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.

After all, toxicity is what people nowadays call red flags (I still write it like that because I come from the generation that didn't really use the term). And everyone has a few. Even if they're well hidden. Just as nothing is ever entirely black or white, no one is completely free of toxic traits.

But that's not actually what this post was supposed to be about.

I wanted to talk about imbalance. And about what fascinates me about it beyond the toxicity that can sometimes grow from it.

Disparities in relationships have always existed, and they always will. Different eras have simply focused on preventing different kinds of imbalance. In the past, people tried to avoid disparities in social standing or wealth between the families being joined. Nowadays, far greater emphasis is placed on avoiding power imbalances, relationships based on dependency, or significant age gaps.

It's the age difference that fascinates me most, and for several reasons.

First, everyone's idea of what counts as "too big" an age gap is different. Second, people often judge the very same age gap differently depending on which partner is older. And third, I don't entirely understand the outrage surrounding age-gap relationships when both people involved are adults, fully capable of making their own choices.

I also see a number of advantages that such relationships can offer which, with the right partner, can sometimes outweigh the disadvantages.

I won't go into those in detail here, because they're highly subjective opinions, and I have no intention of convincing anyone to share my view.

What do you think?

Just another Augustus Rookwood appreciation post (usually imagined by me as played by Joseph Mawle).

It’s not that I don’t recognise how deeply toxic a man like this would be. Nor that I’m somehow oblivious to the fact that I’m happily falling for every carefully crafted hook belonging to a manipulator and a morally bankrupt man.

The thing is, Augustus Rookwood is such a deliciously underdeveloped, neglected character in canon that I simply couldn’t resist the temptation to fill in those gaps with ideas of my own.

I often find it slightly painful to watch fanfiction bend well-established characters into completely different people. Far too often, we turn them into the exact opposite of who they are in canon, and unless there’s a compelling reason for that transformation, I’ve always felt it’s unnecessary.

At the same time, I wanted a protagonist with a very specific set of traits without creating an OC. So I decided to do something that, at least to me, feels morally acceptable (please take the word morally with a very large pinch of salt in this context).

I simply adopted Rookwood and gave him everything I adore in several different characters.

I’ve always thought Sirius Black’s reckless charm, effortless flirtation, and faint air of aristocratic decadence were incredibly attractive. At the same time, that flirtatiousness could be irresponsible and, at times, downright rude, which was balanced so beautifully by Remus Lupin’s quiet tenderness and genuine kindness. Yet Remus, with his complete lack of self-worth, can eventually become exhausting too. Even Severus Snape - my very first Hogwarts love - with his razor-sharp wit, dark sarcasm, bitterness, and frightening intelligence, can wear me out after a while.

And so he was born: the hero of both my dreams and my writing nightmares. A man who possesses everything I love about those characters while being stripped of the qualities that personally frustrate me. I seasoned him with exceptional cunning, near-genius intelligence, a manipulative streak, an unwavering sense of honour, and a moral code so complicated that it rarely makes sense from the outside. Yet when it comes to the people he considers his - most often Severus, who in my stories is his closest friend - he is fiercely loyal and astonishingly protective.

There are barely a handful of Augustus Rookwood/Hermione Granger stories on AO3, so I genuinely suspect I’m the one who coined the name Gusmione. And I absolutely adore them together. His cold logic and extraordinary intelligence, paired with Hermione’s moral compass and formidable knowledge, make them capable of achieving remarkable things. More importantly, so many of their strengths and flaws complement one another.

Of course, Augustus has plenty of flaws.

He’s a man balancing on the edge of sociopathy. A ruthless bastard who could buy you flowers with the same ease that he could stab you in the back - provided he believed there was a reason to do so. But he isn’t cruel. He doesn’t seek pleasure in carrying out Voldemort’s orders, nor does he relish violence for its own sake.

He isn’t conventionally attractive, nor is he particularly charming in the way most romantic heroes are. But he treats Hermione with the respect she deserves. More often than not, he is the first person to truly see her as she is - to understand her needs, recognise her intentions, and acknowledge the weight she carries without ever diminishing her because of it.

I tend to see him as one of those young people who were rebellious, thrill-seeking, fiercely independent - or simply desperate to belong. Someone who found identity, purpose, and protection in a movement that eventually consumed every part of him, right down to his soul.

Does that excuse him?

No.

But it does make him human.

I've always considered the "problematic" pairings and characters more interesting.

Is it more demanding to write them in a responsible way than the "usual" ones? Yes. Is it a more satisfying process for me? Of course.

After all, I'm not torturing myself for nothing, searching for reasons and circumstances that would suit and enable people who, on the surface, seem so different and mismatched to genuinely bond or reach a certain level of mutual understanding.

Pairings like Snamione, Remione, and Gusmione (Hermione × Augustus Rookwood) are, in my opinion, extremely difficult to portray in a psychologically realistic way. One has to focus not only on the usual emotional aspects, but also on the additional turmoil created by two generations, two profoundly different worlds, pasts, and upbringings colliding.

Is it OK to push for a happy ending?

Of course.

But I also believe it is very important to show that not every relationship ends in rainbows and roses. That some relationships can be sustained only with a certain amount of toxicity involved – or otherwise, they are doomed to fall apart.

I prefer to present relationships in a relatively realistic way, with brutal honesty and explicit emotional content. That's why I usually give my stories the highest possible rating. And it is also crucial to remember that not only eroticism or violence should be considered explicit or potentially triggering. Sometimes the angst required to portray adult life – and, therefore, adult problems, dilemmas, and decisions – can be just as ethically and morally ambiguous.

Real life is seldom black and white. The weight and consequences of our decisions vary, influencing different areas of our lives simultaneously, and there are scarcely any situations in which one solution brings only positive outcomes.

I love showing that, to gain stability in one direction, we usually destabilise – or even destroy – some other part of our lives.

And it all works the same way in fiction.

It is a kind of hyper-realism. It may be annoying or unsatisfying for some.

Summary: Five years after the war, Hermione Granger has become exactly the sort of Ministry official she once promised herself she never would: overworked, politically compromised and quietly disillusioned. When she's assigned to investigate the mysterious case of Augustus Rookwood - a former Unspeakable, Death Eater and intelligence operative who vanished after the war - she expects to uncover another fugitive. Instead, she finds a man who seems to know far more about her than she does about him. Their first meeting turns into a battle of observation rather than magic. Rookwood doesn't threaten Hermione or try to recruit her. He studies her, challenges her assumptions and slowly draws her into conversations about power, morality, politics and the uncomfortable realities of the post-war wizarding world. As Hermione uncovers evidence of corruption inside the Ministry, her investigation gradually becomes something much more personal. What begins as an attempt to expose one of Britain's most elusive war criminals develops into an increasingly dangerous relationship built on intellectual fascination, psychological manipulation and the unsettling feeling of being completely understood. Set across Britain and continental Europe, Tegumentum is a slow-burn psychological drama exploring loneliness, political disillusionment, moral ambiguity and the fine line between manipulation and intimacy. Rather than focusing on redemption or simple romance, it follows two exceptionally intelligent people who recognise exactly what the other is doing - and choose to keep talking anyway.

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.