Mina Roman

Molly: Merlin Ron! What are those on your back?

Ron: what?

Molly: it looks like someone has scratched you violently. Ronald Bilius Weasley, how did those happen?

Ron: umm... mum its nothing.

Molly: do not say it's nothing, young man. Those look awful. Tell me right now what happened?

Ron: I- umm... Crookshanks. Crookshanks attacked me yesterday. It was my fault too. I stepped on his tail in the darkness.

Ginny(grinning evilly): are you sure, Ron? it was Crookshanks or someone who is close to Crookshanks?

Molly: what does that mean?

Ron: nothing mum. Ignore her. I told you the cat attcked me.

Molly: I am gonna prepare some murtlap essence for you. Tell Hermione to control her cat(leaves)

Ginny: yeah Ron. You should really tell Hermione to control... her cat I mean.

Harry(laughing): yeah mate. Tell her to control her cat.

Happy birthday @mina-roman!!!

Enjoy a little post war angst <3

Sorry in advance for any Christmas songs you may find stuck in your head

🌲🎄🌲

A Thing For Lumberjacks

“Let’s pop in here,” Hermione says, tugging at Ron’s hand to pull him towards the holiday shop. “I need a new tree, mine’s gone out.”

Ron chuckles, but lets her drag him along without resistance. “You mean your lights have gone out.”

“Well, yes.” The bell over the door chimes their arrival, but the soft tinkle goes unnoticed in the low, constant hum of the shop. “But they’re twisted up in the tree, you know. So many of the artificial trees are pre-lit now. The lights fail, and then you have to replace the whole thing. It’s quite a racket, really.”

“Pre-lit?” Ron echoes, following her through the crowded shop as she searches for trees among the myriad decorations available for purchase. “Artificial?” When she turns to look at him, he’s clutching his heart as if she’s said something horribly offensive. “No, no, you’ve got to get a live tree. It’s the only way to go.”

Artificial trees had been the only type to ever grace the Grangers’ living room as she was growing up, and she tells him so. “Besides, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to care for a real one. They’re a fire hazard once they dry out.”

“Good thing your boyfriend was raised on a Christmas tree farm,” Ron retorts, drawing out the words.

“Oh, stop, no you weren’t.” They had enough mutual friends at uni to have met on multiple previous occasions, but they’ve only been seeing each other properly for a few weeks, since reconnecting at Susan Bones’s Halloween party. Even so, Hermione is sure she would know by now if Ron’s family farm raised Christmas trees as its main crop.

“Yes. I was.”

She halts her search and looks up at Ron, scanning his face for any sign that he’s joking and finding none. “An actual Christmas tree farm?” she questions. “That’s what Weasley Farms is?”

Ron laughs, and the sound warms her down to her toes. “Yeah. What’d you think it was?”

“Well, I don’t know, I suppose. Not Christmas trees.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulder and steers her to the back corner of the shop, where a variety of plastic pines and firs stand glowing and blinking with their pre-installed lights. “Go on, then. Pick out your artificial rubbish, and then I’ll take you out to Devon next weekend so we can get you a proper tree.”

🌲🌲🌲🌲

Hermione had no idea what to expect, really. A Christmas tree farm. But she’s sure, had she tried to envision Weasley Farms, her imagination would have fallen far short of the reality.

A perfectly curated forest of evergreen stretches out before her, and Ron’s hand entwined with hers staves off the chill that nips at her nose. Behind them stands a sprawling farmhouse—Ron grew up with six siblings, after all—that maintains its charm despite its size, and beyond that is a small tool shed.

“It’s not much,” Ron says with a shrug, “but it’s home.”

Hermione turns to gawk at him. “Are you serious? It’s beautiful here.”

“Well, yeah, I mean…I think so, but…” He trails off, and a smile spreads on his lips. “Come on, let me show you around.”

The house is surprisingly quiet, though Hermione supposes it’s not too unusual as all the kids are grown, and Ron notes that his parents have probably gone into town.

“They know we’re coming,” Ron says as he leads her to the tool shed. “Mum’s probably at the market prepping a feast for twelve.”

The hinge creaks as the door swings inward. It’s dim inside, but Ron seems to know exactly where to go as he paces a straight line down the front wall and grabs something from near the floor. As he returns to Hermione, she realizes that what he’s holding is an ax.

Giving the tool a puzzled frown, she asks, “What on earth are you going to do with that?”

Ron laughs as he latches the shed behind them. “We’re getting you a proper tree, remember?”

“I—” Hermione stops, lost for words. It seems silly to ask; even if she had gotten a live tree in London, it would have to come from somewhere, but she’s never before considered the logistics. “You’re going to cut it down yourself?”

“Yeah, of course.” He smirks at her. “Unless you want to give it a go?”

Hermione snorts. “No, thank you. We both arrived here with two arms and two legs, and I would like to leave the same way.”

Ron slips his free hand into hers as they make their way to the trees. “Alright,” he says, stopping at the edge. “Pick one.”

“Pick one?” Hermione repeats. “Just like that? Aren’t you going to give me any pointers?”

“Well, what’s your preference? There’s tall trees, short ones, thicker branches…Do you need a solid stem up top? How heavy is your tree topper?”

“I can honestly say I’ve never given so much thought to a tree before.” Hermione begins a slow walk down one of the rows, letting the needles sift through her fingers. She expected them to be tough and pointy, to prick her hand, but they’re actually quite soft, and the scent of pine wafts into the air from her touch. “I don’t know. What sort do you like?”

Ron takes her all through the farm, showing her the different types of trees and explaining the benefits of each. She finally settles on a type that Ron deems the most low maintenance, terrified that she’ll forget to water it properly, and stands back to watch him cut down her selection.

He shrugs out of his coat, tossing it carelessly to the ground beside him, and pushes up the sleeves of his jumper before he raises the ax. Hermione watches the muscles of his arm tense as he chops into the tree with practiced strokes, cutting it down in no time.

As it tips to the ground, he turns and grins at her. “There you go. Your first real tree.”

Hermione approaches him, ignoring the tree as she laces her arms around his neck. “How long do you think we have before your parents come home?” she murmurs.

Ron laughs as he leans in to kiss her. “I had no idea you had a thing for lumberjacks.”

“Mm, neither did I, but…” Her eyes flicker to the tree, and the ax still in Ron’s hand, before landing back on his piercing blue gaze.

We can’t get enough of #fakedating! Enjoy this take from @mina-roman!

Fic Title: Not a Last Resort Author Name: Mina_Roman Selected Trope: Fake Dating Brief Summary: Hermione tells a fib when she gets asked to the Slug Club’s Christmas Party Word Count: 2,771 Rating: G

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Part I: The Lie

As Hermione perused the aisles of the library, running her fingers down the leather spines of books, she became lost in her own thoughts. After an early rise this morning, she’d finished the ten inches for Defence Against the Dark Arts, revised her Ancient Runes translation, and gotten started on her Arithmancy reading—and she would still be able to meet Ron and Harry for a late breakfast in an hour. Finally, her eyes halted on the copy of New Theory of Numerology, Vol. II that she’d been looking for. Pulling it off the shelf, she flickered through its pages, absorbing the information as her fingers hovered over key names and theorems until a shadow caused the words to disappear. 

Hermione looked up and frowned at the sight of Cormac. 

“Hey, Granger.” 

“Hi.”

“I thought I’d find you here. You always have your nose in a book. Or your hand on one.” Cormac flashed her a pearly-white smile as if he’d taken lessons from Professor Lockhart. “So, the Slug Club’s Christmas party is around the corner. I’m single, and I know you are too…” When Hermione didn’t reply, he added, “Come as my date.”

“No.” Realising how curt she sounded, she forced a small smile. “I can’t.” 

It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked to a dance by someone she hadn’t wanted to go out with. When Viktor had asked, Hermione hadn’t processed that he was asking her as his date. Lost in the moment, she’d stuttered out a yes though her heart had cried out against it. Then Neville had also asked, but turning him down had come easily because she already had a date. Ron asking was different. Her stomach had squirmed with the admission of the truth and how much she wished it weren’t the case. But still, she knows now that her pride would’ve kept her from agreeing as he never had truly considered to even ask. 

For today’s second fic, enjoy a brilliant Hunger Games inspired Fuck or Die from @voldemorts-tap-shoes!!

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Fic Title - The Games Author Name - @voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl Selected Trope - Fuck or Die Brief Summary - Forced into a brutal competition that pits purebloods against muggleborns, Ron and Hermione encounter an unexpected obstacle in the arena. Word Count - 4335 Rating - E Any Trigger Warnings - mentions of non-character death and wizarding prejudice, explicit sexual content

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If she lived to be a thousand years old, Hermione Granger would’ve never expected to be here again. Traipsing through these dense woods, stripped of her wand and fighting for her life. Not that she’d been given a choice either time that her name was drawn for the Games.

The competition was different this time. There were, of course, a few of the purebloods who were hungry for another victory to notch in their belts, but the general feeling among the victors that had been plucked from their plush post-Games lives for a special anniversary clash was one of resentment. Why us? Why now? Why again?

The underlying discontent had forged a loose alliance among the majority of the group, an idea that maybe they weren’t their own worst enemies. The Games were, for the first time, the tributes versus the Ministry and not each other.

Of course, that only went so far in practicality, with the more avid purebloods still on a violent quest to be the last one standing. They thrived in this environment, which was why the Ministry continued to include them in the annual Games, and why Hermione was currently hiking through the forest, looking for a place to hunker down for the night. Her legs and lungs burned from the added exertion of the extra weight she was supporting, from her injured ally: pure-blood Ron Weasley.

He wasn’t like the others; their paths had crossed before, as there was no denying a request from the Ministry when they wanted their victors to make an appearance. A muggleborn, even the few like Hermione who managed to win their Games, was still a muggleborn, and most of the purebloods gave her a wide berth at Ministry functions. Not Ron.

The first time she met him was at the victory celebration for his Games, just the year after hers. His had been one of the shortest on record, ended by the early elimination of all the muggleborns rather than by having a single victor. There was absolutely nothing about the event that Hermione felt like celebrating, other than the passing of the torch that meant she was no longer the reigning winner of the Games, and when Ron had cheerfully introduced himself, she had brushed him off. He was a pureblood, after all, and they were all the same. Or so she had thought at the time.

This is a lovely idea and I've ended up writing something Hinny/Romione related with a bit of guy love too, since I've written so many drabbles already that feature around someone being in bed.

Hopefully, you'll still enjoy this one!

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Grimmauld Place is empty, devoid of all the noise that made it one of Harry’s favourite places. He’s sure that’s why the smallest creak of the floorboards from the level below forces him out of bed, even though it’s barely morning. After grabbing his wand, and igniting it with a quick Lumos, he stumbles out of the room towards the stairs.

It had been too difficult to sleep anyway, and as soon as he stepped into Sirius’ old bedroom, Harry regretted telling Ron and Hermione he preferred to be alone. But his best friends had been too consumed in something else and Harry couldn’t handle the oppressive loneliness that sunk over his heart.

For Fic Readers:

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Writers are always thankful for kudos, notes, and reviews!!

BUT when you send us requests asking when something will update, that can be stressful and can turn us off from wanting to provide an update.

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For fic writers:

It is OKAY to take a step back from writing if you need it.

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You don't owe anyone speedy updates.

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Keep on keepin' on, but only if your heart is in it!

Do this for you 💜

Can you write a drabble of Ron and Hermione when Molly ask them to do something (some chore, cooking or something) before harry comes to the burrow in deathly hallows and they’re blushing a lot because they’re fcking in love and so cute

tysm<3

Thank you so much lovely anon. Your ask actually sparked TWO ideas, so here's one story now and I'll be posting another on the 21st! I hope that you enjoy them both! <3

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The laundry basket rests on the edge of Ron’s bed, and Hermione sighs as she digs out another item and blindly folds it. Although the monotony of the task allows her the brain space to run through the plans and lists of things she, Ron and Harry might need when they leave the Burrow, she can’t help feeling that it’s wasted time.

Adding the folded top to the growing pile, she reaches in again. She loops her fingers around it and pulls it out, but she’s distracted by the bedroom door swinging open.

“What the hell are you doing with those?”

Hiiii @cynthia-granger thank you for the ask. As soon as I saw it, I knew what I had to put down. I hope you enjoy it! <3 I know the moment at the Shrieking Shack is movie!canon, rather than book!canon, but I couldn't resist exploring what might have happened if Malfoy and his goons hadn't turned up. ---

It’s cold in Hogsmeade today, but I haven’t turned into an ice cube. Although my breath fogs the air and there’s a hole in my gloves, my body is warm.

It could be because of the person standing next to me. Ron radiates heat all of the time, but I’m not complaining about it for once. My heart pounds as we peer at the Shrieking Shack. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or the stories we’ve been fed about the place, but I’m sure I can see the building tilting and wavering in the harsh winter wind.

A howl sounds from across the valley, sending a shiver down my spine. We’re here alone. It’s the first time we’ve ever done something only us two, and it’s strange, but not all together un-welcome. There’s a relief I wasn’t expecting on discovering we can maintain conversation without Harry, and that Ron and I get along fine.

iya pal, thank you so much for suggesting this, and giving me IDEAs but encouraging me to read stuff I wouldn't normally. You're one of the best people in my life (you and the Circle Crew) and I know how much you enjoy your heart being stomped on.

So here's your drabble, I hope you cry! <3

Before anyone reads, there's a massive TW for angst and PTSD here. You can all have your hearts broken, but please be safe about it.

My ask box is always open, whether you want to request a story from my prompts list, or just need to chat.

Almost Broken

Ron knows when Hermione is around, but he hasn’t always.

It’s a feeling that’s been growing for a while. Her presence sets every hair on his arm on edge and sends his pulse racing. Sometimes, it’s hard being in the same room with her, but he tries his best anyway.

He’s not surprised—they’ve spent almost every waking hour together since the age of eleven, studying and hanging around. And since McGonagall made them Prefects last September, their closeness has only grown.

Maybe he’s just used to her being there.

SUBMIT HERE!