Happy birthday @cheesyficwriter You enjoy breaking our hearts with your angst-filled stories, and I love chatting all things American teen dramas and medical soaps with you. So in tribute to your birthday, I send that angst right back atcha in the form of some Naley-inspired Romione heartbreak (although there’s no rain today). I hope you have a lush day either way xxx
A streak of lightning cracks and fizzles across the sky, illuminating the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole before fading the buildings to inky black and purple shadows once more. The wind picks up along with the rain, howling through the paper-thin walls of Ron’s small townhouse and sending a shiver racing down his back.
The storm shouldn’t affect him this much; thunder and lightning are common at this time of the year, especially over magical towns, when the oppressive humidity of the British early summer mingles with excess magic that buzzes through the air. It makes for impressive views, and usually, he would be out on his small patio with a pint of beer and enjoying it.
But tonight he can’t bring himself to step outside the back door.
His copy of the Daily Prophet falls to his lap as a sense of foreboding drifts over his body. Ron doesn’t believe in hauntings. In his world, ghosts and poltergeists are obvious with their intentions, and the last time he checked, no ghouls resided in the attic. Yet he can’t shake the feeling that something is coming, a paranormal force that is about to turn his world upside down.
