Romione shippers

ÅÅÅÅÅÅH VARFÖR HADE DE INTE MED DEN SCENEN PÅ DELETED SCENS FÖR?!??!?! liksom hahaha, snällt mot stanislav - kallar tillbaka honom från fjärde filmen och så får han inte ens någon screentime

Ron och Hermione är mitt absoluta favoritpar i hela serien! ♥ :O Jag själv älskar kärlek som är från vänskap, så även om det var lite förutsägbart och 'tråkigt', så gillar jag det ändå

♥

^ vänta vaaaaa
dom där bilderna är ju inte nya dock lmao
eller alltså... i alla fall inte översta och nedersta, dom kom ut för typ ett år sen ;PpPpp

jaha, men jag har aldrig sett dem förut ((

Inte jag heller tror jag, så det var otroligt mega bra att du lade upp dem!

Yupp, men "Dramione" låter fint

Interviewer: How do you see your characters evolving?
Rupert: Well. Ron and Hermione are definitely friends now. But, it's gonna change. They are definitely something else. They are soulmates. I think they end up together. But it's a secret, don't tell her I said that.


rupert you are so obvious omg get real

Brukar inte läsa fanfiction men okej, det här var två one-shots som bara... akdhaskjdh

''They had spent the afternoon explaining to her parents what had happened, and now they had given them a moment to process. Ron followed her upstairs. She had not asked him to help her prepare the house for her parents' return, but then again she did not need to; he knew, instinctively, that it was something she did not want to face alone. He had wandered through every room, clearing away dust, but had avoided hers, not wanting to crowd her. But she opened the door for him now, and they both stepped inside the door labeled ''HERMIONE''.

It was spacious, tidy, and blue; all things his room at the Burrow was not. The curtains were drawn back but the day was cloudy, casting her books (which, of course, were many) in a dull grey light. She sat delicately on the bed, which creaked from lack of use, and he fell into place beside her.

They did not speak. After a few moments she turned her face into his chest, and he felt her body shake with exhaustion and tears. Behind her head was a pinboard, and on it she had hung up various knick knacks; a list of books he recognised as the required readings for a Hogwarts 7th year, which she had kept for some unknown reason; a sheet that seemed to be charting the growth of her cat; a SPEW badge; a postcard of Nice; and, quite alone on the right hand side, a picture of the three of them, smiling in their Hogwarts robes. All broken and put back together again; all Chosen Ones.

There was another picture next to it - a picture of Ron. It had been taken the summer they had cleaned out Grimmauld Place, for he was covered in dust and dirt, sitting in Sirius' kitchen with a grin on his face. She had not made the picture move, and so it remained frozen, like a Muggle portrait, never changing - a moment, frozen in time.

The picture itself was bent and faded, and he realised in a moment of sudden clarity that she had taken the picture with her, in the little beaded bag, when she had last left this room over a year ago, only to pin it back up when they had arrived that morning.

The sun may have risen and set a hundred times around them, but they took no notice, lost in their memories and lost in each other. The blue of her walls reminded him of the flames she would make when they were young, bright little things she kept in jars and carried around to keep warm. The cold had never seemed to be able to take hold of Hermione.

His eyes darted back to the picture of himself, entirely still.
She had not unpacked anything else.''



''She had been able to tell herself that the small swell of fear that weighed down on her like chains had been the locket?s influence - that she was really quite fine. She would soldier on. But Hermione had taken the locket off, and now there was nothing inside of her at all; she felt as fragile and as small as a piece of glass, one moment away from splintering into a million pieces and never being whole again.

Deciding that nothing good would come of doing nothing, she cleared a space on the tent floor and emptied out her bag, hoping that sorting through its massive contents would distract her. Turning the radio on, she stacked books and got rid of empty vials and folded clothes, losing herself in the regularity of it, the normality. She turned over another book and her eyes hit on something she had not expected; the sight of it felt like a punch to the stomach.

It was a jumper, soft and full of holes and blazing scarlet, with a bright yellow R stitched on the front. The wind howled and the radio crackled with static beside her, but she remained still, eyeing the jumper, her heart caught somehwere in her throat.

He must have forgotten it, she thought, her fingers tightening in the fabric, he must've forgotten it when he left.

Hermione picked it up gingerly, as if it would catch fire if she was too rough with it, noticing for the first time how the red was that very type of Weasley red, like his hair had been in the summer sun.

She had begun to cry; the tears fell thick and unstoppable down her cheeks, and when they hit the fabric she wiped them away furiously, not wanting to ruin it. The tent stretched out for miles at every side, making her feel so small that if she stopped breathing, she might fade away.

Outside, snow whispered down the tent, silent and cold as the grave.

*

Days went by when he forgot he even had it, but every now and again the Deluminator would burn hot in his bag, and would pull it out, flicking it open and shut, not knowing what he was waiting for.

And then there were the days when he would light matches just to siphon their light and watch it burn in front of him. When he was tired enough, he could pretend he was back with them, and that when he turned around he would see her pouring over her little book, pacing - but when he looked over his shoulder she was always gone.

One cold morning, without really knowing why, Ron had thrown the thing on the table in front of him while he tried to think of places Harry and Hermione would have gone. In the silence of the room around him, the Deluminator seemed to be making a low, keening sort of sound.

Ron strained his ears, and could've sworn he heard it: the desolate sound of someone sobbing, alone.

He shook the Deluminator and then held it against his ear; but the sound was gone, as if he had been listening to the ocean through a sea shell and the tide had gone out.

Putting the little device back in his pocket, he turned and walked outside. The first snows had begun to fall, and he could not help but think of Harry and Hermione, shivering in the tent. He hoped they were safe; he hoped he would find them.

But above all, he hoped she was warm.''