Dubhean

I'm a big fan of good literature with Ian Rankin, Fiodor Dostojewski, Carlos Ruiz Zafón, J.R.R. Tolkien and Jacek Dukaj being on my shortlist of favourite writers.

I also love music, old and contemporary. I mostly listen to U2, Depeche Mode, R.E.M., Pink Floyd, Foy Vance, Simon and Garfunkel, Dire Straits, Clannad and The Cranberries.

My passions are languages, literature, linguistics, Celtology, Irish modern history, politics, psychology, law and ethics.

I work hard on mastering English, learning Scots and bits and pieces of Celtic languages.

I love writing and all the same hate it as it takes most of my sleepless nights. I became a slave to writing long ago (some time before my primary school when my mother has been writing down my stories for me) and, ever since, I just cannot stop coming up with new plots and ideas.

I have a few original projects in progress that I don't share yet, focusing on mastering my writing and posting fanfiction online.

Although Harry Potter is not my favourite novel, I write only in that fandom (probably just a mission to patch the holes in canon).

I mostly write:

Sevmione

Gusmione (Hermione x Augustus Rookwood)

Remione

Charlmione

Dramione

You can find me on wattpad and AO3.

It might seem simple enough, and so it seemed at the beginning of that bumpy road, when I was fifteen-ish, young and as naïve and innocent as one can be at the threshold of adulthood.

I was full of ideas, full of longing, and although I had merely scratched the surface of suffering, I was sure I had already lived through centuries of pain.

Boy, how wrong I was!

Only later does one fully understand the meaning of all those words they were so eager to use; one sees how out of place they are in the context of those first, insecure attempts at writing. How the ideas about life, love, betrayal and grief differ from reality.

The full, unhinged DRAMA of early writing…

I miss it, I miss it all, but mostly I miss the naïve confidence, that blind certainty that one is right…

And yet, I was scarcely right. And even more rarely, truly confident about anything save my stories.

What I think writing is for a teenager is a safe harbour. A place, a community where they can share every little pain and drama while multiplying it, emphasising it to create an exaggerated hyperbole of life.

It is a theatre of Tomorrow Land, a place where one puts oneself in the boots of an older, or a very different, mostly desired position. A place to torture oneself, to do all those things that are not yet allowed.

And that's how I imagine my Augustus Rookwood

Between the writer and their work, the work and the readers, the readers and the writer themselves.

It is not the easiest task, yet it is one of the most important ones for me—a matter, so to say, of honour.

Yes, the ships I choose aren’t the easiest ones to portray. They are not the healthiest or most common pairings in the fandom.

But it is precisely the problems that make them so intoxicatingly interesting to me—and to some readers.

Yet again, some cease to see how complex and toxic these relationships tend to be; some fall victim to escapism, expecting the same escapism from every writer.

And I am far from granting such easy escapes to anyone—neither to my characters, nor to my readers, not even to myself.

What sometimes truly disappoints me is the demand for this escape.

I am not claiming that my writing is the most cheerful in the world (on the contrary, I prefer it dark, gloomy, and even hopeless at times). And I try my best to imitate reality in all its cruel, merciless entirety.

Thus, the inner monologues of my characters, the events they experience—it all takes a toll on them.

And then, it so happens that I get lectured on the toxicity of the thoughts of my gaslighted, groomed, and lonely character, who has endured years of subliminal abuse.

In my opinion, there is nothing more rightful and just than giving a voice to those who are hurting—to show how hateful and contemptuous of themselves victims and survivors can be; how often they are consumed by guilt, self-loathing, and despair.

After the fall of Voldemort, Hermione Granger has built a life on control. By day she prosecutes abusers before the Wizengamot, relentless and brilliant; by night she hides in a narrow London townhouse layered in wards and silence. She has lovers she doesn’t love, friends she’s slowly losing, and a reputation forged in fire. What she doesn’t have is peace.

Then an anonymous letter lands on her doorstep.

A Muggle woman—Catrin Cambel—called off her wedding four days before the ceremony. Hours later, she disappeared. No magic. No witnesses. No trace. Just a name, an address in Scotland… and the unmistakable scent of something wrong.

As Hermione digs into her first case outside the wizarding world, she uncovers whispers of a radical cult obsessed with “purity,” men who hunt under the full moon, and violence that feels chillingly familiar to the war she thought she survived. The deeper she goes, the more the lines blur—between justice and vengeance, secrecy and complicity, desire and danger.

Because someone is watching her.

Someone she met under strobing club lights and false names. Someone who touched her like he already knew her. Someone who may not be a stranger at all.

In a Britain still rotting beneath its fragile peace, Hermione must confront the darkness that thrives underground—both in the world… and in herself.

A post-war thriller of obsession, power, and the cost of choosing justice over safety.

When No One Watches - Chapter 1 - Dubhean - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

After the war, peace was meant to follow.

Instead, for Hermione Granger, there is only absence.

Her parents vanish without a trace. Doors to further education close without explanation. Promising career prospects dissolve in a fog of polite refusals and wary glances. Friends grow distant. Her former fiancé calls her obsession “unhealthy”. Alone and increasingly mistrustful, Hermione begins to suspect that the war did not end — it merely went underground.

Paranoia becomes her closest companion. She chases whispers through Ministry archives and Knockturn back alleys, builds private case files that lead nowhere, and maps connections no one else can see. The only tangible clue left behind is a crooked smile lingering in her parents’ abandoned kitchen — and the unshakeable certainty that something is terribly wrong.

Then she stumbles upon a case that refuses to disappear.

A missing witch. A falsified record. A pattern.

Her pursuit of the truth drags her into the shadowed underbelly of wizarding Britain: trafficking rings hidden behind glamour and influence, a secret organisation threading itself through the lives of hundreds, and a world where desire is currency and bodies are bargaining chips. At the centre of it all stands the glittering nocturnal empire of Lucius Malfoy — a private club where power, perversion, and politics intertwine behind velvet curtains.

To expose them, Hermione may have to step inside.

How far will she allow herself to be drawn into a world of prostitution, manipulation, and carefully concealed appetites? What will the cost be — to her sanity, her morality, her body?

And what role will the Albus Dumbledore’s most loyal hound, Severus Snape, play in a game that may have begun long before the war ever ended?

A dark, suggestive thriller laced with sharp humour and slow-burn tension, this story explores obsession, trauma, and the dangerous spaces where justice and desire collide.

RATED EXPLICIT

It was never meant to be a series. I started writing it some 5-ish years ago, before beginning my English studies (I’m not native, I remind you, if you haven’t yet noticed the Slavic influences spread all around my syntax 😘), so it was supposed to be simple and short — just something I could train my writing abilities on. It, however, turned out to be more complicated than I had intended and, regardless of all my sincere promises that I would never, ever sit down to write a second volume of the story, around three years later I did.

The first part wasn’t even a romantic story: it was one of foes gradually becoming reluctant allies — or, to be exact, people who already, unknowingly, were reluctant allies, slowly acknowledging the fact that they needed each other to survive.

I intended to end it there. To finish without additional, unnecessary emotional drama. But then, well, the second part happened to me, as rain happens to the sky. It just did. For no particular reason better than I needed to write a follow-up.

The whole series — and each volume separately — is both bitter and dark, and yet at the same time strangely cosy and comforting.

For even in the deepest darkness, unexpected warmth may hide.

If you are in need of a story devoid of classical romance, one that leads from bitter, gruesome grief to friendship, and then straight into full-blown, mature commitment — here is the link. Enjoy!

Quick summary:

A two-part exploration of war’s quiet aftermath, of wounds carved beneath the skin, and the long, spiraling silence that grows between two people who should have never crossed paths—and yet did.

Part I – Deep Bruises of War In the fragile lull that follows the war, Hermione Granger finds herself under the reluctant mentorship of a voiceless, half-broken Severus Snape. What begins as obligation deepens into something unspoken—tense, ambiguous, and fragile as breath. But just as she begins to glimpse something human in him, he disappears, leaving behind only silence… and questions.

Part II – Cuts That Never Heal Years later, Snape returns—to Hogwarts, to her life, and to the wreckage they never dared to name. But he is not the same man, and neither is she. As illness shadows his steps and secrets surface like old bones in shallow earth, Hermione is forced to reckon with the past she buried and the truths she never knew she was owed.

Together, these stories chart a path through the aftermath of war—not its battles, but its echoes. Of survival, yes, but also of grief. Of missed chances and quiet hauntings. Because some scars fade. And some don’t.

This is a story about what happens after survival. After the war. After the heroics. After the world decides you’re finished.

Years later, Hermione Granger hides at the edge of the world, carrying silence, illness, and a truth she refuses to name. When Severus Snape—ruined, half-blind, and hollowed out by guilt—collapses at her door, neither of them expects more than endurance.

What they find instead is winter intimacy: shared cigarettes, quiet meals, borrowed warmth, bodies learning each other too late. Love doesn’t arrive loudly here. It seeps in. It settles. It waits—unspoken.

She is dying. He refuses to see it. And silence becomes the cruelest kind of mercy.

This is not redemption. It is not healing. It is not forgiveness.

It is love in its final season—fragile, furious, and unbearably human. A story about choosing presence over truth, denial over fear, and discovering that some loves do not save you… they simply happen, and that is enough to ruin you forever.

Read this if you like:

doomed intimacy

quiet domestic grief

terminal love

Snape being devastatingly human

Hermione choosing silence over hope

stories that will break you and leave you grateful for the damage

🩶 One winter. One love. One eternity.

What did Snape really think of the Golden Trio?

Because what he showed and said was rarely all that he perceived or thought.

I can imagine he saw Harry in a ‘like father, like son’ sort of way — deeply prejudiced against anything bearing the Potter label, and not entirely without reason.

Ron, I believe, was almost non-existent to him. Just another Weasley redhead there to irritate him and sour his mood. Sadly, I think Snape noticed him only because he was Harry’s friend — otherwise he was not great, not terrible, just another boy squandering his potential on silly jokes and the trivialities of youth.

But Hermione?

I’m certain he noticed her as something more than merely Harry’s friend. She, on her own, must have been irritating enough to stand out in his mental menagerie of Hogwarts students. I reckon she exceeded the category of ‘yet another nosy, stubborn Gryffindor bully’, because she was one of the few who wasn’t afraid to defy him, to look him straight in the eye, and to accept the consequences of her actions with a genuine understanding of why those consequences came.

I’m glad I can’t imagine him seeing her as anything more or less than a child — annoying, brilliant, egocentric perhaps — but still, just a child. I could never picture him as a creep.

But I’m sure he noticed her as a person.

The question is — what kind of person?