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"Tell the chef, the beer is on me."
Author’s Note: I never write stuff. (I’m not just saying that. I’ve honestly NEVER written a fic.) but I listened to Perfect approximately one billion times and I could not get this scene out of my head. Thank you sooo much to @wildegreenlight for being my kind beta and @jenn582 and @thefinalhorcruxx for being my cheerleaders. Without them it’s unlikely I would have bothered to finish.
Written to and inspired by Ed Sheeran’s Perfect played on endless repeat.
The song faded to an end and Ron pulled away from the girl clinging to his waist, looking down at her with a lopsided grin. He could hardly believe they’d been dancing since he’d impulsively whisked her away from Krum.
Hermione gazed up at him, slightly breathless, a question in her eyes.
“Follow my lead,” he winked, took her hand and spun her through the other dancers past the edge of the makeshift dance floor and out through a gap in the marquee.
After the suffocating warmth inside the tent, the fresh air felt brilliant on his skin as he turned to face her, “Hermione… can I show you something?”
Her cheeks were flushed from dancing and her curls were wild, escaping from the intricate updo she’d worn to the wedding. She looks perfect.
“Of course, Ron.”
Was he mental or were her eyes actually sparkling?
The sun had long since set, but the breeze still had a warmth to it. They slowly made their way through a field towards a small pond with a rickety dock. Ron hoped she wouldn’t notice that they were still holding hands or if she did, he silently begged that she wouldn’t let go.
Ron dropped himself unceremoniously onto the end of the dock, tugging his shoes off and quickly shoving his holey socks into them. He cuffed up the edge of his trousers and let his legs dangle over the edge, bare feet skimming the water below.
“Sit with me?”
Hermione laughed and slipped off her own shoes. Ron reached a hand up to help steady her as she settled down next to him. “What are we doing here Ron? I have seen this pond before you know…. many times.” She smiled up at him and playfully knocked her shoulder into his so he’d know she wasn’t actually upset.
“I… well. Yeah, no. I just…”
One hand went to rub the back of his neck and he took a deep breath, “I just wanted to spend a few minutes alone.” She arched a questioning eyebrow at him. “I mean, alone, with um.. yeah.. you.” His eyes flicked to hers briefly and then focused on the pond in front of them. He could feel the blush literally climbing his neck. Good one Ron. Real eloquent. Bloody ‘ell. Eloquent! That’s the kind of word he should be using. Not ones like ‘um and yeah.’
He felt her hand gently cover his, he turned his ever so slightly and his pulse quickened when she intertwined their fingers.
“This was a brilliant idea Ron,” she smiled at him. “After meeting so many new people tonight, the idea of being alone for a few minutes sounds wonderful. Alone… together.” There was that twinkle in her eyes again. He could get lost in her eyes.
As they sat there, holding hands in the silence, Ron gathered every bit of courage he had and started to slowly move his thumb across the soft skin of her hand. Hermione let out a breath he didn’t realize she’d been holding and her head gently fell to rest on his shoulder.
She’s an angel. I don’t deserve this.
He’d lost track of how long they’d been sitting together when the sudden sound of music from the reception broke the spell they were under and he quickly stood up, brushing his trousers off, “Suppose we should get back before they send the twins to find us, yeah?”
Hermione rose slower, trying to straighten out her dress. She looked beautiful in that dress. She always looked beautiful, but his heart near to stopped when she’d walked out of the Burrow in that dress. She followed him off the dock and onto the grass, looking self-conscious as she tried to tuck the flyaway curls behind her ear, “I’m a mess.”
His heart beat faster and suddenly he didn’t care if his mum sent every single one of his siblings and Aunt Muriel out to look for them. She looks perfect. How can she not know? “Dance with me.”
“Here?” she almost giggled. Hermione almost giggled..!
“Yeah,” he nodded his head towards the tent, feeling encouraged by her reaction, “I love this song.” He extended his hand.
She smiled at him shyly from beneath her lashes, dropped the heels she was holding in one hand and bypassed his extended arm to lay her head on his chest.
His breath caught. What the bleedin’ell was she trying to do? kill him?
“I love this… song too.”
Ron swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around her waist. They’d been dancing together all night, but this time it was different. Familiar and yet completely new. Intense. It felt, somehow more; dancing in the dark, barefoot on the grass, with her between his arms.
They swayed together, the soft melody of a song in the distance floating in the air around them.
Life was about to change, it was going to be them against the odds. He should be terrified, but Hermione was the strongest woman he knew and Ron finally knew what he wanted. What he needed. The girl in his arms, and he was not going to give her up. They’d be alright this time.
Ron stilled and looked down, Hermione’s eyes were closed but her face was upturned towards his and there was a smile on her lips. He whispered beneath his breath, “darling, you look perfect.”
Her eyes flashed open and his heart pounded in his chest. Had he said that outloud?
Her smiled widened and she raised up on her toes, her face inches from his. He saw his future in those eyes. He lowered his lips towards hers….
CRACK! The sound of someone apparating nearby startled them apart.
“Oi!!! Ronnikins! ‘Ermione!” the sound of Fred’s voice echoed from across the field, “Are you out here? Mum’s gonna go spare if I don’t get you two back before they start the next round of toasts.”
Ron took Hermione’s hand and smiled a bit apologetically, but this time he had the confidence to lace their fingers himself. Someday… someday soon.
I’m disgusted, to be honest. The sheer DISHONESTY in saying you can’t write…..and then you produce THIS! This gave me all types of wistful warm fuzzies. And, now that I (and everyone else) know you’re capable…….expect nagging for more! >:3c
Prompt by: @lilhex - I hope you like it!
A/N: Yes, I’m aware it’s January. No, I do not care.
Warning: Ron’s potty mouth, predictably.
“I’M GOING TO MURDER BOTH OF YOU IN YOUR SODDING SLEEP!”
This was decidedly not going to be Ron’s favourite Christmas.
It was bad enough that he was spending the entirety of his holidays in miserable, mouldy 12 Grimmauld Place, that his mother was exponentially more weepy than usual (which, all things considered, was quite an accomplishment, he’d give her that), and that he had piles of homework enough to fill several weeks of holidays – on top of all that, as if his plight wasn’t already terrible enough, he was now permanently glued to the kitchen floor.
“BLOODY FUCKING TWATS!”
Several floors above him, Hermione found both Weasley twins leaning smugly against the railing, with identical expressions of pure joy at the sound of Ron’s exclamations on their faces.
“What’s this?”, she asked, narrowing her eyes.
The twins looked alarmed.
“Don’t tell Mum”, they said in unison.
“We’ll glue you on the next doorstep.”
“We’ll glue you in Kreacher’s cupboard.”
“We’ll glue you in Harry’s room, see how you deal with his tantrums.”
“Aw, that’s harsh, George.”
“What did you do to Ron?”, asked Hermione, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
Sheer delight erupted on their faces.
“It appears”, said Fred, “that dear Ronniekins ran into a Mushy Mistletoe.”
“Quite successfully so, mind you.”
“I’LL HEX YOU INTO OBLIVION IF MUM DOESN’T GET THERE FIRST, YOU PISS-STAINS!”
“Matter of perspective”, said Hermione, peering down the spindly staircase to the ground floor. The kitchen was out of sight. “What did you say they were called?”
“Mushy Mistletoes”, said George, gracefully wiping his perfectly dry eye with a single finger. “A little treat for the festive season. We have rarely been prouder.”
“It’s a regular, good old mistletoe”, explained Fred, “with the added fun of it Spellotaping you to the ground below your feet should you er, encounter one.”
“We’re working on the name”, added George.
Hermione was scandalised. “It’s one of the products for your stupid joke shop? And you let Ron run into it? How do you even know it’s safe? Did you tell him the counter-spell?”
“Hermione”, said Fred indignantly, “as much as we appreciate you having Ron’s back and all that, you aren’t seriously telling us you don’t know how mistletoes work, now, are you?”
“FUCK YOU, FRED WEASLEY!”
The twins erupted in sniggers.
“Really”, snapped Hermione and marched down the staircase, cheeks flecked with pink.
“What’s funny?”, asked Ginny, peeking out of the living room.
“Ron stepped under a mistletoe that glued him to the kitchen floor”, said Hermione.
“SHOUT A LITTLE LOUDER, HERMIONE, WILL YOU!”
Hermione had realised her mistake immediately, but it was too late – Ginny bolted towards the kitchen and was laughing heartily when Hermione followed two seconds later.
“Thanks, Hermione”, Ron said sourly. “Great, thanks. I always appreciate having an audience in moments like these.”
“I’m sorry, Ron, I didn’t think – oh, give it a rest, Ginny –”
But Ginny had already left to join the twins, leaving the door open behind her just an inch, and Hermione turned to look at Ron.
As much as she wanted to deny it: there was something undeniably funny about the look of tall, gangly Ron, a murderous expression on his face, standing under a single mistletoe which had now, of all things, started to holler cheesy Christmas songs.
“These seem a little off-key”, said Hermione into the silence, fighting silently to try and keep the corners of her mouth from twitching – and was this really the time to think about how cute he looked when he was angry?
Ron took a deep breath. “Right. Tell me. How long’s this gonna take to wear off?”
“I – er – I don’t think it will. It – no, look, I’m not saying that you’ll be stuck her forever, Ron, you won’t obviously, I mean, the charm will have to wear off eventually, and you do have to go back to school and all that … the twins said it just worked like a regular mistletoe”, she finished, her voice several octaves higher than usual.
“Well”, grumbled Ron, “then I guess I’ll just –”
Then he understood, and his eyes widened.
“Oh. Oh. I – bloody buggering pricks!”
“Yeah, well, Ron, I agree, but insulting them isn’t going to get us anywhere, so –”
“It’s alright, really, I’ll just – go get Pigwidgeon –”
“Oh, don’t be silly”, said Hermione.
But he was – as much as she tried to deny it, he was undeniably the silliest thing she’d seen all day, with his gloomy expression and a mistletoe now enthusiastically dumping buckets of fake snow on his head, and she wouldn’t have him or the way he was now angrily wiping snow off his shoulders any other way.
“It’s OK”, said Hermione, “That snow’s just a spell – it can’t be real now, can it? – I don’t think it’s going to melt on you.”
Their most awkward silence yet fell. Hermione’s brain was working furiously: she could tell he was annoyed and upset and embarrassed, muttering insults under his breath – the rest of the family could come running into the kitchen at any moment, and she really wanted to save him from this embarrassment, and maybe she kind of, kind of wouldn’t mind …
No. definitely not.
Muffled voices came bubbling in from outside the kitchen – Ron tensed up and closed his eyes as he swore to the kitchen ceiling.
“Yeah, well, he’s not getting out of there until February”, said Fred or George.
“Is Hermione in there with him?”, said a new voice.
Ron’s expression changed from mortified to deeply offended in the fraction of a second. “Not Harry, too”, he whispered.
“OK”, said Hermione, whose heart was inexplicably speeding up. “Hold still.”
“You don’t have to - ”
“You’re sleeping in the kitchen then?”
“NO! I … er …”
Hermione was painfully aware of her burning cheeks as she stepped closer, abashed, but determined. God, he was tall. He’d have to bend down, and he appeared to be frozen in shock.
She grabbed his shoulders for balance and pulled herself up on the tips of her toes, pressed her closed mouth on the corner of his – lingered, for the fraction of a second – , and took several steps backwards. Ron blinked. For a single moment there, she thought he might’ve closed his eyes.
“So?”, she asked, her voice reverberating oddly in the silent kitchen and her buzzing head.
“That … that wasn’t …”
“No, I meant, can you move?”, she said quickly.
“Oh! I – yes! Yes, I can – thanks, Hermione.”
“Sure”, she said, awkwardly patting his shoulder. She pulled away the moment she realised what she was doing. “Uhm – Ron?”
“This – it’s not going to make things between us weird, right?”
“What – no! Absolutely not. I mean this … this …”, he laughed nervously, “this isn’t changing anything. I mean, it was just – it was just a – right?”
“Yeah! Right. Right.”
A peck on the corner of his mouth barely counted as a kiss, she reasoned with herself. It didn’t really count as anything.
When they opened the kitchen door, both Weasley twins, Harry, and Ginny were sitting on the staircase. Ginny, Fred and George looked disappointed at the sight of Ron’s freely moving feet – Harry stared incredulously at Hermione, not quite smiling, but not too bothered, either.
Both Ron and Hermione bolted from the hallway.
A/N: What is this? Why, it’s a secret surprise gift, for @ronaldswheezy and @stuckwith-harry. To have done the tale correctly, it needed a second part. I back-burnered my next installment of another to rush these to publication, because your wifey begged asked so nicely. I do hope you’ve already seen the movie in question because, while not actually filled with spoilers, it does make some references to them.
Happy Christmas, Kat, and great tidings of joy to you this Holiday.
Once again, thanks!
“Daddy, I want to see this.”
Ron lowered the paper to see what Rose was pointing out. Ron spent his galleons gladly on Friday because Hugo wanted to see the Magical not-Dragons movie and indulged in sweets while there. Then it was a trip the next day with Hermione and the kids to the Dragon Preserve since there were no dragons in that movie.
They had already gone the day before to see the other one, the one that Ron still quietly grumped about for mucking up Rolf’s grandfather. But the trip the dragon Preserve the next day made it so much better. Seeing an actual Welch Green flying past the visitor’s center did wonders for Hugo, and impressed Rose.
He had tuned out the television earlier in the day since Rose made a fuss about the volume. But since he was home, with the kids while Hermione worked in her library, he could rest some before starting supper for the family shortly. But what he saw instantly intrigued him.
“Daddy, I want to see that movie.”
“Well, you know what? I do too.” Ron sat up when he saw the antagonist from the movies Hermione introduced him to, and thought was wicked.
“What’s that, dear?” Hermione came in from her office with a binder in her arms and her wand shoved into her hair. “Did you say you wanted to go see a movie? I thought you took the kids Friday to a movie.”
“Well, yeah. See that?” Ron pointed to the screen and Hermione immediately recognized where it was coming from. They all watched the commercial and no one said a thing.
“Ron, they might not be old enough to see it.”
“But it’s – “
“I know. But they might be too young to see it, especially that one,” She pointed at Hugo and saw her dear son who was still having the occasional nightmare and was crawling into bed with them at night. She refused to bring up that he hated to travel via Floo, still. “I don’t want him having another month’s worth of nightmares, considering its Christmas time and you will be a bear if he’s not sleeping well.”
A/N: Happy Christmas to @azaleablueme from your Secret Santa. You’d mentioned you wanted something Hogwarts related and Christmas, with no limitations on citrus flavoring. I hope this is satisfying and a delight.
Tagging @fayemorgana for reasons we previously discussed.
Rated M for citrus infusion and certainly not ace safe.
Ao3 / FF.net (will eventually post to Ao3 later on tonight)
The train hit a lurching stop and the whistle blew, harsh and loud. Ginny was out of the cabin without a word back while Luna followed her out. Hermione didn’t want to deal with that problem until later. Her first necessity was seeing Ron. Everything else would wait, including seeing her parents.
She wasn’t looking forward to that, either. The latest set of letters from Dad pointed that out.
She slid the strap of the satchel across her shoulders and went to check the train. As Head Girl, she was responsible for verifying the train was clear while the Head Boy, a nice lad from Hufflepuff named Sidney Fysh, would make sure that all of the students who departed were picked up. Many night she was out on rounds, or when she couldn’t sleep, and she’d come across him walking too. He wasn’t terribly bright – but he listened to her prattle on about Ron without any resentment or jealousy.
Eleven year old Hermione might have found him charming. He was sweet and accommodating, letting her take charge as she usually did – which made him as boring as stale porridge. Nineteen year old Hermione knew much, much better. He was a nice young man – and not Ron.
Hermione finished her sweep of the train, finding a few parcels left behind which would be returned to the school after the Christmas holidays. She was dragging her feet, knowing that Ron was working with George and he’d be home whenever he finished tidying the shop. Once again, knowledge didn’t comfort her this time much less again this term. Only a very tall, quite ginger idiot named Ron who she loved entirely too much was her comfort. But then, he had demonstrated this year that calling Ron an idiot was factually incorrect, in so many ways. He wasn’t an idiot at all – far from it. If anyone had been an idiot, it was her for imposing her own standards on him and expecting too much, too soon.
A/N: Happy Christmas to @ronaldswheezy. I was informed by your eventual wife, @stuckwith-harry that you weren’t receiving any presents. Well lo and behold, here’s one I found under my tree to give to you. I do hope you’ve already seen the movie in question because, while not actually filled with spoilers, it does make some references to them.
Rated T for a few words and a couple of adult themes. Under a read-more since it’s rather long, too. My apologies to those on mobile.
Thanks for running the fest and many glad tidings to you today.
P.S. – This ignores the pseudo-canon of CC since the books say that Rose didn’t start Hogwarts until next year. (had to get that out there!)
“Daddy! I want to see it.”
“You do?” Ron looked over the newspaper and saw both of his adorable kids looking at him like he could unlock Pandora’s treasure chest with one answer. Hugo, looking so much like his Mum, with big brown eyes and auburn brown hair but thin as a fence post and lots of freckles, was bouncing on his toes. Rose, who was so much like him in personality that it was almost frightening, even if she looked like her Mum – but with his blue eyes – was shaking in her shoes, too.
“It’s muggles talking about Magic. I’m sure they will get it all wrong.”
“We don’t care,” they yelled in unison. “Dragons, Daddy.”
Ron listened to the information on the commercial and his ears perked up higher. “Him? They made a sodding film about him?”
Hugo jumped up on the couch. “Daddy said a bad word! Daddy said a bad word.”
Rose pointed at Ron, sitting on the other end of the couch. “You know the cost. Pay up!” She gloated, much like her Mum when she was right.
Ron grumped some and pulled 2 galleons out of his pocket and pointed his wand at them. One incantation later and the coins floated across the room to the jars for the kids. It was his idea, those long years ago, that he’d have to cough up a galleon every time he used a bad word in front of the kids. Two kids meant twice the cost. Thankfully it didn’t apply to private time with Hermione. He’d stay a pauper if he had to watch his words with his wife in the privacy of their bedroom.
Welcome back to a new edition of the Awards celebrating fanfic and fanart creators for our Ron/Hermione fandom corner! 2016 was a tough year, but so many amazing fanworks were there to offer us some respite from the real world, it’s only right we give something back to the people behind them. Not to mention, this is a great opportunity for shippers to be aware of stuff they might have missed!
How does this work? You take a look back at your favourite works of fanart and fanfiction posted during 2016 and nominate them to one of the several categories we have; we will then post all the nominations and contact the authors; you consider all the nominated works and cast your votes!
There are several rules and guidelines that we ask you to please read before doing anything, as it will really simplify our work; you can find those here.
We have seventeen categories for fanfiction and nine categories for fanart, which you can also find in this link.
To submit your nominations, you need to go here and fill the required information.
Nominations are going to be accepted from January 5 to January 27. We’re going to keep a page updated with the nominations as they come, and if all goes well, we’ll be making it into a post for you to reblog during the first week of February. Afterwards, polls for voting will go up, but let’s not get ahead!
If you have any questions about the rules, think we missed something or would want us to reconsider anything, don’t hesitate to contact us.
Go show your favourite authors and artists some love!
I don’t know where this came from! Suddenly, I was writing them post-kids, which I almost never do.
mypatronusisacupcake sketched a pretty awesome arse, and then I promised to write “handful of arse” into a story I was working on… but then it appeared over here, too…
Warning: PG-13 for sexual conversation, swearing, and naked!Ron…
“There are no kids in our house.”
Hermione stretched out along the bed and opened an eye, staring up at Ron, where he stood a few feet away, in only his pants.
“What?” she asked, scratchily, her first word of the day.
“It’s completely quiet. And… we can walk around starkers.”
“That’s the first thing you want to do with our freedom?” she rasped back, yawning.
He reached down and quickly removed his pants, sliding them just to his ankles before stepping a foot out and kicking them away from him. Turning to gaze down at her, he raised an eyebrow, and she burst out laughing.
“You can even go to the kitchen, just like that, and bring me back a glass of juice…” she suggested, pursing her lips up at him before the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.
“I could walk around the bloody garden!” he added, enthusiastically.
She wrinkled her nose up at him.
“Don’t get carried away. Our adult neighbours aren’t away at Hogwarts…”
He grinned at her, running a hand over his scruffy face, sleep tousled hair standing up at humorous angles.
“You suppose Hugo’s got into Gryffindor?”
“If he hasn’t, he’ll be Ravenclaw,” she said with certainty. “I’d bet ten galleons on it.”
“Reckon George is still taking wagers?”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Rosie’ll owl the second she’s awake, to tell us what house he’s in,” Ron said.
“So, as late as she can possibly get away with? Thanks for passing that down to her!”
“Oi, says the witch still in bed at half-nine!” He smirked at her. “I’m being productive.”
“How?” she asked, sceptically.
“I’ve already gotten up and taken my clothes off! I’m planning the rest of my day, thank you.”
“You’re confusing productive with going slightly mad.”
She sat up and arched her back, getting a good stretch in as Ron watched, his suddenly glazed eyes dropping to her breasts as they pressed against the front of the shirt she was wearing, an old, faded one of his.
“Have I told you you’ve got fucking amazing tits?”
“Oh, no,” she teased, kicking the sheets off her legs. “In the millions of times you’ve seen me naked, you’ve never bothered to mention it.”
She crawled to the side of the bed and sat up on her knees, pressing her face to his naked chest and running her fingernails up his back. He reached down and grasped two handfuls of her arse.
“But surely I’ve mentioned your incredible arse.”
He released her to move back up and slide his hands under the elastic of her knickers, molding over warm, bare flesh.
“How many times d'you think we’ve had sex?” he asked, as she flattened her palms to his back, lifting her face so her chin rested in the centre of his chest, staring up at him. “I mean, if you had to guess an actual, reasonable number.”
“Oh, God. I don’t know…”
She stretched up further on her knees and rubbed her cheek against his stubble as she considered his question. Doing quick calculations, she could multiply twenty-one years of being together by the days in a year, subtracting time for her final year at Hogwarts, attempting to factor in chunks of time when the kids were small, but recalling stretches of time at their first flat when they wouldn’t leave the bed all day-
“Shit, that’s a lot.”
His hands slid out of her knickers and up under the back of her shirt.
“Oh, would you rather slow down-”
She grinned as he bunched her shirt up her sides, until she let go of him and lifted her arms into the air, allowing him to remove the shirt altogether and toss it carelessly to the floor.
“Later,” he said in a low voice, as he watched her scowl at the mess of clothes he was making on their bedroom floor, “we can clean the house together… naked.”
I think the cancer story is Re Acquaintance by Solstice Muse
Hermione was sitting on the porch, a glass of pumpkin juice in hand, indulging in her favourite new hobby – daydreaming about a certain redhead. She’d tried to stop. Honestly, she had. But when reading Hogwarts, A History for the twenty-fourth time didn’t manage to distract her from the tall lanky bloke who was flexing and stretching and sweating, she gave it up as a bad job. To make matters worse, she was at a complete loss as to how he was so completely clueless even after she had kissed the living daylight out of him, in the middle of a war, no less.
She sighed. She’d gone through all the usual topics of interest as she gazed at his form – his soft hair which curled just right around his ears, his blue eyes narrowed in annoyance as he grabbed a particularly pesky gnome trying to hide in a pile of leaves, or the way the muscles in his arms moved as he flung the poor creature over the fence. Of particular note was the way his, ahem, chair area looks in those too-tight jeans she had pack- wait.
Hadn’t he complained about those jeans? He had complained a lot. And now that he was back at the burrow, he really doesn’t need to be wearing them anymore. And when she came right down to it, she really didn’t think he needs to be bending over that bush like that either.
He emerged, brandishing a blue gnome like a weapon.
“Found it!” he yelled across to Harry, who was struggling with a decidedly disgruntled gnome. “I’m all done. You’re on your own mate!”
He started walking towards the porch with a satisfied expression.
“Hey, Hermione! Have you been taking reading tips from Luna?” he asked with a puzzled look on his face. She shot him an equally confused look before she realised she’d been holding her book upside-down.
“Or is reading just not challenging enough for you anymore?” he chuckled.
“It’s…ah, th-the footnotes! They’re written upside down!” she exclaimed triumphantly, having found a reasonable explanation.
“And your mum wants you to sort those boxes once you’re done de-gnoming,” she told him, waving to a some cartons kept nearby.
He groaned and wiped a hand over his face. But then he smiled. “Okay, will do!”
Furrowing her eyebrows, she frowned and watched him saunter over to the boxes and bend over once again. Merlin’s pants, she could’ve sworn he was doing it on purpose.
She narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat pointedly, intent on interrogating him. He straightened up and turned around.
Looking her straight in the eyes, he sent a smirk her way.
She gasped. How dare he! He knew exactly what he was doing.
Turning red, she tried to coolly sip her pumpkin juice.
“Are you sure? You look all flustered,” his smirk grew wider.
Why, that smug little-
“Maybe you should be concentrate on sorting through those boxes like your mum asked you to,” she replied haughtily.
“Right. So I’m going to sort through these boxes. And you’re just going to sit there,” he said.
“Y-yes! It’s not my clutter–“
“Hey, I was only asking,” he said placatingly, as he shot her a sly smile, and turned around to bend over the boxes yet again.
She nearly hissed.
“Fine! I’ll bloody bite.”
“What’s that, now?” he asked, turning around casually.
“Why’re you wearing those jeans? You hated them! You-you said they were too tight!”
It was his turn to stammer.
“Was it just so you could watch me squirm?” she demanded.
“Or so I’ll bloody kiss you again? Is that it? Is that what you bloody want? Fine! Come here,” she grabbed him by the ears and planted a kiss straight on his lips before she knew what she was doing. And before he could respond, she pulled away, trying to salvage some of her dignity.
“Th-there. You got what you wanted. Happy?” and with that, she stomped off into the house, leaving him looking rather dazed.
“Wouldn’t it have been much easier to just ask her on a date?” Harry’s exasperated voice piped up from behind him.
“You know, Harry….I think I might.”
Or, Ron and Hermione Write Fanfiction.
(This may or may not have begun as a response to some regrettable comments from JKR in 2014.)
It had been an exceptionally long day - in as much as the relative length of a standard period of time could vary from one to the next, anyway. By the time Hermione had left the office, the weight of the hours she’d spent there rested so heavily on her frame that her smile when her assistant bid “Mrs. Weasley” farewell was almost perfunctory. Even the swooping sensation she felt in her stomach when she was called by her married name, something she still wasn’t used to almost two months later, seemed to have been quelled by the sheer exhaustion of a day filled with unnecessary paperwork and meetings with the pig-headed lot of old men the Ministry called its senior officials.
Thankfully, Ron seemed to sense that she was in a bit of a mood, and he offered to prepare her a hot dinner without a single complaint as she wandered through their flat, absentmindedly putting things away and muttering strings of what were very nearly obscenities under her breath.
They sat down to a quiet dinner, neither one particularly inclined to air the grievances they’d collected throughout the day. Sometimes, it was easier to simply be for awhile, and to be comfortably silent with one other had been a great source of comfort to Hermione over the years. Something about merely being in Ron’s presence was more than enough to warm her insides and wrap her up in something that was at once smaller and much, much bigger than the world around them.
Which is why, of course, she was a bit shocked when Ron interrupted the quiet by clearing his throat and asking, “Whaddya reckon would have happened if you hadn’t gone to the ball with Krum?”
Hermione nearly dropped her fork. “Excuse me?”
“Y'know, what could have happened if me or Harry had asked you first,” Ron clarified, as though that explained everything.
“Well, that wouldn’t have happened,” Hermione replied carefully, “considering the two of you didn’t even think to ask me until weeks after the ball was announced.”
“Oh, I thought of it nearly straight away,” Ron admitted, shrugging. “It’s not like I was going to admit to myself that I fancied you, mind, but I wasn’t exactly put off by the idea of taking you.”
“How romantic,” Hermione remarked dryly.
“So whaddya reckon?” Ron repeated as he chewed the last bite of his chicken and pushed his plate away. “D'you think we could’ve got it together sooner?”
“Maybe,” Hermione allowed. “Why does it matter? Clearly it all turned out for the best,” she pointed out, nodding from her left hand to his.
“Well, yeah, but think about it,” Ron insisted, widening his eyes to indicate his sincerity.
“It’s a rather big ‘what if,’” Hermione replied dubiously, “but clearly you’ve thought about it, so I’m going to hear you out.”
Ron grinned with satisfaction. “Marriage is fantastic.”
“Just get on with it before the honeymoon’s over,” Hermione teased.
“Okay,” he began. “So imagine, right, me or Harry asks you to the ball. It doesn’t really matter which one of us does it; it’s just as friends. Preferably you’d have gone with me, obviously, and maybe we’d have had an awkward dance or two - y'know, the kind where you stand about a foot and a half apart and barely touch each other - but nothing would have happened, ‘cause I was still too much of an idiot to realize what was right in front of me.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Well, fair enough, but wouldn’t things have been awkward if we’d danced?”
Ron shrugged. “No more awkward than you screaming at me about last resorts and such across the common room after I accused your date of using you to get to Harry, is it?”
Hermione winced. “We really have had our moments.”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, smiling again. “Yeah, quite brilliant, really. Anyway, I figure something like that might have gotten me round to thinking about you like that a bit quicker. Not a lot quicker, mind you, but I s'pose I was already thinking about snogging you the summer after.”
“But you weren’t thinking particularly hard about it, were you?” Hermione pointed out.
“You were my best friend!” Ron said defensively. “Bit confusing, wasn’t it? And besides, the bigger half of me still believed you had something going on with Krum.”
“You can’t have a bigger half,” Hermione scolded, smirking.
“Would you let me tell my story?”
“Your story that never actually happened?” Hermione replied, though she couldn’t deny her curiosity was piqued. She crossed her arms and leaned against the back of her chair. “Tell away.”
“Good, 'cause I spent most of the day thinking about it.”
“I won’t even remind you that you’re supposed to be protecting the wizarding world.”
Ron shrugged. “It was a slow day. So anyway, you didn’t go to the ball with Krum, I’ve admitted to myself that I wanna snog you, and it’s Christmas of our fifth year.”
“Why Christmas?” Hermione asked interestedly.
“Why not Christmas?” Ron retorted. “It’s romantic as hell, alright? Now let me tell the story.”
“Sorry.” Hermione raised her hands innocently and gestured for him to continue. Ron took a grand, dramatic breath as he began to weave his tale.
“So those little metal circles spin around with a motor, and a beam of light reads them and plays music? That’s awesome.”
“Isn’t it? Muggles are coming up with the neatest things these days. Although,” Hermione huffed just a little as she slung the knapsack of CDs off her shoulder, “this technology is pretty heavy. I don’t even know what Mum put in here, she just seemed to grab handfuls and shove them in. I’m a bit out of the loop on muggle music so I told her anything was fine.”
Ron spread out a blanket and unpacked his knapsack’s contents of food and drinks while she connected the Discman to portable speakers with a tiny wire. The porch light from the Grangers’ home was dim from the crest of the park’s highest hill.
“Ok, I’ve heard of some of these… Celine Dion, Elton John, Boyzone, Garth Brooks? That’s not mum’s usual style.”
“He’s got his face painted like a Quidditch supporter. Let’s give him a go.”
Rollicking music issued from the speakers as Ron and Hermione nibbled and sipped, gradually scooting closer to one another until they were side by side. Hermione tucked herself under Ron’s arm and leaned back a bit.
“You know, all those nights out in nature, and I never really looked up at the stars. I OWLed in astronomy, of course, but that was more where planets and stars are in relation to each other. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten all the constellations and their stories.”
Ron looked down, a bit dumbstruck.
“Something has escaped that steel trap of a mind? I can’t believe it.”
“You spent more time on it in Divination, which I blew off. Do you know them?”
Ron smoothed Hermione’s hair away from his face and gently tucked it between her head and his shoulder. He shifted his shoulders to cradle her head more securely against himself and leaned the both of them back.
“So if we begin with the moon as our central point of reference, note that it’s currently waxing gibbous. We’ll use its tips to help us navigate to constellations. Over to the east from the northernmost tip…”
Ron went on to detail constellations, clusters, and planets, elaborating on particularly significant arrangements as he recalled. The couple gradually laid down on the blanket, Hermione curled into his shoulder all the while. As he went on, a quiet song came on, so he lowered his voice a bit.
“… Then continuing north along that line, there’s the constellation Coma Berenices. It gets its name from the story of an Egyptian queen who cut off her golden locks to pay off on a deal she made with the goddess of love to keep her husband safe during wartime. The goddess was so pleased that the hair was taken up to heaven as a cluster of stars*. I’d have done the same for you, you know, if I could.”
Expecting a bit of a snog for that romantic overture, Ron instead got a small snore as Hermione snuggled against him in her sleep.
“Well, I suppose that’s fine, too. Kind of nice, I’ll keep chatting to keep you asleep for a bit. You’re still sporting huge dark circles. Let me tell you about Orion over here. Fine bloke, and a magnificent todger there below his belt if you follow those couple stars. Fred and George pointed that one out to me years ago, I didn’t learn that at school. I figure Fred would love it if I passed that knowledge on to you. Well. Anyway, continuing north…”
I posted new Romione fanfiction! It’s chapter four of my Romione Alphabet fic, which is a series of unrelated one shots about Ron and Hermione throughout their relationship, each chapter corresponding to a letter in the alphabet. This time it was D for Divination!
Thank you so much if you take the time to read it, it means so much to me!
So, I haven’t written in quite a while. And I’m pretty sure all my tenses are mixed up. But this is just a piece to get back in the works. Here’s hoping it’s not completely horrid.
Irritation was what she felt in that crowded Charms classroom all the way back in first year. Everything from his stupid blue eyes to his disapproving frown irritated her. If he had actually spent a couple of minutes actually trying instead of scowling at her the entire time, he might have actually understood something. But noooo, apparently it was easier to call her names behind her back than to actually put in any effort to get to know her.
So, as she cried in the girl’s bathroom, she vowed she’d steer well clear of him.
But irritation was not a strong enough word for what she felt now as she watched him bite his lip in concentration.
Frustration was what she had felt when he refused to believe her about her cat mangling his sorry excuse for a pet. It was what she’d felt when he stopped talking to her over a stupid bloody broomstick. It was the thing that drove her to tears every day, all of third year, never mind the fact that taking all those classes meant little to no sleep. It was definitely all him.
Ron Weasley frustrated her plenty.
But that still fell short. It didn’t encompass the myriad of ways in which his existence made life so very difficult for her. It is certainly not a good enough word for the feeling she gets as she watches him stretch, yawning.
Vexation, then? She frowned. It was close, but not quite.
Everything he did made her want to pull her hair out. Or his. She wasn’t particularly choosy when it came to whose hair she got to pull. Never had she felt so vexed as she had during the summer of before her fifth year. She’d arrived well before Harry. She’d written him numerous letters. She’d snuck into his room numerous times under the pretense of worrying over Harry. She was worried, of course, but she hadn’t needed to worry in his room. She was perfectly capable of worrying independently, thank you very much. But it was all in vain. The bloke couldn’t take a hint if it poked him in the eye with his Cleansweep.
Vexation is certainly part of what she feels as she sees his plaid shirt ride up just enough to give the slightest glimpse of pale freckled skin.
Exasperation. It was possibly the word that could most describe the n number of emotions she felt towards him. Exasperation at his cluelessness, his inability to believe in himself, his penchant for disagreeing with everything she has to say, his hair which is just waiting for her to run her hands through, his tendency to tower over her with his long long legs, his freckled hands that makes her desperately want to know if he is freckled all over.
But it was not the feeling that coiled inside her stomach when he stood up for her. It was not what made her heart beat faster when he gazed at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. It was not what she felt when he had figuratively and later, literally swept her off her feet. Or when he had come to her at night to hold her as she screamed in her sleep.
She did not have the words for all the feelings that Ron Weasley made her feel. But as she watched him run his hands through his hair and look over at her, she smiled. Perhaps, just this once, it was okay to not have all the right words.
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Okay this is a biggie (at least for me lol) so I’m gonna split it into sections
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This is so lovely to read. Thanks so much for reccing my erratic blog!
Title: I Want You. That’s All.
Word count: 2,579
Alternate links: RHrLove
Rating: Teen and Up
Author’s summary: “Hermione Granger feels like she’s going insane. And she doesn’t even have a Horcrux to blame it on anymore.” A Deathly Hallows missing moment.
Why everyone should read this: I’m a sucker for DH missing moments, and this one has been a favourite of mine for years. It’s angsty and harsh with its descriptions both of Hermione’s mental state after Ron’s return and her physical state from being starving out in the woods. There’s a lot of UST from things that happened and the things that they can’t allow to happen now, so it’s a very painful story, but at the same time, there’s hope and love that makes it better,
“So, how much longer should I expect you to give me the silent treatment?” he asks lightheartedly.
She will not answer that question.
Of course she’s still angry. It makes her feel incredible guilt, but still, she’s angry. Angry with Ron, a bit with Harry, but mostly at herself. Since the moment he returned, she’s wanted to throw her arms around him and press her cheek into the spot on his chest where it fits so perfectly. But she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. And frankly, she doesn’t feel she deserves the satisfaction either.
So, it took me a few more hours than I thought it would because I overslept and then ff.net wouldn’t cooperate with me.
@barmy-owl sent me this prompt so long ago, she’s probably forgotten about it: Hermione is a little constipated so Ron tells her stories about Pigwidgeon in order to take her mind of it. Hermione likes the stories but keeps rubbing her belly and swearing.
Tagging @diva-gonzo ‘coz it might be early morning for her right now.
Also available here for those of you who find it difficult on tumblr. It has some language, so steer clear if swearing makes you uncomfortable.<!-- more -->
“I’m telling you, mum always said it was twilight!”
“Ugh, Ron! You’re really not helping at all.”
“Forget it! I’ll just stew in my misery here. Alone. You can get back to your bloody Quidditch report!” cried Hermione, in a strangled voice, as she lay in a fetal position on the giant green sofa.
Ron frowned and tried to pat her back for twelfth time that day. His hand reached out tentatively before Hermione smacked it away. Again.
“Don’t touch me, I’m gross!”
“That’s shite, Hermi-“
A wail interrupted him.
“-one. You could never be gross,” he continued, oblivious and resolute. “In sickness and in health, that’s what those muggle vows said, didn’t they? I’d be a bloody arsehole if I –“
Another wail, with some swearing thrown in for good measure.
He winced. On second thought, he should probably steer clear of words like “shite” and “arsehole” for the time being. He had learnt the hard way that Hermione swearing spelt trouble for someone, usually him.
“There, there,” he said placatingly, patting the air over Hermione’s head.
Ron went to open Beedle’s book again.
“I can try to distract you with Babbity Rabbity instead. I think it’s one of the – uh – less debate-y ones.”
He received a glare for his efforts.
“I still don’t understand why you won’t just take that potion that mom sent over. What’s wrong with it?”
The glare intensified.
“The fact that you told your mother is what’s wrong with it,” Hermione replied with gritted teeth. “Also, it smells like…well, shite.”
Ron went to say something but quickly closed his mouth at a warning look from his wife.
“Uhm, so did I ever tell you about the summer after third year? About how mum nearly threw me out of the house because of Pig?”
“Yeah, almost sent me packing, she did.”
“Why?” Hermione asked, her pain taking a backseat to her curiosity.
“I’ll tell you. But you have to take a sip of the potion,” he replied, indicating to a bottle containing some murky green liquid kept on the bedside table. “One sip. That’s all.”
Hermione let out a frustrated growl. She sat up with some difficulty and stretched out her hand.
“Fine! Hand it here.”
Ron uncorked the bottle and handed it to her. Holding it like one might hold a dungbomb, Hermione grimaced and screwed her eyes shut before taking a sip.
“Bleh! Ugh, Ron, take it away from me before things start coming out the wrong end,” she exclaimed, turning her head away to escape the odour.
Ron quickly snatched the bottle and plugged it with the cork again, all the while holding his breath.
“Feel any better?” he asked hopefully.
“No, but I believe I’ve earned myself a story.”
She reclined back on the pillows, rubbing circles on her belly, making herself as comfortable as she could be, given the situation at hand.
“Well, go on then!” she said, irritably.
“Right. Well, do you remember how, uh….energetic Pig was when Sirius first sent him to me?”
“Well, mum got a bit of shock when she first came into my room about two days after I got home. You see, Pig had… he had ripped the sheets and curtains to shreds. Not to mention, my already tattered clothes and mum really couldn’t afford another set of robes. Add to that, my bed – well, his talons really brought out the grain of the wood, you know.”
“So what did she say?”
“Well, she decided it was my fault. And then “punished” me by taking Pig away. She said she’d keep him in the kitchen where she can keep an eye on him,” Ron replied, with a glint of fond remembrance in his eye. “Needless to say, it did not go well for her. That was the year mum lost her prized bone china vase that she always said was a family heirloom. But that wasn’t even the worst part.”
“The vase that your great grandmother Earline gave to her on her wedding day? You know, the only member of her family who attended the wedding? The one who first accepted your dad into the family?”
“So, what was the worst part?” asked Hermione, listening intently.
“The worst part. Right. How about you take another sip of th-“
“Bloody hell, Ron! You said one sip, I had one sip. Now, you go on with that story, or I’ll skin you alive!”
“Alright, woman,” Ron replied, alarmed at his wife’s sudden outburst. “I, uh…where was I? Ah, yes, the worst part. Well, it was the fourth day of my grounding. Mum wanted to go get some shopping done at Diagon Alley and she didn’t trust me enough to leave me alone at home, with only the twins for supervision, no less. So, she decided to take me and Gin with her.
And, as you can probably imagine, that did not go well either because…”
Ron looked at her and then at the potion in what he thought was a subtle hint.
Hermione gave him a dirty look.
“As soon as I’m on my feet again, Ron, you’re in for a fuckload of pain.”
She grabbed the bottle, pinched her nose and chugged the entire bottle. Ron stared at her incredulously as she downed it all and threw the bottle at him. Thankfully, his keeper reflexes were still in tact and he caught it before it could hit him in the head.
“Uh, I don’t think you were supposed to drink quite that much, Hermione.”
“At least it’ll shut you up about it! Now, because?”
“Oh, uh because-because Pig decided to come with us,” he continued the story hesitantly. “Mum had taken Gin with her already, and it was my turn to floo, but Pig flew in and hooted loudly just as I dropped the floo powder into the fireplace. I barely had time to yell out Diagon Alley before I was thrown out of the fireplace at this really posh, really white muggle store. Turns out it was some kind of wedding shop on Oxford Street.”
“Yeah, it was pretty ugly. It was Pig’s first time flooing and he panicked and attacked my fucking face! I was getting soot all over those fancy white dresses of theirs. I was running blind, see, Pig was attached to my face, and wouldn’t let go. We gave those muggles quite a fright-“
“Don’t feel too bad for them,” he replied, sounding a bit offended. “They threw me in a little room with bars at the back of their store. And called the muggle polish. The ministry had to-”
“No, no, it’s not that! Just get out of the way,” she cried and nearly toppled Ron over in her rush to get to the loo. “I think it worked!”
Ron sighed, relieved, making a mental note to give his mother an extra special gift this Christmas.
“Also, it’s police, Ron. Not polish!” came a voice from the bathroom, over noises that Ron decided he’d rather not listen to if he wanted to keep his own food down.
“Yes, dear,” he called back as he beat a hasty retreat from the room.
"Tell the chef, the beer is on me."
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