Amal El-Mohtar/Max Gladstone, This Is How You Lose the Time War

[ Text ID: I want to meet you in every place I have loved. ]

“Heya, mate. Is Hermione Granger around?”

Draco leaned over the counter, giving the pathetic, gap-toothed wanker sporting a Flourish & Blotts t-shirt a bored look. “Hermione Granger?” he intoned as if he had never heard that name before.

Gap-Tooth shuffled uneasily. “Yeah. She works here. Doesn’t she?”

“Does she?” Draco inspected his nails.

Gap-Tooth wandered off awkwardly, pretending to scan the shelves.

Draco’s eyes narrowed when he paused at the Love Potions, kept under strict lock and key.

Gap-Tooth asked, “Erm are you able to—?”

“No,” said Draco, point-blank.

Something about Draco’s expression made him pale, and he was out the door less than ten seconds later.

When Gap-Tooth was gone, Draco glanced down and said, “You’re all clear.”

Dusting off her trousers, Granger rose to her feet and picked up the inventory scroll again. “I’ve told him I’m not interested,” she said, purposely avoiding Draco’s eye.

“You didn’t drive the point. He probably thinks he’s being cute stalking you everywhere.”

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t even visit Flourish and Blotts anymore.”

“Ordering books in the mail is more efficient.”

He might have believed her if it weren’t for the countless times she’d returned late from her lunch break, carrying teetering piles of new books. But ever since Gap-Tooth started working there, lunchtimes were reduced to eating soggy sandwiches in the lab.

Gap-Tooth returned two days later.

Granger didn’t see him coming through the shopfront window and he caught her unaware, shelving cloud-shaped vials of Dreamless Sleep. His voice made her jump, a couple of bottles flying out of her hands and shattering.

Draco groaned, enchanting the mop and pail to clean up the mess but keeping his distance while Granger attempted to dodge Gap-Tooth’s advances.

Gap-Tooth: Something, something “…thought you worked here but…” gesturing to Draco.

Granger, giggling awkwardly: “Did he? Draco’s such a…” Something.

Draco raised a brow, wondering what she’d called him because it almost sounded affectionate.

Gap-Tooth: Mumble, mumble “…go out sometime?”

Granger more awkward giggling, cheeks pink: “…so busy… not really dating… you’re nice but…”

Gap-Tooth, realising he was losing his chance: “…just one date… promise I…” Stepping closer.

Granger, nearly tripping over the oscillating mop in her retreat: “…it’s just that I’m not… I don’t…”

Gap-Tooth, even closer, grinning impishly, hideous teeth on full display: Something, something “…casual? You look like you could use some fun.”

Draco bristled. The audacity of this wanker.

Having had enough, he rounded the counter and stepped in between Gap-Tooth and Granger. “Did you ask her out?”

Gap-Tooth frowned, looking a little afraid. “Yeah, so?”

“Did she say yes?”

“She was just about to—”

Draco turned to Granger. “Were you about to say yes?”

“No,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. She was too bloody nice for her own good.

Lucky for her, Draco wasn’t.

“There’s your answer,” said Draco, shooing Gap-Tooth towards the door. “Stop harassing her.”

Gap-Tooth looked at Granger, but she refused to look back. Disheartened, he made his way to the door.

Draco called out, “Oh, and if you bother her at Flourish and Blotts again, I’ll turn you into a rat and dump you in our lab cage.”

“Malfoy!” Hermione swatted Draco’s arm once Gap-Tooth was gone, but her eyes were bright with laughter. “That was so unkind.”

“Yes. And?” He waited.

She sighed as if it physically pained her to say, “Thank you.”

He grinned, pleased. Then tugged at a curl that had come loose from her clip. “And?”

She stepped closer, looking up at him with large brown eyes. “And you were right.”

“And?” Draco’s stomach fluttered. He was usually so composed, but nothing about Granger made him feel ordinary.

“And…” She rose to her tiptoes and locked her hands behind his neck, parting her lips in anticipation as they met halfway. “…maybe we should start telling people about us.”

(638 words, prompt: Yes. And? from Twitter)

I've rarely seen a more validating sentence in my entire life.

reblog to disturb jk rowling

i will always take the chance to disturb jk rowling

disturb jk rowling

currently disturbing jk rowling

Isolation is always my comfort Dramione 💫

Hermione Granger

Inspired by Manacled by Senlinyu

Midjourney

(Slytherin Hermione, No Voldemort)

Since first year, they shared a hunger for knowledge, success, and tormenting obstinate Gryffindors.

Draco was mean. Hermione was sharp and temperamental. They made a fierce pair.

When they became older, Draco started sneaking girls into empty classrooms after curfew. Hermione maintained a long-distance relationship with Viktor. They were never single at the same time. And yet, they were never apart.

They spent candlelit evenings sharing magic and getting up to mischief. In fifth year, they created prohibited Portkeys, and on Hogsmeade weekends, slipped into Muggle disguises and snuck off. Crashing dazzling parties in Bath mansions and London lofts. They drank stolen wine and danced drunk. Sixteen, adrenaline-fuelled, fortified by one another’s presence.

At the end of seventh year, Hermione nailed her N.E.W.Ts, was graduating Hogwarts with a prestigious law apprenticeship and without a boyfriend.

It was time to date people in the real world, she claimed, oddly unaffected.

Graduation marked a new era. One where Draco would start his day without Hermione in their common room. Where they wouldn’t share every meal together, or divide-and-conquer assignments. It was a harrowing thought.

Imagining her ‘dating people in the real world’ ate at him. She would sit across the table from somebody else. Somebody else would know her better than he did.

Narcissa made a fuss when her son stubbornly attended his graduation party in Muggle formalwear. But if Hermione was wearing Muggle clothing, then so was Draco.

Hermione showed up at Malfoy Manor looking indecently gorgeous.

He had a way of making himself miserable, Draco. The words ‘old times’ ‘childhood best friend’ ‘the one that got away’ entrapped his mind like Devil’s Snare and weaved his stomach into knots.

At Hogwarts, whenever he felt lost, his internal compass pointed to Hermione. Tonight was no different.

She wasn’t a social butterfly like Draco. She thought niceties were a waste of time and preferred to hover on the outskirts of a social scene, observing the chaos in judgy silence.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, balancing a glass of weekend rosé between her fingers.

Moping. “Mingling. You should try it sometime.”

“I survived seven years of Hogwarts tolerating nobody but you. Can't kill my streak now.”

“In that case,” he offered her a folded handkerchief from his breast pocket, “got one more adventure in you?”

When Hermione stepped forward to take it, Draco’s hand twisted around her arm, tugging her into him. His mouth slipped over hers as the Portkey tided them away.

By the time they landed on the dewy grass, Hermione’s arm was around his neck, and she was kissing him with just as much enthusiasm.

He clutched her hip and held her close, fears that plagued him all day long misting away.

It was no surprise that the kiss was explosive. Draco had always known it would be. That they would be.

When they stepped apart, Hermione yanked the lapel of his jacket. Relief swimming in her eyes.

“You idiot,” she whispered, smoothing his shirt. Her palm pressed over his heart. “Why did it take you so long?”

(509 words, photo prompt from twitter, potential ecdysis au where hermione's accepted by the slytherins?)

i know people make these kinds of posts with fictional characters a lot but like. hank green truly is one of The Most Guys Ever. like. he's one of the earliest youtubers who is still on there. he's a 43-year-old tiktok star. he's a science educator. he got cancer and his response was to make a tier list of the press's coverage of his cancer announcement. the president of the united states sent him a message of support and he told the president that he was pissing out the cancer. years earlier he was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis and his response was to write a polka song about it. he created vidcon. he's the ceo of a company that produces a shitton of educational series (well, not acting ceo at the moment due to the aforementioned cancer). his guitar says "this machine pwns n00bs" on it. he invented 2D glasses. one of his earliest videos to get popular was about animal sex. between him and his brother, he was known as "the science one" (or "the music one") while his brother was "the writer one," and then he wrote two new york times bestselling novels. his most controversial opinion is that butt is legs. he's done so many things that there is a website dedicated to counting the number of days since he started a new thing. he and his brother use their internet following to (among other things) fight maternal/infant mortality in sierra leone. he has a baked bean furby. hes even bisexual

In 1998. his Winter Park High School classmates named him “Best Dancer.” He’s had an album on the Billboard Charts, and he won an Emmy for a web-based adaptation of Pride & Prejudice. He co-founded DFTBA.com, the Awesome Coffee Club, the Awesome Sock Club, and Sun Basin Soap--but doesn’t make money from any of them. Instead he’s led these brands to donate over $5,000,000 to a hospital in Sierra Leone. His companies, when he stepped down as CEO due to the cancer, had over 115 full-time employees, all of whom receive a living wage and good benefits. His production company, Complexly, has made educational videos with 5 billion total views, and helped hundreds of millions learn through SciShow and Crash Course. He is the sweetest dad to the world’s most amazing six-year-old, and the spouse of one of the funniest people you’ll ever meet, and he is loved--ferociously--by his brother. He truly is among the Most Guys Ever.

the intimacy of wolfstar and how whats holding them back isnt the “what if he doesnt like me back” but instead its “what if we try and fail and i lose him? what if this person who means the world to me as a friend and as more gives up on me and everything changes and i lose him forever?”

Hogwarts had fucking outed them.

Of all the people to stash in the bottom of the lake for Draco to rescue, they had chosen her.

She was wet and shivering, pale as a sheet, balled up in his arms.

Lucius was somewhere in the audience. Reporters snapped photos rapturously. Draco could feel Pansy’s eyes burning holes into his back from somewhere in the stands. It was too late to feign indifference. To pretend it had all been a fluke, that Draco had merely rescued the first person he could get his hands on in the Merfolk Colony.

Hermione’s icy fingers dug into his sides.

“You’re safe,” he murmured against her damp forehead. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

Pomfrey bustled over. Blankets stacked in her arms. Draco wrapped one around Hermione’s shoulders as Pomfrey cast a Warming Spell. He rubbed Hermione’s arms over the blanket.

They’d left her down there for hours.

Fuck this tournament.

“I’m quitting.”

Hermione’s eyes darted up. “You can’t.”

“How did they even know…” He stopped short, aware they were in public.

Hermione merely answered: “The Room of Requirement.”

After receiving an earful from his father, his ex, and a Howler from Narcissa, Draco slipped through the stone archway into their little sanctuary.

She was already there, bathed in firelight, cheeks flushed with colour again. She wore a thick knit jumper two sizes too big, his Slytherin one, and knee-socks. A textbook lay open in front of her.

“Rough day?” she teased, but he noted the tightness in her eyes. Hermione wore her heart on her sleeve and Draco knew every heartbeat.

“How are you?”

Before she could reply, he cupped her chin and kissed her hard on the mouth. She slipped into his lap, and he held her tightly, like they might steal her away again.

His stomach lurched, remembering.

“Better now.” She kissed the hollow beneath his jaw. “The Gillyweed worked.”

He didn’t want to talk about the second task. “I don’t need the accolade or the Galleons.”

“We’re so close to winning. You can’t give up now.”

“They hurt you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stop.” He envisioned her ghostly figure, curls plastered to trembling arms, the knobs of her spine like pale marbles in the low-back swimsuit.

She nudged his cheek, meeting his gaze. “If you forfeit, I lose too.”

She was right, of course. Draco’s name had been drawn from the goblet, but Hermione had been with him every step of the way. Her cleverness had not only kept Draco alive, but also at the forefront of the competition.

When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’ll help Viktor win if you back out.”

“Granger,” he growled. She knew how Draco felt about Viktor and his stupid moony eyes that did nothing but track Hermione all day long. Low blow.

“The tournament is ours.” She clasped his hand. “It’s just as much my victory as it is yours.”

What could he say to that?

He’d never expected Granger to lead him to the dragons the night before the first task. Weasley had told her. And she’d told him. He didn’t know why she did it, but it shifted something between them. A tension that sparked last year and imploded into this unfathomable, precious partnership.

He was pretty sure he loved her.

And Malfoy men never said no to the women they loved.

“I’m assuming that’s research for the next task?” He motioned towards her textbook.

“Duelling spells. I’ll practice with you.”

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek and lowered his gaze, resigned. “Whatever you want, Granger.”

(593 words, photo prompt from twitter)

Delicate

“I am perfectly fine and capable of returning to work!”

Draco frowned as he picked up the clipboard and reviewed the patient sheet, which revealed that, yes, his ears had not deceived him. Hermione Granger was on the premises. As if anyone could mistake that shrill voice for someone else. As if anyone else would consider a mild concussion, broken wrist, and several abrasions inconsequential in the face of an open work case.

He rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck before stepping into the room.

“Miss Granger.”

She went mute, mouth hanging open and eyes wide in astonishment at the sight of Draco Malfoy dressed in light green healer robes, a St. Mungo’s badge with his credentials pinned to his chest. If he had known his presence was all it would take to silence her, he would’ve entered sooner.

“It appears you have several injuries stemming from moderate to mild, but I’d still like to do a few scans of my own. Will that be alright with you?” Draco kept his voice as professional as possible in the soothing tone all staff had been trained to use. Rather than calm her, his voice seemed to snap her back to life, as she stiffened her back and squared her shoulders in what might have been preparation to attack. He would have none of that.

The instant she opened her mouth, Draco whipped up one hand to insert a tongue depressor while the other waved a wand for the first diagnostic scan. He didn’t really need to see down her throat, but the tool served its purpose in keeping her indignation at bay for a few moments longer. His spell confirmed the patient sheet’s findings.

“Mild concussion confirmed.”

He removed the depressor and moved the wand downward slowly, muttering his second spell. She dutifully shut her mouth and allowed him to continue uninterrupted.

“Broken wrist confirmed. A few sprained finger joints, as well.”

Draco took a step back and ran a final scan far larger and more detailed than the previous. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth over the information from where she sat, but kept her silence. Other than the broken and sprained injuries which pulsated a warm orange, most of the findings were a solid green indicating good health and a promising recovery.

He dismissed the scan with a flick and leveled her with his most reassuring smile. “Good news, Miss Granger. Everything looks to be in good order and we’ll have you all fixed up  in today’s visit. I do recommend keeping you here overnight for observation due to the concussion, but then you should be ready to return home tomorrow morning after a final check up.”

Her initial relief as the start of his speech transformed into surprise, then quickly to alarm. “Wait, you want me to stay here overnight?”

“That is what I recommend, yes,” he affirmed.

“Whatever for? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and I assure you I can just as easily Floo here if I do feel any continued side effects.” The speed and volume at which she spoke increased exponentially as she blurted out the words seemingly without taking a single breath. Draco watched in fascination as her loose hair seemed to grow in size with her agitation.

“Do you live alone?” He scanned her sheet looking for any mention of a partner or family member upon check in.

“Excuse me?” she gasped. “I hardly see how that is any of your business, Malfoy! I’m not some delicate flower in need of a partner or guardian–”

She was apoplectic, shrugging off the hands of his fellow healers as they mended her surface injuries. She spat the words out in a perfect imitation of her familiar, whom he now remembered storming the castle when they were students as if the fluffy beast owned it.

He inserted his explanation in the middle of her tirade with practiced precision. “Please do not take offense at my question. I was merely making the same inquiry we make for similar cases. If you take a turn for the worse while asleep, you will likely be unable to ask for help.”

She fumed silently, unable to argue with his logic.

“So I ask again: do you live alone? Do you have anyone who can attend to you tonight?” He half expected her to name one of her infamous friends, or perhaps one of the string of hopeful suitors reported about in The Prophet. He motioned to his coworkers to continue treating her injuries.

“Yes, I live alone. No, there is no one available to watch me tonight.” She bit out the words with venom, and Draco had the sudden instinct to put up a shield. With her fingers and wrist now mended, she gripped the flat sheet over her lap fiercely. “I’d still feel more comfortable in my home, unless–” Her eyes darted around at the others in the room, before returning to his, chewing at her lip with enough force to make it bleed.

“Give us the room, please.” At his curt command, the others immediately left.

The only unfinished task was her head injury, and he stepped forward slowly with his palms held out in a placating manner. “I’m going to treat your concussion now, and you’ll feel a bit of a strange tingle, nothing to worry about.”

She watched him as he stepped into her space, only shutting her eyes once his fingers gently tilted her chin upward as if preparing for a kiss. He obliged her.

The softest brush of skin to skin, then a nibble to her bottom lip, and she parted them willingly to allow him entrance. She tasted like coffee and cinnamon and just a hint of chocolate. His free hand slowly rotated his wand where it pointed at her temple, as if he regularly snogged and treated his patients simultaneously. He knew the spell worked when she gasped at the telltale tingle.

“See? All better now.” He pulled back with a smirk fighting its way forward, an expression he usually suppressed while at work.

Her eyes opened and she blinked a few times to clear away the daze. “Is this how you treat all your patients?”

“Only my favorite ones.”

She snorted at his quick response. “Since when am I a favorite of yours?”

“I don’t take just any witch home overnight for a shag and then make her breakfast the next morning.”

“So is this hospital stay your attempt at a second date?” Hermione stared at him in that piercing way of hers. 

Draco was transported back to their recent reunion after several years of just missing one another at public functions and spaces. It was her eyes and that mouth of hers that reeled him in as an adult just as strongly as they had irritated him as a child. Going head to head with her about her work in the Ministry had turned him on far more than any of his arranged dates with Narcissa-approved socialites. Several drinks and arguments later, they stumbled through the Floo straight into his flat where clothes were stripped off and all misgivings about their past and present were shoved into a dark corner to be worried about another day. He still had dreams about the way she breathed his name every time she climaxed, and wished the nail marks she had left on his back would magically reappear.

“Technically, we still have yet to schedule a first date, unless you always include one-night stands. Also, I fail to see how keeping you bedside company in a hospital qualifies as a date.”

She fixated on the second part of his sentencing, ignoring the comment on one-night stands. “You’ll stay with me here?”

“I was planning on it unless you’d prefer otherwise. I might even be convinced to sneak you something better than the standard hospital fare of gruel and green peas,” he teased. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am quite well liked here.”

She studied him with obvious interest. “Alright then. I will stay, and you will keep me company, and then we will see where we go from there.” She held her hand out like she meant to shake on some kind of business deal.

He instead brought her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the knuckles. Hermione’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her mask of cool professionalism dropped into place once more. Draco fully intended to rip that facade off of her so forcefully, she’d forget to ever use one with him again.

But until then…

“Miss Granger, if you’d please follow me.”

WC 1443

"This story is a tragedy because it didn't have to end this way."

vs

"This story is a tragedy because it was always going to end this way."

Hermione is alone on the porch when he arrives.

Everyone is asleep inside, drowsy after Molly’s Sunday roast and countless bottles of celebratory champagne.

Her stomach twists into a thousand tiny knots.

“Congratulations.”

“Don’t,” she says sharply, another knot welling up in her throat.

Beneath the amber lantern, his eyes are bloodshot. The last time they saw one another, they were bright and melting, burning holes into her skin that she wished to fill with him.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and stands there, looking at her.

She can’t stand the weight of his gaze, so she stares at her knee. At her hand on her knee. At the sparkling jewel nestled around the finger of her hand on her knee.

“I still read Muggle literature,” he says, sitting beside her.

They used to discuss Muggle books for hours, far past curfew, hiding in empty classrooms where nobody could find them.

She notices he’s holding a slip of parchment.

“Different material, though,” he resumes. “Poetry. You know how you would look at the oil landscape on the fourth-floor corridor and say a storm was brewing, but I envisioned it as the end of one?”

“It was literally titled ‘Brewing Tempest’.”

“Not,” he taps her knee with his, “the point.”

She smiles.

“Poetry is kind of like that. Imaginative. Inclusive. Even a stranger can read a few lines and feel at home.”

“Why haven’t you written to me?”

“I was giving you time to be with your friends. You missed them.”

“I miss you.”

The parchment rustles in his hands. It’s folded eight times over. He folds and unfolds it restlessly. “I’m not a writer.”

“I know that.”

“Neither are you,” he adds, insulted by how quickly she agreed.

She breathes a laugh. “I never claimed to be.”

“Do you know what a haiku is?”

“Did you write me one?” she asks, amused.

“No. But I found one that expresses how I’ve felt these last few weeks, watching you slip away. It’s by an American poet. Billy Collins. Maybe it’s too late to give it to you, but I knew I’d regret if I didn’t at least try—”

Hermione snatches it from his hands.

Draco rebukes her impatience, but he rambles when he’s nervous and she's brimming with curiosity.

“Where are you going?” she calls after him.

But he’s already halfway gone, shaking his head like he can’t stand to be there anymore.

Heart in her throat, Hermione reads:

He may compare you

to the dawn, but I

stayed up all night to watch it.

She reads it again.

Twice more.

And then she’s running.

“Draco!” she cries, afraid the pop of Apparation will go off before she can stop him. “Draco!”

It’s too dark and she hasn’t cast a Lumos spell and she can hardly see where she’s—

“Oof!” he gasps as she barrels into him.

It’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.

Hermione throws her arms around his neck.

“I made a mistake! I never should have said yes. You didn’t write, so I thought you didn’t want me. You never said anything at school. But I’ve felt this awful regret since the moment he put the ring on my finger and I know it’s because of you. I know—”

He cuts her off with a bruising kiss, pressing into her with such conviction, a thousand knots come undone. Hermione buoys.

The next day, Ron awakes, groggy and hungover.

Alone.

A letter sits on his bedside table. Hermione’s engagement ring sparkles on top.

(588 words, prompt: it's a poem, I read this haiku by Billy Collins and remembered this prompt and had to do something with it.)

tbh the most unrealistic thing in harry potter is when mrs weasley in the first book asks “now what’s the platform number?”

like this woman has been going to that school for seven years and then dropped kids off on the same place for nearly ten like why on earth would she forget the platform number

I still have the headcanon that Molly BAMF Weasley saw a scrawny underfed child with an owl who had no idea where he was going and looked lost and confused and was like, “Ah, yep, new son.” but didn’t want to scare him by outright approaching and asking if he needed help so she was just like, “MUGGLES, MUGGLES EVERYWHERE! DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE PLATFORM NUMBER TO WIZARD SCHOOL IS? WHAT’S THAT? NINE AND THREE QUARTERS? OH, YES, THAT’S RIGHT. THE PLATFORM NUMBER IS   N I N E   A N D   T H R E E    Q U A R T E R S!”

Of course seeing as how Harry isn’t the most observant bloke, she probably ushered her kids past him fifty times as different ones screamed the platform number until they finally got his attention.

With that being said, and I’m extremely sorry for taking over your post:

11:45:

They had just enough time to make it onto the platform, get their trunks loaded, and say their goodbyes. Molly ushered them all along, wishing that she could just Apparate them all onto the train and be done with it. There was too much to do, too much to say, too m—

All at once, she screeched to a halt. Percy crashed into her, causing the twins to snicker.

A tiny boy was being crossly turned away by a security guard. A boy whose ribs poked through his baggy shirt, whose glasses were broken, whose jaw was trembling as he tried to find his way. Well, surely she could be the person to guide him there? And did he…? Yes! He had an owl! He was one of them!

The poor child; he looked so lost.

Where were his parents?

Never mind, never mind. She would see to it that he would get on the train. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t startle him. He’d run off and that would be the end of it. No, no, they had to be crafty.

11:47 AM:

“Packed with Muggles of course,” Molly said loudly, ushering her very confused children past the boy. “What’s the platform number again?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Percy said. “Mother, how could you have forg—?”

It was George who nudged him as he understood what she was doing. She had done it before, after all, and she would do it again.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

The boy didn’t seem to notice them.

11:48 AM:

“Packed with Muggles of course,” said Molly again, marching her children past once more. “What’s the platform number?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Fred and George screamed in unison.

And still the boy remained lost.

11:49 AM:

“Mum,” Ron panted, tripping over himself as he ran to keep up with her. “Slow down!”

Molly ignored him as she practically flew past the poor boy. “Packed with Muggles of course! Now, what’s the platform number?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Ron bellowed.

11:50 AM:

Molly honestly didn’t care if her entire family missed the train and she had to set off across the UK herself like a mother leading a flock of ducklings: she was going to help this boy onto the bloody train.

She marched past him with a fiery determination and said, “Packed with Muggles of course!”

The boy looked up.

Yes! Okay, this was it, this was it, this was it. Play it cool. He was following them. Listening. Pretending not to.

They stopped.

“Now,” Molly said. “What’s the platform number?”

“Nine and three quarters,” piped Ginny.

Victory!

The next nine minutes were a whirlwind of chaos but they managed to get the boy through the barrier. At Molly’s insistence, Fred and George popped up and helped him get his trunk into the compartment. She handed Ron an extra sandwich and muttered, “Tell him that everywhere else was full.”

He dutifully nodded.

As the train took off, she waved to her children, including her newest one.

Bristling with pride, she began to head back to the Burrow. There was simply no time to waste. She had a jumper to knit.

Harry Potter Illustration Series - Created by Dan Elijah Fajardo

These designs are available for sale as shirts, cases, and more at his TeePublic Shop. Through December 1, use the code Pixalry25 at checkout to get 25% off your order.

Do men ever talk about how they gave up creative work for eight to ten years because they were busy taking care of small children?  Or is that only women?

I cannot express in words how proud I am of @olivieblake, but suffice to say I cry every time I see another milestone like this:

(source: Cosmopolitan, March 10, 2022)

🥺🥺🥺 i truly do not know how to express how much this means to me and how lucky I am and also how much I assume this is a dream from which I will wake at any moment

ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ he said he’s flattered..