what would you do for love

I basically post everything and anything I like which includes a lot of harry potter fics , specifically harrys povs.

I also post about my day to day life or whenever I want to feel disconnected from the world.

I have no idea how this works yet so forgive me for any random mistakes I make.

ron, to a random student at hogwarts:

Ron was fiddling with a loose thread on his blanket now, frowning in that way he did when he was thinking too hard and trying not to show it.

“You know,” he said after a pause, “I thought about a lot of stuff while I was out. Weird stuff. Mum’s rhubarb crumble. The time Fred turned my eyebrows blue. That time in second year when you and I stole the car. Hermione yelling at us.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Hermione yells at us a lot.”

“Yeah, but that one stands out. You ever notice she only yells at people she really cares about?”

Harry raised a brow. “So what you're saying is we should be flattered?”

“Deeply,” Ron said dryly.

A quiet settled between them again. This time, not heavy—just full.

Then Ron said, a little more quietly, “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens.”

Harry didn’t look at him.

“I mean it, mate. You act like you’re carrying a map of every wrong thing in the world and it’s your job to fix it.”

Harry hesitated. “Maybe because sometimes it is. Or it feels that way.”

Ron sat up a little, groaning at the effort. “No. Look, I know you’ve got… that prophecy stuff hanging over you. But you’re not alone. I’m with you. Hermione’s with you. My entire bloody family would probably follow you into a dragon’s mouth if you asked.”

“I don’t want anyone else getting hurt,” Harry said tightly. “I can’t lose people. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not going to,” Ron said simply. “And if you do, it’s not going to be because you didn’t try hard enough. Or because you didn’t see it coming. It’ll just be because that’s war. That’s life.”

Harry looked at him then, and Ron met his eyes, steady and solid in a way Harry hadn’t realized he’d needed.

“Thanks,” Harry murmured.

Ron grinned. “Don’t go all soft on me. You still snore like a mountain troll.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but the tightness in his chest had eased.

“Also,” Ron added, suddenly smug, “you were definitely holding my hand when I woke up. Bit clingy, aren’t you?”

Ron: Why is it wearing sunglasses?

Hermione: Why does it have a tiny wand?!

It started one morning in late October. The Gryffindor dormitory was quiet, with the faint sounds of the wind rattling against the castle windows. Harry woke up feeling… off. There was an odd itch on his face, like tiny needles poking at his skin.

He rubbed at his jaw and froze.

Scrambling out of bed, he hurried to the mirror. What he saw made his stomach twist. His chin and upper lip were covered in a mess of dark, scraggly hairs—too sparse to be called a real beard, but just unruly enough to look ridiculous.

“Oh, brilliant,” Harry muttered, poking at it in dismay.

“What’s up?” came a sleepy voice from the other side of the room.

Harry turned to see Ron sitting up in bed, squinting at him. His red hair stuck up at odd angles, and he looked about three-quarters asleep.

“I think I’m growing a beard,” Harry said flatly.

Ron blinked, then snorted. “That’s not a beard, mate. That’s—what do they call it?—fluff? Like when you try to summon something and it sort of wobbles before giving up.”

Harry scowled. “It itches.”

“Yeah, it does that,” Ron said knowingly, stretching. “Fred and George had it bad last year—Mum had to give them The Talk.”

Harry frowned. “The Talk?”

“Not that Talk, thank Merlin—just the ‘how to shave without looking like a medieval wizard’ talk.” Ron rummaged through his trunk. “I think I’ve got something that’ll help.”

Harry sighed. “Wish I’d got that. I asked my uncle about shaving once.” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “He said, ‘No point teaching a little freak like you. You’ll probably shave your whole face off and save us all the trouble of looking at you.’”

Silence.

Harry hadn’t really meant to say it. It just slipped out. It was old news, really—just another thing to add to the list of things the Dursleys had made needlessly difficult.

But Ron was staring at him, and his ears were going pink.

“What,” Ron said, voice low and deadly calm, “the bloody hell did you just say?”

Harry blinked. “I mean, it’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?” Ron’s voice shot up, and Harry could practically see his temper winding up like a coiled spring. “Your uncle refused to help you and called you a freak over shaving?”

“Well—”

“That fat lump bullied you over beard hair?”

Harry hesitated. “I… I guess?”

Ron exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath. Harry caught words like ‘absolute git’, ‘hope his moustache falls off’, and something that sounded suspiciously like ‘turn him into a flobberworm’.

“I swear,” Ron fumed, still half talking to himself, “one of these days, I’m gonna—”

“Ron,” Harry said, smiling despite himself, “it’s fine.”

Ron shot him a glare. “It’s not fine, Harry. It’s stupid.” His voice softened a little, but his eyes still burned with indignation. “You know that’s not normal, right? No normal family acts like that.”

Harry looked down at his hands. He wasn’t sure what to say.

But then Ron huffed, muttering one last ‘absolute prat of a man’, and shoved a small tin into Harry’s hands.

Harry blinked down at it. Weasleys’ Whisker Wax: For All Your First-Time Facial Hair Troubles.

“…Your mum makes beard balm?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “She makes everything, mate. She had to, with Fred and George running around looking like baboons.” He flopped back onto his bed. “That stuff’ll soften the hair so it doesn’t itch as much. Makes shaving easier.”

Harry turned the tin over in his hands. It smelled like warm cinnamon and peppermint, oddly comforting.

Ron hesitated, then said, almost awkwardly, “You… you know, right? If you ever need help with this stuff—beards, spells, I dunno, life—you can just… ask.”

Harry looked up. Ron wasn’t quite meeting his eyes, but his ears were red, and there was something almost determined in his expression, like he was making some sort of silent promise.

Warmth spread through Harry’s chest.

“…Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Ron gave a brisk nod, as if sealing the deal.

“Good. Just making sure.” He suddenly brightened. “Oh, and don’t try a shaving spell yet—you’ll probably Vanish your whole eyebrow.”

Harry groaned. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

Ron clapped him on the back. “Welcome to puberty, mate.”

From his bed, Neville groaned. “Some of us are trying to sleep, you know.”