#ron bashing

Summary

After an accident in the Time Room, Hermione Granger wakes up with fractured memories, believing she's still in a relationship with Ron Weasley. But something feels off. Vivid dreams of another life, a strange connection to Draco Malfoy, and an undeniable tension with Ron leave her questioning her reality.

WIP | Dramione | Memory Loss | Ron Bashing | Weekly Updates

I'm not entirely pleased with how these came. Good news is, when I finally edit them all and put them up onto Ao3, I can work on them a bit more, flesh out the parts I don't find entirely...done. But, like they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Granger tells me that it doesn’t mean anything.

That this joining of our bodies, the consummation of our marriage, doesn’t mean a thing. I tell her that she’s wrong. This? The feel of my hand on her stomach, the feel of my tongue lapping in between her thighs? The way my tongue takes, long, deliberate strokes so that I can taste every bit of her heated arousal? The way she’s cries and whimpers against me, lifting there hips until her mound is pressed into my nose?

The way she grips at my shoulders, my hair, as she looks down at me? The way my eyes captures hers while I taste her?

It’s everything.

I could live for this.

The way she shudders and jerks when I keep going, long after she’s come. I want to see how many times I can make her break in a day. I want to keep having her look up at me all doe eyed and dazed. Like the lust and her pleasure run so deep that she forgets who it is she’s fucking. I want to watch the way she lazily reaches out for me after I make her come and gathers me against her body. I want to feel her cling to me, begging me to slide my cock into her swollen cunt.

It’s soft and swollen and slick. The things is impervious to overuse. Nothing like a useless dick. It can keep going.

And it does.

I just keep fucking her with my tongue, and my fingers, and my dick. I keep making her come, and I keep her all to myself. She never makes it to brunch.

She never makes it out of The house.

All weekend, I keep her. I keep her close, with my fingers bruising her hips and my mouth leaving marks all over her boy, claiming her for mine and mine alone.

She is still insisting that this doesn’t mean anything. She says that it can’t.

And I think she’s trying to tell me that whatever was between her and Weasley never ended before we got married.

Which is fine. That is something I can deal with at a separate time.

Because, I spend the entire weekend buried between Grangers legs like it’s a job. No. I spend my time nestled between her thighs like it’s the only thing I need to survive. Because money, drugs and food are not enough. They mean nothing.

This.

Grangers sweet, tangy sex is where it’s all at.

So. When she rolls out of bed on Monday morning, telling me to let her go, to get my hands out of her hair and out of her knickers, I might have sulked like a petulant child.

I might have hissed when she kicked my shin and I might have scowled at her as she got ready for work.

I’m listening to the sound of the shower and I am watching her get dressed and I’m panicking.

Because she’s leaving and I’m going to be left alone to do nothing. I mean, that’s fine. Because I can paint, but I need breaks from that. I need to take breaks to breathe and drink and eat but the only thing I want to do is breathe and drink and eat her.

It’s angering. Because this isn’t right.

The point is, we don’t belong here. We’re stuck in a marriage that was never borne from love and we’re stuck in a home that neither of us chose but it’s what we got and we’re stuck with it. And we’re stuck with each other.

And the point is, I would have chosen her. In some life or another, I would choose her. Because I am hers. My magic is tethered to hers. There’s an algorithm that the brightest witches and wizards who work for the minister put together and it says the same thing.

I belong to her. Because when I peered in between her thighs and I kissed my way up the inside of her leg, I found that heart shaped freckle, there on the inside of her thigh. And it doesn’t make any sense, but somehow, I know its because I am right. This is the universes way of telling us to give in and to be.

When she’s gone and the house is cold and empty and the light cannot penetrate the curtains or my mind, I leave the house.

The point is, I can’t figure out why Granger wanted me in the first place. How could a witch who was already dating another wizard want me? She’s hardly around and she’s always hated me.

But she gave in to me too easily, too eagerly.

It doesn’t matter that she kept saying it was a mistake. Because, she kept doing it. She spent the entire weekend letting me taste her and have her and she just kept taking. She takes and takes and in return, I end up feeling like I need clarification.

The point is, I can’t sit around this house one more day without settling something.

So, I leave the house.

One by one, each set of eyeballs roll toward me as I step into the Atrium Café inside of the Ministry of Magic. One by one, the chatter dies down and in their place, whispers are born.

One by one, the whispers about Malfoy fill the café as my eyes scan and find Granger. She’s huddled around a little round table with Ronald Weasley. His arm is thrown around her shoulders, his hand is tangled in her hair and he’s hunched over, speaking for only her ears.

She’s staring down at the table, her eyes distant. Her little eyebrows are scrunched up and her little mouth is pursed into a little flower and i know, I know, she is remembering the feeling of my mouth on her body. She’s is remembering her confession of wanting me more than she wants him.

But she doesn’t move away when he lifts his other hand to her cheek and forces her to look up at him.

There’s six million little legs crawling up my body. They’ve taken control, these ants. Because, they’re making me itch and they’re making me stalk through the café as the eyeballs roll around the room and watch as I approach the table where Granger is letting Weasley touch her and all I can do is listen to their commands.

When I reach them and slap a hand over my neck, she looks up at me.

Her eyes widen as they take me in. I’m dressed in a white undershirt, speckled in paint and my slacks hang loosely around my hips. I’m full of terrible flaws, but when she looks at me like that, I forget them all. Because she looks at me like I’m something unique and as terrible as I am, she finds me attractive.

I shake my hair away from my face as Weasley’s eyes sharpen on me. He leans back in his chair, his hand still on her. His fingers are still latched onto her hair and he takes his stupid eyes and he scrutinizes me. He thinks Granger is too good for me. And, she is.

But she has me and I won’t give that up.

“That’s my wife, Weasel.” The entire café falls silent. Everyone has died and this place is now a cemetery as my quiet words seem to echo off of the walls. This graveyard holds the ghosts of our pasts and the memory of our bodies betraying everything we were ever taught.

I can see the rage flare in his stupid face. Because, he goes red and his eyes grow hard as his hand palms the back of her neck.

He’s doubling down and he says, “Only on paper, ferret.”

“Ron,” Granger sighs and makes to move, but Weasley isn’t going to let this end smoothly.

He tightens his hold on her neck and his thumb swipes over the curve of it. The same curve that my mouth sucked and nibbled at.

My head tilts as I run my eyes over her. She’s remembering my mouth on her. She’s remembering the way it felt to give into our wants and needs and how it threw her entire world off balance

My eyes narrow in on her mouth. “I think it’s a little more than that,” I smirk and look her in the eye. “Isn’t that right, love?”

Weasley catches my implication and pushes to his feet. “Piss off, Malfoy.” He leans his hands onto the table and sneers at me. “She doesn’t want you. She was forced into marrying you. Are you actually pathetic enough to believe that it means anything? That, somehow, there is more between the two of you?”

He isn’t finished He’s going to get it all out, now. The opportunity has presented itself to him and in front of the world, he’s decided to vomit all of his words and all of his hate onto me.

“Because, it’s been me, Malfoy.” He spits. “It’s been my bed she crawls into for the past three years. It’s been me who has had her heart in my hands. Her body isn’t meant for you. It never was. Because it’s mine. It doesn’t matter what the legal documents say, because I still get to have her in all the ways you never could.”

It only takes a moment for my body to react.

My leg lifts and my foot kicks into the edge of the table. The table slams into Weasley’s gut, knocking him to the floor and the air from his lungs.

Granger screams and leaps out of the way before I jump on Weasley. He’s gasping for air and fighting to breathe and I make it worse.

Because, I like to use my hands.

There’s the feeling of flesh and bone against my knuckles. I can hear the bridge of his nose break and I can feel the blood pouring out of his nose and into my skin, in between my fingers. It bleeds into the miniscule lines of the top layer of my skin and I can feel it splattering against my face as I continue to beat the man.

I’m hitting him and I’m making him take back all of those hateful words. Because the idea of Granger being with anyone else hurts.

“Draco,” Granger’s calm voice breaks my concentration and my hands falter, they slip with all of the blood and land on either side of Weasley’s head as my eyes flick up to meet hers.

Granger is looking down at me, a mix of anger and resolve on her pretty little face. She holds out her hand and with her eyes, she asks me to take it. She uses her eyes and tells me to come with her.

For just a moment, I hang my head and close my eyes. I have to force the little legs running all over my body to calm down. They’re overly excited by the rush of blood my body takes. The adrenaline is still pounding through my system and it’s taking all of my energy not to do anymore harm. Weasley is coughing and spitting out the blood, his hands covering his face, protecting himself from further harm.

And for a second, I actually feel a shred of remorse.

So, I lift my head and nod my head before I take her hand and let her help me to my feet.

“Oh, Draco.” She sighs and shakes her head. She sounds so sweet, I want to eat her up. She shakes her head and looks up at me with the big sunset eyes and her walls are all the way down as they gobble me up.

I take her little face in my bloody hands and cradle it. I should be angry with her for continuing whatever it is between the two of them, but I can’t. I look at her face and her big eyes and I can’t be angry with her. I see her eyes and I know she’s mine. Somehow, she has always been mine.

“It’s over.” I tell her. “Whatever you had with him, it’s over.” And she just nods up at me, her eyes centering in on my mouth before I kiss her.

In the middle of the Ministry, I declare the inevitable. Because, I can feel her melting into me, all of her resistance is fading away as she slowly gives in.

I forget all about Weasley and when we break apart, I nod once before wrapping my hand around hers. I’m taking her home with me and she wont be able to fight me. She wont want to.

I forget all about Weasley until Granger shouts his name. I forget all about Weasley before his fist reaches out and hits me against the jaw.

I forget all about everything as my body falls and my face slams against the tiled floor.

And as the world goes black and the skin on my brow splits open, my blood spilling onto the floor, I remember one thing.

….

“It’s always going to be him, isn’t it?” Ron is near tears as he watches me tend to my unconscious husband.

Draco’s long body is draped over the couch, his head lolled to the side, his long leg hanging over the arm of it. We’re in Harry’s office, where I levitated his body, so that I can heal him in private.

Harry’s face is pursed in disapproval as he looks between Draco and Ron as he tends to the broken nose that is still gushing blood.

I sigh and sweep a lock of hair off of Draco’s forehead. “He’s my husband, Ron.” I argue but really, he is so much more. He always has been. He always will be.

“He’s a fucking psychopath!”

Harry sighs when Ron’s face jerks out of his hand as he leaps off of Harry’s desk and glares at me. He can see the way my fingers are gentle against Draco’s face. He can see it in the way I take great care to heal his wounds, that he has lost me. He lost me over three years ago when I went back to Hogwarts. He lost me the minute Draco stumbled upon me in the middle of a panic attack. He lost me the second Draco decided to put all of his attention on me.

Even after I lost Draco, I was always going to be lost to anyone else.

“He is not!” Whatever Draco is, it isn’t psychotic. Whatever he is, it’s never stopped me from gravitating toward him. And And I know he wont ever be stable, but it doesn't make him less appealing, less loveable.

“He is and you still want him! He hurt you and you still want him. It’s sick.”

I don’t respond as I seal the gash on Draco’s brow with the tip of my wand. Look, I didn’t plan on being forced to marry the boy who broke my heart. I didn’t plan on having to face the nightmare that is his family for the foreseeable future. I tried to fight it. I did. Because I was so angry at him, I didn’t want to be his again.

I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to see me as anything else but unattainable. Because that is what he was for me.

Because to him, I was nothing. I didn’t exist.

I expected him to shun me the way he had been for the past three years. Instead, he took to me like a moth to a flame. He followed me around with that same wild-eyed look and stalked me like his prey.

It was impossible not to give in this weekend. He was there, in all of his manic glory and the realization that I never stopped loving him was painful. Because he was there, right in front of me, touching me and wanting me and how could I say no?

How could I lie to him?

“He’s just going to hurt you again.” Ron’s voice breaks through my reveries. They shatter the glass bubble I climb into whenever I stare at Draco. His features were hard and harsh, though the beauty of him was undeniable. His eyes expressed everything he couldn’t say.

His eyes always undo me.

“We don’t know that, Ron.” Harry argues. “He’s living with Hermione. His father’s hold on him is loosening more and more each day.” His eyes slide over to Draco, who is still out cold on the couch and I can see the wheels in his mind working. “I think he feels trapped.”

“Are you actually defending him?” Ron shouts in disbelief and Harry winces. “Harry, he just attacked me for having a relationship with Hermione before this stupid law passed.”

Harry shrugged and I can’t help but close my eyes and massage my temples with the tips of my fingers.

“Draco doesn’t just look at me like his property.”

“Bullshit.” Ron hisses, cutting me off.

“I think he loved me.”

Ron throws his head back and laughs, derisively. “You’re mental.”

“Ron, don’t.” Harry scolds him. With a sigh, he opens the door to his office and gestures outside. “Let’s go get you healed and give them some time alone.”

Ron glares over at me for a moment before he heads for the door. But he pauses before he can leave and he looks over at me. “This,” He points to me and to Draco. “This wont last. Don’t expect me to be there for you when it all blows up in your face.”

All I can do is roll my eyes as he and Harry leave, quietly shutting the door behind them.

I stare down at Draco and feel my bones melting into something useless, as I admire him. Because even with all of the bruises and all of the blood, all of the torment that you can see in his eyes, even when he’s asleep, I cant stop myself from wanting to keep him. I can’t help but feel like even in a room full of art, he would be the most beautiful and intriguing thing in the room to me.

My fingers graze his jaw, just barely, admiring the hard bone and muscle under his bruised skin when he gasps.

Draco gasps and his eyes pop open.

His wild eyed gaze falls on me and stun me into place.

For a second, we stare back at each other, wide eyed and frozen.

And then his hand jerks out and thread painfully into my hair.

He pulls me down and his lip curves into a sneer as my face hovers over his before he growls up at me,

“You.”

….

My body falls hard onto the floor, pain cracks into my face. But, my mind drifts up into the edges of the universe. It floats for lightyears. It drifts forever and ever until it lands on a moment.

It lands on a moment that’s been taken from me and given into the heavens like a fading, dying star.

There’s Granger and me. In this moment, this memory, there is Granger and me and we’re alone in the school library. This isn’t he same nugget of gold I’ve been sitting on. This isn’t the secret looks of admiration from afar that I used to spend my time seeking out as a youth.

this is a moment from a different time.

This is a moment that somebody tole from me.

And it is me and it is her and it is our mouths greedily tasting the other. It is our hands roaming the expanse of our bodies, memorizing the lines and curves an divots.

And it isn’t just a dream. I have been dreaming about Granger for years and this isn’t a dream.

Trust me, I know.

Because there is her and there is me and all of the things in between that keep pulling and pushing at us.

I used to kiss her and hold her and she used to let me.

I don’t know if it was for one night or a lifetime but it’s there. That memory of familiarity is still there when I thread my hands through her hair and when she slaps at me with all of her pent up anger.

Her eyes are wide and full of fear as she stares down at me, as I hold her close enough to smell her skin. I’m taking all of her data, all of her smells and textures and I’m stuffing them into my mouth so that I can taste the memory of her again and again. I’m forcing the flavors onto my tongue, iliciting the truth.

“How long?” I ask her, my eyes are stabbing hers and I’m demanding all of the answers she refused to give me before. I’m her fucking husband for gods sake and she still refused to tell me that she belonged to me once before.

Possibly forever.

“What?” She asks, her little voice trembles as I force her head to tilt to one side. I’m exposing the neck that belongs to me and I’m forcing my eyes to trace the lines so that they can rememberrememberremember.

“Eighth year,” I force the words out of my lips as my mind struggles to stay on task. “How long?”

I watch her throat bob as she swallows. I watch as her lips mouth silent words before she finally spits them out. “Not long.” She shakes her head but winces when my hold on her hair tightens, forcing her to stay still.

“We only dated for a short period of time but you wanted me.” She rasps. “You wanted me and you had me for only a little while, and I—” She stops her rambling and presses her lips together and forces her eyes to close.

Granger’s eyes are shut but tears are pushing past her eyelids, clinging to her lashes before they fall onto my face. Like little drops of rain, they land on my face and I loosen my grip on her hair and lift my other hand to her chin, gently pinching it between my fingers as I study her face.

Yes, I can see it now.

There, between her lips and her eyelids, it’s there. She tried to occlude it all away but she failed. Because it’s all here for plain sight.

“You loved me.” My words tickle her lips and she nods, fervently. And she’s been in pain. Her heart was broken by the same boy who she was forced to marry.

And, she was right all along. This thing between us, this marriage? It is not going, at all, like I thought it would.

Okay, but why does this happen? And who cares? It's Dramione. The author has no responsibility to make Ron likeable.

And I agree. In a Dramione story, Ron isn't the focal point of the narrative, and depending on whether it's an AU, rewrite, postwar, etc., he may be more or less important to the overall plot. But if the goal is to create a compelling story between Hermione and Draco — two people who are enemies, who don’t know each other — then Ron is integral to that shift.

One obvious reason to bash on Ron is to create a foil to Draco. Ron is a pureblood, like our handsome blond boy. This can be a really cool way to make them similar and set them up ideologically against Hermione. How does Ron respond to certain wizarding traditions? How does Draco? Why? I get that not every fanfic sets out to be a 300k-word philosophical thesis on bigotry (thank you, smut authors), but when one does, Ron is still rarely used.

Ron is also either a former or current love interest of Hermione’s, and that, too, is a literary device to compare them. Ron is demanding, immature, dumb, and can’t make her come in bed. But Draco? Oh, Draco is understanding, emotionally evolved, intelligent, and can find the clit like it has a GPS signal. Of course, not every fic makes Draco a saint, and that’s fine — but as long as Ron is worse, Draco looks better in comparison. You also have an inherent parallel between them: rich/poor, only child/sixth son, Slytherin/Gryffindor, etc., that can be used so well.

Ron becomes a villain in some stories. And I'm not saying that’s always a bad thing! I like subverting established characters to fit a story, that’s literally what fanfiction is. Some stories do it well, too. But when it’s lazy, when he’s just a two-dimensional roadblock to get Hermione into Draco’s arms, it doesn’t work because it isn't earned.

I know that fanfiction isn't a polished literary form, and I have no hate or anything like that for authors who choose to use Ron this way, which is why I'm not listing any examples. But I do think it’s useful to examine Ron’s characterization and ask if we can achieve the same goals without destroying him and undermining the heart of the story.

Okay, so what is the goal? Usually, a Dramione fic wants to show that Draco is the best person for Hermione (yes, there are exceptions, it's fanfiction, but humor me for a moment). The author has a distinct intention to convey that in spite of all their differences, there's some mystical or logical or God-given reason that Hermione and Draco are meant to be. Inevitably, the question of "why not Ron?" has to be addressed.

It’s a disservice to Draco if one of the main reasons Hermione ends up with him is because all the other men around her are dull, boring, unmotivated, lecherous (I’m looking at you, Cormac), or literally the worst. The poor girl looks around and thinks, “Dear Merlin, I guess the only choice is Draco!”. It’s boring. And Draco does have so many good qualities! But lots of people have good qualities. If Ron is the other main contender for Hermione’s affections, then it’s a better story if he’s a well-thought-out, sensitive person. He’s been her friend for years. For all intents and purposes, he is the better option. And who’s to say the war didn’t also change him for the better, as fics often like to show it did to Draco? If you are going to make Ron a love rival, then do so without making him a ginger strawman; it will make the love story more impactful in the long run.

There’s such a wealth of narrative opportunity in Ron that goes completely unused because the easiest way to move Hermione toward Draco is to make Ron awful. But let Draco earn her. Let Hermione have a real reason to choose Ron — and still choose Draco anyway. Isn't that the story you want to read, too?

I know a lot of Ron stans (the reason why anyone stans Ron is beyond me) hate the movies and feel it ruins his character, but I am inclined to disagree.

The way I see it is the movies work as the perfect example of just how useless and uninteresting Ron is as a character. They prove that you can replace Ron with virtually anyone and the series is not impacted really all that much besides a few minor differences.

I love that Hermione is featured more heavily and made to be a total bad ass than she was in the books. I adore this variation of her and am glad that Emma Watson's portrayal is in the front of everyone's minds when they think of Hermione Granger.

It was a big moment for me when Hermione put Draco in his place, in Prisoner of Azkaban and is a big reason why I keep coming back to this series.

I saw this TikTok where this guy, who's more of a casual watcher rather than an actual fan of the series (These are their words, not mine), and they said that they thought from what they knew about Hermione's character from the books and the movies that JKR never intended to make Hermione a character that readers would like. Right down to the point in naming her an obscure name (I don't know how obscure the name Hermione is, considering its from Greek Mythology) because she didn't want any real kid to get bullied because of the character.

* sigh *

I really related to Hermione growing up and still do. I have the same know-it-all tendencies the character has, which is why she can aggravate me sometimes because I am aggravated with myself at times.

I definitely agree with what this TikToker was saying (it's kinda hard not to when all the evidence is lined up so perfectly) given what we know about this series writer (I'm not saying her name again. Once is one time too many)—not just because of what she's like on the inside, but because of how she tends to write female characters.

I mean, she writes every single female character like they're the enemy unless they serve some sort of plot, which is why I will always choose the fanfiction first because of all things considering.

I just read Lily's boy by SomewheresSword

It was amazing!! One of my first actual harry potter fics on ao3 i kind of went straight into the marauders fics on ao3 when i first started on ao3 but it was really amazing. Interesting ships i had never seen like Charlie Weasley/Sirius Black and Severus Snape/Remus Lupin.

Will say there is Ron, Hermione, and Molly bashing, Dumbledore bashing, age gap between Charlie and Sirius but i think it is very well talked about in the fic.

Main ship is Drarry (which is my go to)

Summary straight from ao3: