at times. 

George couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy and breathing felt like more of an effort than usual. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, most likely permanently. He pushed his palms into his eye socket as he let out a deep yawn that made him shiver. The yawn reverberated in his ears like a thunderstorm. Wiping at his eyes a bit more, he rolled over and forced himself to open one eye. The clock read one o'clock in the afternoon. He let out a sigh. It wasn’t really a surprise. He hadn’t fallen asleep til well after four.

He had missed the funeral. He had been planning to, but now that he had, he wondered if it was the right thing to do. Would everyone be disappointed in him?

Ron is the fresh-faced young sheriff looking to bring some real justice, struggling against Old Mr. Malfoy who owns this town and gets away with anything.

Mr Malfoy owns the town, but that’s not good enough for him. He works with a tycoon Mr Riddle who wants to essentially bulldoze the town so he can turn it into an industrial wasteland. Mr Malfoy is trying to pay off everyone he can to gather the deeds to the local land- but there are some hold outs who are refusing to bargain, and Riddle is getting impatient with him.

The Weasleys are a known holdout- between all those different tiny properties, it’s a lot of land. As are the Longbottoms and a few other families, and finally Dr Granger’s tiny piece of property she inherited from a relative, and is happy to use as a new start.

Ron and Harry meet at the local tavern, as Sheriff Weasley is familiar with everyone in town and doesn’t want trouble from some bounty hunter. 

Later that night there’s a lot of commotion-  a masked gang is at Dr Granger’s residence, robbing it and setting the place ablaze.

Weasley sets to it, and Harry comes along to help. Ron is able to take down one of the gang and save Granger from the blaze, while Harry and one of Ron’s brothers are able to take down a few more. Crabbe and Goyle, known associates of the young Mr. Malfoy, are amongst the gang members they got and have put in the jail- but they were unable to get the last few of the masked gang. Ron KNOWS it has to be Malfoys doing- they’re trying to get this property, and they thought they’d pick off Granger to do it- but it’s just circumstantial and the people they captured won’t talk.

Ron did not walk away from the confrontation unscathed. He got some nasty burns/lacerations down his arms, but Granger is able to help him, Despite his protest that he does not need any help and he sure he can take care of it himself (even though it’s both arms and he’s quite the mess.) Dr. Granger rolls her eyes at that, and is quick to give him a lecture and helps him out, saying he needs to take time to recooperate. 

Ron is grateful to both Harry and Hermione and offers them lodging at the Weasley’s main property. Hermione has no other choice given the state of her burned home, and Harry, grateful for some ‘real home cooking’ is happy to take up the offer as well.

When staying with the Weasleys Harry learns how to Live and connect with people again for the first time in years. It doesn’t hurt that they have a beautiful daughter there who’s the toughest rider he’s ever seen- she works cattle and brakes horses as good as any man.

There is no good and evil; only power and those too weak to seek it.

Chapter 1 of australia fic is officially being edited- I’ve written like 30 k of the whole thing so far?

At first I was going to start with them already in Australia- but then I realized there was stuff that happened leading up to that and I didn’t want a million little flashbacks happening in a fic that already has a lot of internal obsessing on the past happening.

It’s from Hermione’s perspective and she’s a right mess after the war (they all are in different ways of course.) I delve pretty deep into PTSD thinking in this fic and it’ll get pretty ugly in there for a bit. Like, her internal thoughts about things can get very negative and self-destructive- as can her behavior. She isn’t the ‘together Hermione who only goes to pieces after a nightmare.’ I worried a bit that people will think I made her ‘too weak’ or something, but in the end I decided to be as true to ptsd as I can- and it’s crazy intense with all sorts of weird ways it hurts a person. It’s not just about flashbacks and over-reactions to stimuli.

We get huge insight into Harry and Ron’s inner psyche and family lives in the books- but Hermione’s isn’t quite as explored. It’s touched on that much of her actions are dictated by her anxiety, her want to achieve perfection, fear of failure, and that she has trouble connecting with others when she’s keyed up- so to me you toss in the repeated traumas (both emotional and physical), the disconnect from her parents, the high level of anxiety she had when NOTHING was going wrong- she’s a prime candidate for some very destructive ptsd for a bit there.

Golden Trio

(old versions: Harry | Ron | Hermione)

inktober 4 - ‘freeze’ Hermione freezing out Ron in deathly hallows - 

Thank you so much! I… went a different direction with this, hope that’s okay 💕

***

apricity - the warmth of the sun in the winter

Hermione’s boots crunched through the snow, leaving muddy imprints in her wake. She hadn’t a clue where they were on the island of Britain - Ron had decided where to Apparate them all that morning, since she was exhausted from constant decision-making and Harry couldn’t be arsed to care - but wherever they had ended up, the frost was easing somewhat, and little tufts of green grass poked shyly out among the blanket of dingy white coating the forest floor. She suspected that they were inland, because unlike the frigid January night that they had spent up near Aberdeen, there was no icy wind off the coast. The stillness in the air was soothing, like a little glimmer of hope that they might actually end up surviving all of this.

That still seemed quite a lot to hope for; things had been at a standstill for months. They had the sword of Gryffindor, but no Horcruxes to use it on, and no fresh ideas for locating one. Most days, just waking up in the morning was its own little victory.

She unbuttoned her coat. It couldn’t have been more than four or five degrees out, but it was such a marked difference from the frigid subzero temperatures they had endured for months on end that this little hint of warmth felt downright tropical. It was a welcome little reprieve from the unrelenting stress and pain and exhaustion that had defined the past six months.

Scanning the forest before her, she saw nothing but patchy snow and limp, dirty leaves. But Ron had said he was heading this direction to find more firewood as he left the tent, and given the sodden state of things, he would likely have a bit of a search on his hands. Still, he wouldn’t have gone too far: none of them liked straying much from the wards when they didn’t have to.

There came a small cracking sound like the snapping of twigs from somewhere nearby, and she whirled around, left then right, searching for the source with her heart thundering wildly behind her ribs. As much as they were all going stir-crazy in the tent, and as much as they had to be in a particularly remote part of the country - there was no sign of any settlement, Muggle or magical - she still thought it best to remain within the relative safety of the wards. Ron had already been picked up by Snatchers once, and she didn’t quite fancy it happening again to any of them.

Shifting her cargo from her left hand to her right, Hermione pressed on. The trees were thinning now, and the sun now shone boldly through the bare branches. And now, the snapping noise seemed to be coming from ahead of her, and she spotted another set of muddy footprints in the slushy snow, these ones much larger than her own, the strides separating them much longer. Her heart gave a little leap, and she quickened her pace until she reached a small clearing.

Were it not for his bright red hair, he might have blended in entirely, with his olive-green coat and tan trousers. He had crouched down beside one of the trees and, as Hermione grew closer, she saw that he was using his wand to fire a jet of hot air at a small stack of branches.

“Ron?” Hermione called, just loudly enough to be heard.

He jumped up, eyes wide, and then relaxed, a smile stretching over his face at the sight of her. He was always so happy to see her, despite the fact that she had spent the evening of his return pummeling him with her fists and slinging insults she had later regretted, despite the fact that she had kept her distance and her guard up in the weeks following. Despite it all, he was still genuinely pleased just to be around her.

“Hey,” he greeted her as she approached. Like her, he had also left his jacket open. “So you’ve left Harry unsupervised?”

“I think he’ll behave himself,” she replied. “He was looking through my Beedle the Bard translations when I left, so he’ll be occupied for a while.”

“Right,” nodded Ron, sobering a bit. “Well, I think I’ve found enough firewood for the night, at least, as long as it’s dry enough - I was trying to dry it off, but I don’t know if it’s working, really.”

“It should do,” said Hermione, “it’s not as cold today. Erm, but…” She cleared her throat, shifting her weight from side to side. “I’ve brought you something.”

She held up the item in her right hand.

“The wireless?” asked Ron, skeptical but plainly trying not to show it.

“It’s what’s on the wireless.” She took a step toward him, close enough that she could see the copper stubble poking through on his chin. As he watched - and it was like his blue eyes, warm and kind as they were, were piercing right through her - she fiddled with the volume knob, which had always been faulty. “I was seeing if I could find Potterwatch - and I was thinking, what if the password is something completely obscure? I know you said it’s usually something relating to the Order, but what if they’ve changed that bit of it, to make it harder to find-“

“So what’s on the wireless?” Ron chuckled as Hermione swatted him on the arm in affected annoyance.

“I’m not even sure if you deserve it anymore,” she sniffed, but at the look on his face - that one of guilt and shame and self-loathing, because he seemed lately to think that he was defined by one mistake that he had made - she gave him a friendly nudge and pressed on. “But anyway, I think I found something you’ll like.”

She turned the volume knob again, and the connection had gone a bit fuzzy, but the sounds of commentators and supporters in a stadium was unmistakable.

“Gorgovitch takes possession of the Quaffle again,” came an excited voice, “passes to Wemberly - oh! What a shame, that’s the third drop for the Cannons already today…”

Ron’s mouth hung open. “Quidditch,” he breathed, relishing the word. “Merlin… I haven’t even thought about Quidditch in ages.”

“And Tutshill are now leading Chudley ninety to twenty as the Cannons call for another time-out. That’s their last one allotted for this match, I do hope they’re using them wisely…”

“I just thought you might want to listen,” said Hermione, unsuccessfully biting back laughter at the dismayed look on Ron’s face. “Was I wrong?”

“No, not at all,” he said fervently. “But if this is the Tornadoes match, then that means - it must be my birthday.”

He let out a sheepish little laugh, face pinkening at the preposterousness of having only just realized it.

“First of March, last I checked.”

“I haven’t really kept track of the days, but I coulda sworn it was still February.” He shook his head in amazement. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I mean, they’re gonna lose, but still. Best birthday gift ever.”

There was an intensity in his eyes that she had only seen a few times before - dancing at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, or that time at Grimmauld Place when he had offered to teach her his family tree - and for one wild second she thought about just doing it, rising on tiptoe and tugging his face down to hers and kissing him, kissing him and never stopping.

“Happy eighteenth, then,” she settled on saying, hating how inadequate it sounded.

“Thanks. Erm, would you…” Ron’s face was still flushing red. “I know we probably should check on Harry soon, but would you maybe want to listen to it with me? Just for a minute or two.”

“Of course.”

“Brilliant.” Ron shrugged out of his jacket and laid it out on the ground before gesturing grandly to it. “Have a seat, then.”

Already, mud and half-melted snow were soaking into the fabric. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll just clean it later, it doesn’t matter. Might not even really need it anymore, it’s getting warm out.” Ron dropped down onto the jacket and patted the space next to him. “Sit.”

She did, more eagerly than she was ready to let on, setting the wireless on one of the sleeves.

“It’s Flores with the Quaffle now,” came the rapid, excited voice of the commentator, only the faintest crackling of static behind it, “heading toward the goal - and he scores! Chudley now trail Tutshill thirty to ninety.”

“Maybe they can turn it around,” said Hermione, watching in amusement as Ron raised a fist in triumph.

“Yeah,” said Ron with a little smile. “Maybe.”

Thank you! I hope you like what I’ve come up with ☺️

***

liberosis - the desire to care less about things

“He’s at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes,” she said to Harry as she dipped her quill into the inkwell they were sharing.

And she meant it. It didn’t bother her in the least that Ron had gone and kissed another girl mere days after she, Hermione, had invited him to a Christmas party. Logically speaking, he had every right to do so, as he’d never actually accepted Hermione’s offer… which was another thing that definitely didn’t run on a constant loop through her mind every night as she lay in her four-poster, blocking out the gleeful chatter and giggles of the girl that Ron had been snogging all over the castle.

She kept coming across him in the corridors, but, she told herself, it was not because she was watching for him, or at all hoping to see him. He was just the sort of person she couldn’t help but notice, what with his head of fiery red hair towering above everyone else, his long strides, his loud, infectious laugh. It definitely did not bother her, did not make her stomach twist up and her throat constrict, every time Lavender bounded up to him and tugged his face down to hers so she could mash their lips together. She didn’t mind. She just kept walking, resolute, striding past as though he were a perfect stranger.

It felt like he was, most days. Because she just didn’t care.

So it was easy not to think of him when she had a sarcastic thought and no one to share it with, or when his favorite biscuits appeared on the tables in the Great Hall during pudding. And it was easy to bury her nose in textbooks as she studied in the common room, because her eyes weren’t at all drawn to him. Not now, not ever. Not in class, when he nibbled on the end of his quill as he thought of what to write, or as he walked down to the Quidditch pitch with Harry, his broom propped on his shoulder. It was easier, simpler, better not to care.

And she didn’t care that she was alone now, all the time, because Harry always chose Ron over her, and Ron had chosen someone else entirely. She didn’t care that she still couldn’t understand how everything had fallen apart in such spectacular fashion - although this, she was willing to concede, was perhaps because she would not not allow herself to think about it. If she let her mind slip down that dark, dangerous path, she would lose it all. She would lose her ability to stuff everything down into the far recesses of her brain where it could not hurt her. She would stop being able to pretend not to notice whenever Lavender crammed herself into the armchair that Ron was occupying and their sloppy kisses echoed through the rowdy chaos of the Gryffindor common room. She would revert back to silent tears streaming down her face as she laid in bed with a crushing weight in her chest, wondering what she had done to change his mind. Wondering why he had, in the blink of an eye, turned cold and indifferent to her and why, in his moment of triumph, he had chosen someone else to kiss.

This new indifference was quite preferable in comparison. It helped when they crossed paths in the corridor and their eyes accidentally met for just a second too long, and she thought she saw something there - something familiar, friendly, hopeful, like things might someday go back to how they’d once been. It helped in class, when Professor McGonagall instructed them to work in pairs and he swung around in his seat to face her, only to wince and turn to Harry or Lavender instead. It helped her to remember that these little glimpses of the old Ron were to be steadfastly ignored, lest she allow them to give her hope. If she had hope, it meant that she cared, and if she cared, it meant that she could have her heart stomped on all over again. It made more sense to feel nothing at all.

She scrawled out the final few words of her Potions essay and looked up into Harry’s skeptical face.

“I really couldn’t care less,” she declared, voice strong and firm.

If she said it enough, she thought it might actually, one day, come true.

***

In GoF, this means he sees their little trio as a unit. They are an entity, a close-knit group. I think this made him take Hermione for granted. Not in an “I don’t care what happens to her” way; far from that, in a “nothing could threaten this, are you mad?” way.

So yeah, he knew she was a girl. But not a girl-girl. She was a girl but a girl who was part of him. Not like a sister, eugh, but… his. His friend. His friend. His friend. Friend?

Right, FRIEND.

Right?

And no one could ever threaten that, right? No outsider could, right??

but Hermione is compassionate. She doesn’t always Catch On that she needs to be in a situation. The Lavender’s dead bunny debacle happens because Hermione is trying to solve another problem…is Divination legit? And that provokes an emotional blind spot for her: Hermione gets tunnel vision when she’s hung up on something. But that’s the exception that proves the rule—Hermione generally notices when someone is hurting. And she cares, and everyone around her knows it.

Kreacher is awful to her. Just awful. She’s kind to him anyway, because she recognizes she has power over him, whatever his bigoted opinions might be. He’s just an old house elf who has had little choice in what he’s been exposed to, and she has the clarity of mind to realize that and treat him accordingly.

Why does Hermione hit Draco? Because he was mocking Hagrid. If I remember correctly, Umbridge’s taunts of Hagrid bring her to tears in class. She gets emotional when Remus has his breakdown in DH: she hears what’s being communicated in a way Harry doesn’t. She has such a profound sense of other people’s marginalization and how it’s enacted, and it hurts her deeply. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she gets angry, sometimes she throws herself into helping someone who needs it. But other people’s pain matters to her. Especially when it’s been provoked by injustice.