“She Hated Him.” “Nah, She Didn’t.”

REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK

A/N: It’s been awhile since I did a birthday drabble, so I’m dropping this in before midnight (my time). Today was irritating, so it’s just a mindless fluff moment. Indulge me my latest snog-and-run. At least no one’s drunk. You all know that’s my usual go-to.

Happy birthday to Lily Evans, light of my light, heart of my heart.

“The thing is,” Lily says—simply, pertly, shockingly soberly—“I reckon I ought to snog you before midnight.”

It is late Saturday evening, 29 January 1977. Only the worst of the worst give Saturday night detentions, but Filch is, by definition, a filcher of all good things and basic decency, so James and Lily had been stuck scrubbing metal in the Trophy Room for the last two hours. James can’t be certain what foible brought Lily to this debasement, but he’s certain a few harmless suits of armour domino-ing down the third floor corridor after James accidentally nudged one diving for his errant snitch cannot possibly be a fair trade.

Someone really ought to convey that to Filch.

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

The first thing that Ron does on realising they are in danger is -Push Hermione out of harm’s way. He doesn’t pull out his wand to defend himself or duck or do anything else. HE PUSHES HER OUT OF HARM’S WAY. 

And read the next sentence: The force of the Death Eater’s spell shattered the tiled wall where Ron’s head had just been.

His basic instinct is to save her at the cost of his own safety.

(♡´❍`♡)*✧ ✰ ｡*

+ bonus