#frumpologist

Cormac McLaggen / @frumpologist

Join LadyKenz with special guest host @mhcalamas as they grill Frump on all things Frumpology!

√ Dramionarry (Draco x Hermione x Harry) √ Setting: 6 years later √ 28 chapters √ My score: ❤❤❤❤ (very nice) √ Rating: M √ Language: ***** (close to no mistakes)

After the War, there is a boom of marriage and divorce. Hermione finds herself among the statistics of war heroes who couldn’t save their marriages. When she receives the invoice from her solicitor, she has no choice but to answer an ad in The Daily Prophet: Malfoy Heir Seeking Nanny.

But, everything is not quite what it seems as Hermione navigates the waters of post-divorce life.

My notes: Honestly, this is one of the creepiest things I’ve ever read. How Hermione is treated by Ron happens to so many people around the globe and a lot of people believe that they’re just weak or deserve it in some way. Hell, they believe it themselves and the ‘Ron’ in their lives often doesn’t even view what he’s doing as something wrong. This fic gave me insights in (emotional) abusive relationships which I didn’t even know I was missing, it’s really a brilliant read.

The Feast of Valentine

AO3

The Feast of Valentine approaches, bringing with it a final opportunity to end High Priest Riddle’s reign of terror. Can Draco and Hermione stop him, or will Riddle and his cult rip their family apart? Co-written with the fabulous @frumpologist for the Triwizard Tournament, hosted by @dramionefanfictionwriters .

Excerpt:

“Valentine, Love Eternal.” High Priest Riddle raised his hands towards the domed ceiling, his rich voice projecting through the congregation. “We beseech you. Keep us in Your everlasting heart.”

I mouthed along with the others. “Keep us in Your everlasting heart.”

Like a choreographed dance, we stood from our kneeling cushions and filed in a straight line. At the foot of the altar, Riddle said a blessing over each Disciple, his hushed words the only sounds in the chamber.

As I stepped to the head of the line, I lifted my gaze. High Priest Riddle stretched his arm towards me, wand ready in his hand. On the altar behind him, the flower-crowned skull of Valentine was nestled in red satin under a glass dome.

“May your heart be filled with our Lord’s eternal love.” The patches of skin above Riddle’s eyes, where his eyebrows should have been, twitched upward. His dark eyes flicked to my arm expectantly.

I pulled up my sleeve, revealing Valentine’s Mark on my pale forearm—a skull adorned with flowers, a faithful image of the relic on the altar. Riddle pressed the tip of his wand on the Mark.